The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

walk to pool listening to peter hammill
the silent corner and the empty stage
dark words and music
“like the inmates of asylums
all the citizens are contagiously insane”
a solemn organ sweeps in, funereal
guitars warp and howl
accoustic guitar creeps in brittle arpeggios
strange soft moaning sounds
things moving backwards
things picking up momentum
something like dr whos tardis takes off
into horrible biblical ages
the music is full of torment and strife
sirens call and fade
the guitars become discordant
playing doomy harmonies
hammills voice
intelligent articulate mocking
suddenly piercing
suddenly becoming soft and beautiful
“atlantis is strange the explosion of an age
no one really knows what to do and the city is a cage”
the waves wash over us
the music takes us down to the sea bed
hammill brings back jericho
“maybe the people are waiting for trumpets”
he sadly suggests
why cant rock music be married to this ancient history?
to me there is no contradiction
everything is there for me to plunder
everything
magic
science
alchemy
drugs
sex
yoga
history
language
breath
exercise
literature
art
music
religion
philosophy
hammill destroys christianity on the lie
the organ summoning the mysteries of the latin church
the swinging censer with its sandalwood smoke
the reverb suggests the empty cold churches
where hammill was tormented as a boy
“benediction…fiction or fear?”
then on red shift
hammill bewails the universes move into the red
“once constellations were holy,
now darkness pervades all the older ones”
“hope is a word with no space for meaning”
oh sounds like something i might have written
johnny rotten even loved peter hammill
on red shift some sibilant snake like rattle
wriggles from speaker to speaker
hammill sounds like hes heartbroken
as the galaxies float into the redzone
mmmmm
gotta email from my fed ex agent
investigating my “case”
she says bondi junction fed ex need to “revert to respond”
hmmm…
yeah i bet they do….
tonite im doing something very interesting
something quite cosmic
maybe dangerous
maybe changing me forever
maybe not
will keep you informed
love
etc
me
ps vanguard hotel newtown 27 mar
toff in town melby 6 apr
be there!!!

wake up
write a blog
kids get ready for school
i have some shredded wheat for breakfast
weather wilde and woolley
everyone must get a big kiss goodbye from the woofle
set off
doodles usually enjoy a quiz on way to school
or they enjoy it
when i shut my eyes
n gotta guess which ones hand im holding
(the twillies liked this one too…
and were much harder to tell apart)
sometimes they like 20 questions as well
anyway i say hey doodles
what does the word eerie mean
something to do with your skin? says one
ah its a ….er…i dunno a kind of cat ? says the other
no it means spooky i say
oh…they both say disinterestedly
ummm i say
what does basalt mean?
i dont know and i dont care ! says eve
uh dad, i don’ wanna be a walkin’ dictionary …says aurora
ok you little gooseballs im gonna listen to my ipod i say
good! says eve
aurora shakes my hand like its a done deal
and the doodles converse amongst themselves
about something interesting…
strangely enough
they both wanna hold my hands
so im walking along listening to ipod
with a 8 year old girl in school uni-form on each hand
nattering away across me…
drop em off at school
get a kiss
over the road
down towards the beach
across the lawns past the palms and pavillion
the usual tramps and groups of sweaty wives working out
all dressed in their leotards
stepping up in down on a kerb
or boxing with the instructor
on the boardwalk im listening to
horror of horrors…stevie nix
jesus
stop dragging my balls around
i used to sing back in the day
ha ha ha
there was a girl in a band in canberra
who thought she was stevie nix
and when her band did rhiannon
the chick’d run around with the little cloak
just like stevie did
only it was ok in the mega dome in la
but it was hilarious in the harmony-german club in canberra
have you ever seen a women taken by the wind?
thats why i always say
blow me down!
anyway im listening to stevie n don henley
by time i get to pooley
reflecting on love songs
i mean the girls in all the old sixties songs..
i mean the “she” who was just seventeen
in 1963s i saw her standing there by beatle-boys
shes gotta be 63 or 64 now right?
is her look way beyond compare still?
