The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

hunkered down under the perma-fog
get up early
smoke a joint on the balc
gonna write a blog
what about?
i dunno yet
i cant even get the italics to work
i cant cut or paste
i cant slash and burn
i get led away easily
dont sleep well
the taxman is still patiently waiting
the unanswered letters remain that way
im a stupid bull(y) in an expensive china shoppe
yelling bluffing bucking and snorting
it feels good to admit my shortcomings
how did they pack so much into one man?
i am alternatively hyper-aware or thick as a brick
i am becoming deaf as a post 991
and blind as a (cricket) bat
the outside is harder for me to apprehend these days
i detect patterns of everything going right
and everything going wrong
currents of loathing and loving swirl around me
secrets and gossip and suspicions and implications
i can never make myself understood
only about 10 people in the whole wide world i feel comfortable with
all the others are getting an act
whoops steven youre falling out of character
for him your this way
for her your that way
for this other him your something else
for the other her your something less
see…?!! you can lose track of who you are that way
sometimes after meeting some people
earthy types
straight shooters
men of few words
i see them stride away thinking
i never wanna talk to that fool again
either gushing or sulkily silent
this weekend….
gotta deal with a loada strangers
whats p.c.? what isnt p.c.?
for example i know the dalai eats meat….?!
i just come straight from the vegan do….all fired up
relax…i aint gonna get to meet the druid
what do you say to that guy?
hi …err dalai…oh can i call you dal?
so you liked starfish?
er…hows it goin’ with china…these days..uh huh.oh really?
still …you see what i’m saying
personally i dont care what any of em do
i want to make a big olde fortune
(hey i’d be a wonderful heir….)
i want one of them big old houses in lavender bay
where its leafy and quiet
where i could hide in my library on days like these
winter days full of discontent
padded on all sides and every direction by money
i would doze in my armchair and dream of a world
i would banish noise from my plush secluded room
you might see me
a shadowy lonely figure in the window of some great house
staring out at the foggy harbour
as i stroke my faithful abyssinian cat
you would wonder who that rich distant man is
and you would wonder at my silent austere days
separated in my warm rooms from the rampaging rabble
no damp
no bills
no rent
no gigs
no flights
no can you change this
or please dont do thats
no one could reach me
hidden in my labyrinth of rooms
i do yoga as the rain falls down and down
the leaves are green and rubbery around my tower windows
i look in the mirror and see that im changing
an old man with hollow cheeks i am
dabbling in magic from my grimoires
becoming stranger and stranger day by day
unable to tell the true life apart
i am the unlonely
content in my own company
still the blasted rain falls
i watch from my tower as people scramble below
i know nothing of their worlds
i am up here changing lead into gold
i am up here invoking black angels
i am up here singing up the storm electric
i am up here the austral faust
as the money pours in and my powers grow
i practice qi gong for hours
i find i can hold my breath for 45 minutes
i find i can locate hidden doors
i become aware of ….other things
theres a knock knock knocking at my door
it vaguely penetrates my transmagical trance
i hear the servant send whoever it was away brusquely
i hear the door close
i imagine the footsteps away in the deluge
i imagine or do i hear a car start up and drive away
there is no northern hemisphere
there is no internet
there is no melbourne or perth
there is no surrounding patina of suburbs
the fog on the harbour blurs everything to silver grey
the rainfall drowns all other sound
its continual and continuous
the rain streaks across my windows driven by the winds
northern gales
southerly busters
howling incessant demanding
inside my fire glows
i poke at its glowing coals
i watch the flaming armies for hours
i have no need to eat
occasionally i sip at water
i sleep for centuries
i grow horns
and great leathery wings
finally a lovely tail
which writhes around of its own accord
i climb up to the top of my tower
and i fly
away into the turbulent sky

no adjectives harmed writing this blog
your time being contains only free range nouns
the verbs offered themselves direct from the english language
the vowels are organic
the consonants are prepared with love
this blog is made with only the finest ingredients
memories may contain traces of nostalgia
rants may contain swearing and or bullshit
self portraits may contain rampant egoism
family tales may contain mawkish sentimentality
time being may contain staggering genius or staggering about
time being often bitter often sweet
time being originally produced in england
time being recommends himself
time being becoming older and younger
warning! some sentences may use paradoxes
consult your heart before attempting to decipher
dont use ttb products if sealine tampered with
somebody (the vegetalista) said its all for YOU
time being flies trans astral starways
time being stays at participating planets
time being accepts donations and flattery
time being does not accept things easily
time being not prepared beforehand
see conditions*
if unsure how to use time being
never read time being whilst vehicle is in motion
never ingest time being whilst near an open flame
alcohol and other drugs may increase ttbs effects
consult doctor if you take up the blues
university tests may indicate ttb has more vitamin x than competitors
some dentists may tend to read the ttb and have less tooth deCay
some vets read ttb to their pets and report glossier coats
(not recommended for indian mynah birds with headaches)
ttb may contain traces of hypocrisy
ttb is unfiltered therefore crankiness may not have settled
ttb was fresh when it left ttbs premises
ttb readers have reported dizziness after long periods of use
ttb may contain hesitation and repetition
if so simply discard and dispose of thoughtfully
may contain drug nudity and frontal references
ttb does not recommend hedonism or intoxicated sensualism
ttb is not affiliated in any way with steve kilbey
aka steven john kilbey
ttb not responsible for any losses of virginians
ttb not responsible for uninsured thoughts
ttb uses cash and recommends hundred dollar bills
and fifty dollar petes
ttb swims at bondi eye-sores the home of winter schwimming
ttb does bimbong yoga with much binkle-banksing
ttb appearing near you sooner than you suspected
ttb drinks berry v and would like a sponsa-ship
ttb uses pam n perry products certified a orgasmic
ttb salutes sue c
ttb hails mem
ttb honours gee-none
ttb whispers kraal-man
ttb beatifies jolly hordern
ttb appreciates jenny oxjewelhuntbruin
ttb likes kurtains shankar
ttb regards davis matthewson
ttb admires harri fiores
ttb aknowledges persekrist
ttb bids all a good night
* all ttbs rooms are unconditioned

suddenly 9 billion tvs went black
outraged and telly addicted idiots sucked in their breath angrily
city officials glared at the blankness muttering
security guards n toll booth operators spat curses
nursing mommies gawked …the soapies had been inta-rupted
as the whole world stared in horror at their dead screens
a flickering image replaced the utter tripe they had been mainlining
a mans face solidified upon the screen
a man in a tangled flowery forest
oh a handsome man stared out at the dumb world
no mere youth this man had true authority
around him the medicinal vines n whispering lianas interwove
weird flowers with huge thorns
darknesses under leaves
sick and strange blooms grew in that living jungle
that sentient jumbled vegetal mass of buds n stems n trunks
branches snaked behind him
becoming him
embracing him
the man seemed dark n dull within the bright forest
but his eyes penetrated the warm murk
all around him
around the edge of the tvs perimeter
skulls burn in red n yellow flames
red rimmed eyes watched
following your every move
the jungle hovered protectively around the man
who remained in the liquid shadows
who flickered in n out of your consciousness
the man gazed out silently at his captive audients
as the plantlife rustled around him and vibrated
as the trees shot up the earth
as their sap ran narcotic in a sticky flood
as dreamy drugs oozed from tiny nicks in stamens
as all the wonderful things vishnu included began to move
only some will understand
only some will not joke
only some will receive this revelation in good faith
silence if you can say nothing that will shed light
keep your mouth closed if you cannot match these words
keep your mind still
let your heart beat slowly
close your eyes