(maybe, if shes a vegan)
did he ever dance with another?
maybe…
i get to pool
into sauna
theres always some characters in there
today an anxious looking skinny chick
and her boyfriend
who looks like he came straight from amazon jungle
they whisper to each other but cant hear language
gee its hot in here tho
its like a bloody….sauna
the sauna looks out over the pacific
and north bondi headland (i dont live there!)
which is real pretty
grey overcast sudden glimpses of sun flashes of blue
surfers traverse the deep
people in pool go up n down
body builders in gym
women do yoga
people sit on balc drinkin’ cappo bloody -cheenos
people get massaged
a school turns up
and its funny how all the little boys
stand in the changeroom gawking and giggling
at the grown-up mens wedding tackle
occaisionally a teacher rushes in saying
hurry up jared get changed
or
liam, i told you not to do that
or
jack, miss boom-boom is looking for you
i jump in pool
i swim up n down
breast stroke one way
freestyle the other
it alternates between boring and mesmerising
i jump out have another sauna
do qi gong on the deck
walk home buy some bananas n dates for my smoothie
we decide to go up the junga
the junga is bondi junction
which sits about a mile or 2 away from the beach inland
and up a big hill
the easterns subs are very hilly..
it has the largest mall in the southern hemmy-sphere
gee
and also has fed-ex kinkos office
wherein yon slacker fucked up my tube
we park in underground bunker which gives me horrors
i take woofle to fed ex
natalie goes to do grocery shopping,
at fed ex office woofle sits patiently on counter
for about 2 mins
before she gets down and runs around
dismantling the little displays of stationery n stuff
meanwhile i explain my story to guy there
he tries to understand and care
i tell him i have 6 paintings in a white tube
he goes and finds a picasso print
is this it ? he asks hopefully
then he rings a number
aha
a heavily accented lady comes on
aha
natalie had told me a heavily accented lady
was looking for a mr “kibley”
from fed ex…investigating my case…
gave her my email address etc
hello steven i m looking after your case
yes…i say ..but i didnt get your email i say
i sent it she says
this lady is quite good at english
i say quite good
because im sure english is a hard lang
for people from wherever shes from
(i say where are you anyway?
she says im offshore…….!?)
but she is not the person
i want handling my case
i tell her all the details
how i had the tube
how the slacker said hed put it in the fed ex tube
he said but there werent any right now
yeah yeah sure sure hed do it later he said
i had a premonition as i started the car outside
that he’d already forgotten
everything….
going into great detail
and an impassioned plea for their return
halfway thru my speech
i get the distinct sinking feeling
that shes non comprehendo mosta what im saying
why cant people who do these jobs speak english adequately?
surely thats not asking too much…
half the customs officers in the us cant speak english properly
well i could hardly communicate with em any way
and im english so i guess that means something, right?
look i dont care if the cab drivers or the shopowners
or the restaurant guys or the whatever cant speak inglese
but if you dealing with folks on the phone
re important details like immigration or sending documents etc
c’mon…!
anyway
although she called me steven
she had sent my email to sevekilbey@gmail.com
not stevekilbey@gmail.com
she couldnt see anything wrong with that
i realised my paintings were doomed
look just put all in email she says
i wanna speak to your superior (i think to myself, but dont say)
then i imagine
i could get
someone even worse
ah harro seve i am supelior…what is plobrum?
so
i say ok
but
still havent re”seve”d email
so…..
blah!
took woofle round junga with me
shes getting increasingly stroppy
culminating in a display of yoga right in front of escalator
thats right as people were getting off a crowded escalator
the woofle was going between dog position n upwards facing dog
while her confused and bothered old daddy tried to get her to move on
one guy stops and has a real good laugh
shes actually really good he says
and i start laughing too
seeing the funny side at last
the woofle
to cap off her performance
takes the bottom of her t shirt in her mouth
and pulls it tight
while having a maniacal expression in her eyes….bravo!
then its mostly tears
as i drag her to an art shop for a can of fix
finally down all those other escalators
to find mummy on the lowest level
its more and more crying
till finally
as we got off the last escalator
i put my foot on her foot
i pull her hand upwards…giving her a stretch
and i stumble over
with my woofle my cans of fix and radiator coolant and stopleak
what a sight
woofles really crying now
when nk appears from grocery shop
she flies to mummy glad to escape the brutal imbecility of daddy-o
and is spilling the beans on how i hurt her and where it hurts
we come home
i have a sleep
wake up feeling real groggy
a can of berry v wakes me up
nk goes to school get doodles
woofle wakes up
angry to find shes woken up
with dear sweet soft mummy gone
and angry busy stupid old daddy left
nk n doodles come home
only thing to silence angry woofle is to put on a dvd
she is insistinging on the wiggles
which i absolutely abhor despise and revile
but hey
its still better than woofles guilt trip and recriminations
that im not her mother…
then at 6 30
the twillies swan in for dinner
the twillies have evening jobs now
and it gives them a slightly new swagger
i have to watch what i say in front of twillies
cos one olde fogey type remark will have em up n at me
they insist on swearing and talking about gory films theyve seen
going into lurid detail about murders n blood n guts
the doodles eyes are like plates
im trying to get the twillies to tone it down
ahem…girls please ..this is the dinner table..
but it goes from worse to worse
recounting all kinds of things in colourful language
reminding me of myself at 16
trying to shock and somehow proclaim my indy-pendents
but at same time seeking approval
its complicated
anyway
i didnt blow it tonite with my
“im not having that in this house” malarkey
they come in my room
elli prints out a load of stuff she doesnt take with her
minna gets out my art supply stuff
wants a “good” bit of paper
and then never finishes it
they both swan off into the night
beautiful self centred teenage girls
you gotta take what you can get and let em flow
cos you cant impose yer own aesthetic or ideals upon them
doodles go to bed amidst teethcleaning and protests
i read to them from northern lights
which is one zillion times better than hairy potter
and nk n i watch an episode of the american office
in which michael n jan levinson go public with romance
its squirmingly embarrassing n very very funny
but when its all over
the woofle is still stubbornly awake
she aint going gently into that goodnight
so we 3
me nk n woofle go to bed earlyish
woofle is still gently carrying on as i fall asleep
and shes up first thing this morning when i wake up
good on you woofle
24 hour surveillance service
we’re watching you daddy
eventually everyone is up n about
ah
another day

its a thundery morning in north bondi
my 4 girls sleep on
elli n minna sleep on round the corner too
am i lucky?
sure
i am
i am a very lucky man
my daughters
my wife
my friends who are all of you
im always so touched by your concern
im sitting here wearing a krsna/vishnu long sleeve t shirt
given to me by ms x
who has also given me some of the most amazing art supplies ever
stuff i never heard of, never woulda bought
all picked out with originality and flair
always exactly what i needed
even if i didnt know it
plus
she sends my kids wonderful art supplies too
which ALL children love
she sent me these new pastels called pan pastels
applied with different applicators
its enough to get me going on a new painting spree
i wasnt real happy with my last lot of paintings
not the ones that went missing…they were good
just the ones before that
its like songwriting periods
sometimes you churning em out
sometimes youve been inspired
well now
im inspired
and im inspired about music
and im inspired about words
and im inspired about the rich knowledge
that flows to me in my fifties
the fruit of years of struggling and yearning
let me tell you being fifty three is not all bad
dont fear middle age you younger fiendss out there
i have no desire to be 23 no no no no
only for the time it would give me
but each man gets only one life as that man
and as painful as it must be
we will have to relinquish our masks….
i am learning about paint and pastels at a rapid rate
oh all those wasted years…
music too
my voice….
learning how to use it
what it is capable of…
yesterday after all the money baloney
i drive out to tims
when i get there
we worked not on new church album
as i thought we would
but we finished up work on the shriek soundtrack
the churches soundtrack for the book “shriek”
a weird fantasy by jeff vandermeer
people
tim and i had such a blast
we locked in our intentions
we secured a modus operandi
and we nailed it
using passages from the book
i sang screamed whispered pleaded ranted and raved
over the top of the churches roiling boiling music
guitars flutter and float and shake and shudder
we added some strings and leslied piano
tim jumps in shadowing my voice perfectly
almost everything we do is right!
that happens with painting too
everything you do is right
like some hand guides you
like some intelligence feeds you the clues
sometimes you can do no wrong
i play some accoustic guitar
it changes the angle of the tracks
my basslines are sexy and snaky
i go in the laundry and bang tims washing machine
with mallets
and all the drum bits hanging up in there
and tim does what sounds like a looping sample
of some old egyptian guy praying or something
and i go in with some chanting and grunting
very maori says tim smiling
we just add and add
tim does his studio trickery on the computer
work on into the night
i had a goodtime
and we finished it
the long lonely drive from tims to home
in the rain
listen to kate bushes aerial and rocknroll animal
although not an extreme fan of twin lead guitar harmony solos
the guitar playing on this is gloriously celestial
intertwining and climbing
steve hunter and dick wagner these guys were called
and the arrangements on here are almost classical in detail
in 1974 this album knocked my socks off
it makes the drive back to bondi more bearable
over anzac bridge
down the tunnel
up in rushcutters bay
up the hill in belvue heights (however ya spell it)
down the other side into vaucluse
then bondi
the rain abates
not a bad days work
things arent so bad
just financial…
its still a worry tho’
not for my sake
i can live on literally nothing
and i have
but fambleys need money
and ya gotta get that soy bacon on the table
ok
nose to grindstone!

some mofo is now stealing money outta my bank accnt
in fact he got my last fifty bucks
thats right
i said to wife
at least we have fifty seven bucks in accnt
but
2 hours later
no she says
no
we have 7 bucks
ah clever criminals
now gotta wait 21 days to get my fifty back
hopefully by then will not need it so much
somedays ya get up…
fuckin’ conflict
everybody everywhere wants a piece of ya
fair enough
if you caused it yerself
but im wading through everyone elses problems
i wish i was a monk tending a garden
a vow of silence
i am like a parent waiting for my paintings
so i cant face the fact they are truly gone
today i will try to confront the slacker who blew it with the tube
up at fed ex
whats the best outcome i can hope for…?
an apology?
hah!
who cares
everyone offloads the guilt elsewhere
thats how its done
ah you dont need this today
lets try again tomorrow

i see some you think the spider killed me
but you know
im tougher than spiders
tougher than heroin
tougher than plane crashes
tougher than….
ow! i just stubbed my toe
well
nk n girls drove me to airport
tibor our car is having overheating problems
(the falcon is named tibor(pronounced teebore))
and an unfortunate set of (hopefully temporary)circumstances
has rendered us broke beyond belief
anyway
everytime i say goodbye to my family
i get worried case i nevva see em agen
i really do love em to bits
and today
the woofle seems so big n bouncy
evie doodle seems so robust and energetic
aurora doodle seems so laidback n humourous
and natalie mcwife seems so……
well this sposed to be a family blogg…
and sydney itself seemed so warm and soft and home
the airport bit was ok
i heard a guy in line saying
“oh i love airports”
i swing round n say
“how many times’ve you flown?
he says
“oh this is the first time”
gee
i tell thee very straight
there are many many many gay men around
everywhere
its gay mardy grah
in sydney
and bondi beach is covered in fabulous beautiful bodies
all men…
a lot of these guys have perfect worked out muscles
the heteros on the beach are all saggy flabby skinny weedy oafy
but these gay guys (most of em)
theyre an amazing glimpse at how the human male body
has the propensity to be sublimely gorgeous
like a stallion or a cheetah
how strange!
when i was a kid
it seemed that the muscley guys were the uber-butch hetero-types
and the skinny effeminate types got sand kicked in their faces
and their girls stolen
but on todays beach
the butch guys are mostly in bad shape
i think the reason for this
is complicated
n
beyond the scope of this blog.
being a sydneysider for a long time
with the largest gay pop on earth
i neither love em or loathe em
theyre part of the scenery just like us breeders
we coexist mostly in harmony
so with that in mind
the punning side of me
always wants to yell out:
remember visitors
bathe between the fags…
but i guess that would get more than sand kicked in my face
so i just sit n stare at their abs n lats
(cmon bring on yer closet gay diatribes anon)
anyway the plane to melb and back was very gay
and so what?!!
it was a smooth flight both ways so im happy
met at airport by nice geezer gary
not yer stereotypical vegan
but a real aussie locksmith bloke
tells me sad story how his wife had ms then died breast cancer
(he called cancer jimmy the dancer)
she was 42
i felt very teary
feel impotent with rage that this happened to this man
why lord why?
then we discuss ways of tumbling safes and picking locks
get to gig
they told me northcote town hall
well it was
but i was playing outside…
note to everyone who ever wants me to play
NO MORE OUTSIDE GIGS EVER AGAIN!
it was that worst melby weather
burning sun n cold wind
i made sure i could rant as long as i wanted
i asked the organisers
go for it they said
i did my first couple of songs
the guitars gone outta tune outside here
the sound is weird
only halfway through gig does guy find reverb button
n it comes on real suddenly
i get him to demonstrate all his reverbs to crowd
anyway i rant n rave bout vegism
from all angles
the spirit enters me
and i rant n rave loquaciously
im fucking good
i aint no dry proselytizer dishing the facts
n i aint no militant nutcase either
im a fucken renaissance manne
whose speciality is the eng lang
and im holding forth on a subject
i have been pondering for almost 40 years
eventually i dont wanna play very much
its feels stupid to go from impassioned plea for mercy
into
oh and heres a little pop song too
so eventually i seem to be just talking n talking
the main organiser of this whole she bang
an american lady called patty
was standing right in front of me
and shes smiling and giving me encouragement
a blonde lady even older than me
comes up n asks me to announce a meditation session
i ask her old she is
sixty
are you a vegan? i ask
yep
you know the crowd cheered
she really looked good for her age
slim n natural blonde hair
i mean you could see she was sixty if you looked close
but if you knew her when she was 18
you still would have recognised her
she still looked like herself
thats veganism folks
the only real solution to ageing gracefully
anyway i continue my rant
suddenly another tap on shoulder
a short squat woman is telling me
“you got ten minutes left
youre preaching to the converted
play some songs instead”
i just fuckin see red
(rightly or wrongly)
i do a horrible shortened stupid milky way
n i fuck off from their non stage
the organiser hastens after me
and assures me im the best speaker she has EVER seen
after 6 years of these gigs
ok
but that other womans got me in a cold rage
all shot through with self doubt
i mean maybe i was raving….?!
person after person comes in to reassure me
but that short wide bint has ruined my day
ah the fickleness of ego
and the achilles heel it has given me
i chat to a girl pastelling the pavement n get some tips
i meet my youngest fan outside the woofle
who was karla(carla?)
then i had vegan waffles n an iced stimulator
(phwaargh!)
actually it was vanilla cashew milk
thanks to con n kathy (cathy?) n luka (luca?)
nice to see md n donna
n princey n her friend whose name i always forget
even after all these years
fly home and im knackered
karin comes over
twillies have been misbehavin’ theirselves
oh my oh my
go to bed n sleep like a log
today is today
funny bout that

“

every morning is perfect
how could it not be?
maybe not perfect for you…..
but still perfect
i’m sitting here at my ibook g4
eating shredded wheat with rice milk n raw sugar
i wake up early after a wild day
including talking nk into having a swim in sea
cmon im saying youll feel so refreshed
cmon i say i’ll watch scarlet
nk goes in
shes frolicking around in waves
suddenly
oh steven i’ve been stung
sure enough
a bluebottle jellyfish has wrapped round her arm
stinging and burning
shes very brave but in excrutiating pain
we get home after a nasty windy walk
even the air is making it hurt moans my poor baby
only after hours does the pain disappear
nk recommends hot water as most viable remedy
but once yer stung….yer fuckin’ stuck, mon
anyway then i start noticing spider references
a guy from sweden writes to me
in a band called the arachnophobias
then we see and talk about spiders all day
at nielsens park in the changing rooms
finally last night
after a lotta love n intoxication
i sit out in the darkness on my balcony
sitting on my backstep naked
its 2 oo am…its a balmy nite
no one can see me
anyhow im sitting out there
im watching the moon cast delicate rainbow aureoles
on fleece like clouds who were inching their way across
a black night sky
i must admit i was pretty vacant
then…
(theres always a fuckin’ catch!)
then a red station wagon comes slowly up my street
and this dude just stops in the middle of the road
jumps out and is running around with a torch
looking at stuff
he starts walking down my path…
and oh no i cant fuckin’ believe this..
hes walking up my steps
im frantically waving my arms at this idiot
“what you want mate?” i ask
is this number 11 he says
“its seven mate” i say
not 11 ?he asks like an imbecile
(in case the number to my house changed but i aint realised)
“its seven” i say very definitely
i mean you shoulda been able to tell by the tone of my voice
a man uses that tone that means no more discussion, right?
the guy backs off n runs around with his fucking torch
after a few minutes hes back
jesus!
im wasted im tripping im out of it
im sitting on my step in the darkness
trying to get some peace
and im naked…
wheres 11 then? the idiot asks
” down that way , i guess” i say
my tone now is downright aggressive
i dont wanna see this man one more time
i realise dimly hes lookin’ for a noisy party
that fizzled out ages ago
the guy must be so out of it
he doesnt have a clue
he gets in his car and pisses off
i sit contemplating my lost paintings
i sit contemplating art and music and the moon
im reaching some very satisfying conclusions when..
the fucking car comes back
the idiot jumps out and is walking down my path
up the steps to my first floor balcony
this is supposed to be 11 he says
i stand up and grab a towel hanging on the railing
i coulda chosen a number of towels
but i chose this one
i wrapped it round my waist
oh fuck whats that ?im thinking
as a burning gravelly strange pain starts up on my hip
just above my bum
this is supposed to be 11 he says again
i stand up with my towel
and i move into the light
a hot and dishevelled bricklayer i am
disturbed in his own fucking house at north bondi
at 2 15 by this prick
“dude ” i say ” this is SEVEN!!’
my voice is telling him
that our next contact is gonna be me decking him
the australian male in me is aroused and im fucking angry
i guess he finally got the message
cos he got in his car and pissed off for good
gee my hip is sore though
i go in and show it to nk
she says oh darlin’
theres 2 puncture marks like an inch apart…
we then both realise
i been bitten by a bloody spider
who was in the towel
ouch oh
now im sitting here waiting for symptoms
of fever headache deleria
muse: sounds like a normal kilbey day
my paintings are lost for good it seems
i did yoga n i feel better
i see old nepali woman next door in sari
lighting incense to ganesha n buddha
the girls are on the balcony
all over me as im trying to do my poses
i let go
fuck the paintings
fuck the jellyfish
fuck the spider
fuck the idiot
whats next?
bring on the sharks!

steve fuckin’ kilbey man
yeah i remember that guy
i loved all that stuff man
what did he do again man ?
oh yeah i remember now
i met him a few times ya know
during the eighties
he was working at the markets
selling t shirts
he was getting a band together oh yeah
nice guy nice guy
not really
actually he was ok i guess
hard to fuckin’ get to know
if you know what i mean
sometimes he was kinda quiet and angry
othertimes he was ranting and laughing
he had a t shirt of richard hell with sequins on the eyeballs
he had skin tight crimson cords and brown boots
he just moved up from canberra or something
i’d see him queuing up for a stall
he was still young then i guess
we all were ,man
boy there was simon reptile
and the kung fu guy who sold candles
and the norml guy with his legalise dope stall
and white faced punk girls
and hippies and junkies and alkies
rod stewart breezed through the markets one week
with belinda green on ‘is arm…remember her
australias miss world
kilbey followed stewart round the market
at a discreet distance of course
he was trying to figure out how rod got his hair like that
“i mean, i know” kilbey said but he just wanted to
“see it up close…see how it all worked”
kilbey seemed to be disappearing regularly
he’d take off with other guys
walk back up oxford street to some clothing shop
was it gary wolfes?
theyd go out back of shop
and smoke dope in a leafy courtyard
the owner of the shop n his wife would come out
happy to supply the premises
for a smoke of richard westahofs good “caterpillar” pot
anyway then
when i saw him telly a year later
hed lost a lot of weight or something
he was wearing makeup
he seemed paler too
not like the freckly faced bloke at the ‘kets
my girlfriend at the time said “he must be on the gear”
but it wasnt that
he was just sweating a lot
playing every night of the week
sometimes two shows a night
suddenly he was all over the place
best songwriter in australia he said
what a bloody big head!
they were playing bloody great beer barns in the suburbs by then
we saw em one night
you couldnt hear a bloody word kilbey was singing
my girlfriend thought that was a good thing
the guitars were really loud
and uh i dunno
sometimes i couldnt figure out what was making all that sound
i got backstage
but they were all sitting around stoned or something
we didnt like the vibe so we split
i saw kilbey in the carpark having an argument or something
i dunno maybe they were just mucking around
kilbey had this eye make up on
“i bet hes gay now” said my girlfriend
no no he sure aint gay i said
but he sure fuckin’ looked a mess
we sat in the carpark watching him for a while
he seemed really cranky with somebody
eventually a ford ltd rolled up
and kilbey and the drummer got in and pissed off
we went home and i put on the blurred crusade
“i dont like em its depressing “my girlfriend said
and went to bed
i sat there in the darkness listening to his record
how strange to think that i knew him
kind of
sorta
yeah
he was a great guy
no
not really
he was ok
i guess….

kilbey sits in 1982
dangles his fingers in the water in a pool
the ripples move away in silver circles
he watches these little swimming beetles
diver beetles he calls them
seem to be able to survive the chlorine
they flit about like tiny turtles
he admires their speed and grace
how i love swimming pools kilbey thinks
but he notices hes changed
i love swimming pools
and i love backstage when our class does a play
and sometimes i hide under tables and look at ladies feet
some girls and women ive noticed have lovely shaped feet
at 7 years old i am a connoiseur of female feet
a fetish hanging over from my past decadent lives
perhaps
anyway
i seem to be in love with many girls at my school
i see them and im filled with strange feelings
i see the other boys dont seem to feel this way
they play with toy trucks in the dirt
but i follow that girl around
the one two years older than me
the one with the shapely feet
the one i saw at rehearsals playing an angel
in the nativity scene
oh to me she is a real angel
angel oh how i love that word
oh how i want a real angel to love me
to see the real me beneath this boysuit size 7
a lovely angel with wings like a swan
blonde like my angel at school
with nice feet even if theyre a little dusty
and beyond the tin fence which bounds our paddock
there is a wild world of sin crime and alcohol
johnny lennon n sir paul are prob’ly in hamburg
right about now
taking uppers and feeling up some chick called gertrude
johnny kennedy got not much longer
already people muttering in florida
in las vegas
in texas
camelot in smithereens
but here in dapto
im in love with too many young girls
some remind me of animals
sandra steele looks like an eagle
julie webb like a little mouse
some remind me of the daughters i will have 40 years on
by some common consensus
the girls have been ranked top 3 prettiness
wendy fuller # 1
shirley urban # 2
jill hurst, robyn brown equal # 3
the boys rank by fighting
brian jarratt # 1
garry simpson # 2
gary edwards # 3
garry simpson likes wendy fuller
but can a 2 have a 1 ?
i love shirley urban
but i dont rank at all
all the other boys fancy wendy fuller
but i like her handmaiden shirley urban
wendy walks through the playground
with her retinue of female followers
a real elegant dapto lady of 7 years in 1961
we learn some dance
in which eventually every boy n girl must dance together
at last i dance with shirley urban
and hold her warm soft damp hands
love up close is intoxicating
i wonder if she likes me….why would she?
her front teeth are missing…she looks so lovely
hair in plaits blonde like milk vanilla-y looking
the world seems so big
my father says stuff that makes people laugh
sometimes i dont understand why its so funny
he always tells me a little bedtime story
sometimes he works shirley urban into the story
i think its funny that dad knows her name
sometimes i see or hear things
that send me to a funny delicious place
it could be the sound of a mans voice explaining something
or a warm evening in a garden
or some ladys perfume
or a piece of music
two colours together
a story
a girls name
a girls face
anticipation of a holiday
oh anything
it starts to come on
that dreamy feeling
memories dreams feelings
ive only been alive 7 years
but it seems my life has gone on forever
i have impressions of other times places and events
the world is full of significance
everything means something to me
gradually this feeling will fade somewhat
my adulthood filters will narrow the band
on which i receive info about the world
i feel as if i am wrapped in a powerful ongoing mystery
i struggle in all kinds of ways
thrash about in chemicals
starving eating sleeping not sleeping
read him
read her
evolve
surely but slowly
i am no longer who i was

kilbey move deeper into time
the race nearly run
goodness n mercy still ahead
bad olde days behind
one of lifes stillpoints
a haven of calm
then
on the way to the airport in the eighties
pick up ploogy from balmain
flying off somewhere
ploogy lights up in the taxi
hey can i have some of that !? says driver
we drive off with driver somewhere
we sit at an industrial estate near airport
smoking pot with cab driver
we get out and wander through debris
when its time to piss off ploogys gone missing
neither me or driver know the time
and i cant remember what flight we’re on
or even where we’re going
i fumble around in my suitcase
which explodes in paisley shirts and cassettes
dont worry i switched the meter off says the cabbie helpfully
finally we arrive airport
somehow ploogys there…
by the time we hit our seats we’re fried
i pull out my worksheet
its like every town on the east coast of australia
we land somewhere
someone hires us a car
the other 2 drive off somewhere
me n ploogy get a cab
we try to check in to the wrong hotel
eventually i get into my room
ploogy comes bursting through a connecting door
his ghetto blaster is blasting dub reggae
and he stands on my balcony smoking more dope
we regard the city and the sea beyond
it seems these days will go on forever
people scurry around in the streets below
we have escaped that world
we are indolent intoxicated and spoilt
a plate of toasted cheese n tomato gets delivered
and a couple of banana smoothies
theres a knock at the door
ploogys friends arrive to take him out
his friends always piss me off
n these are no different
but they produce some thai buddha sticks
this was a ten dollar commodity
that consisted of some heads of marijuana
kinda tied or stuck to these little stakes of wood
after a while they produce some little square bits of cardboard
on each tiny square is printed a blue dragon
ploogy rips one in two
cmon i’ll go ya halves
as he pops his into his gob
and washes it down with the rest of his smoothie
he and his friends laugh and depart
they leave a trail of cigarettes and empty coke cans
in my room
go in the bathroom
have a piss
check myself in mirror
pale thin
long dark hair needs a wash
black stubble on my chin
i’m standing there
when the whole mirror starts to ripple
and i remember that ive taken some lsd
i stumble out
down the corridor
the other 2 are checking in
hi they say coldly
as i pass them by
out in the courtyard is a swimming pool
i walk over squat down and dangle my fingers in the water
how long do i stay there
watching the sunlight moving in the water
reaching but never quite grasping
some huge elusive truth
its eleven oclock in the morning
who am i?

re uptake
greenwater swirl down
pastel drags across paper
manifested love
love infested man
photo shoot today
kids chatter chatter
bus changes gear in the distance
hash totalled
singersong
drive bridge accelerate
listen to islands of the dead
let me take you to firefestival
smoke and ash
laughter in the air
sweet laughter
hereafter
everafter
in the islands of the dead
thoughts flick on n off
the paintings…still out there
elli n minna in high school
eve n aurora in primary
scarlet kilbey sleeps and dreams
shes in greece at a gathering of the worshippers of apollo
go woofle go
shes a mythchild
her eyes are aegean blue
in her dreams she dances with fauns
she sings utterly forlorn but beautiful words
in some unknown lingo
she drinks red wine and laughs out loud
she marks out the seasons
she colours the flowers
she presses the grape
she conceives a heroic son
who drinks moonblood and
fights outside the walls of troy
scarlet queen in silver chariot
calling to her son from the fray
her ringlets and curls flying in the wind
natalie sleeps and dreams shes 4 years old
on holiday with her grandparents
shes safe and warm in the back of the car
as she hears them nattering away up front
they stop at a motel
and she has a swim in the pool
she makes friends with a dog
she watches tv in their little room
outside its sultry
in the dream
in north bondi
a woman from the paper rings up
and we do and interview
steve…?
yes
whats it like to die?
it will be a sweet release, child
steve…?
yes
will everything be ok?
ah, how could it not….
we are all actors
when this play is done….
but steve i dont want my play to end…
no none us do so we must learn to let go
let go let go let go
think it do it
let go of that lump in your throat
let go of those tears in your eyes
let go of the life you had led
steve….?
yes
im alone and frightened
ah yes childe
the human condition
so alone
alone we go into the unknown
without maps or gimmicks or self defence
trusting it will all work out
the woman hangs up
from my window i see the opera house
as it sinks in the harbour
the towers all opening and closing
the hydrofoils mount the land and hump the earth
the shops retail spirits
all the “straights” in the big end of town
are busy schmoozing backbiting and jostling
i had a hundred bucks once…gee what colour was it
mum and dad have stopped in cooma cos russ got carsick
i told you boys not to eat all those bloody chocolate biscuits
snarls my mother
dads worried about the carpet in the back of the car
watching in the rearview
he winces everytime russell heaves
the miserable kid is clutching his guts and retching
it occurs to me how much braver russell is than me
he never complained of feeling sick
he just sat up and cast up his accounts
me…i woulda complained all the way from jindabyne
till i finally did it
and then i woulda been all fragile the rest of the day
russell finishes vomiting and carries on as if nothing happened
up the front mum n dad argue over the carpet
and who gave out the biscuits in the first place
meanwhile in 1990
a horrible brassy old strumpet writing for an english rag
who fancies marty but hates me
writes a very nasty article that sinks the ss church in blighty
grunge comes along
followed by boy bands
followed by emo
and lollapalooza
and mr white knocked at my door
ohh mr white
you were such a good friend then you hurted me good
and in north bondi they build a duplex in the fifties
and on sultry days a mad woman living there
peers into the future
she sees a brown n freckled medium man
in his late middle age maybe
its hard to say
and hes typing at a little white oblong thing
with a screen
and he listens to strange music
from a white shoebox looking thing
and his room has a picture of a silk screened buddha
gold he shines beneath the bodhi tree
the leaves and mountains gold tinged
his silver halo radiates around his holy head
the end to suffering
wanting is suffering
desire is suffering
or leads to suffering
be content whispers buddha
everythings ok
is everything ok now? dad asks as he drives
yes everythings ok we say
the radio plays apache by the shadows
or is it shadow by the apaches
everything in flux
everything constantly changing
learn to love it
love to learn it
soft rain gently falling outside
soothes the hot surfers
the hot surface
the path is clear
neptune arises
scarlet whirls like a dervish
a machine powers down
the day drones on
and on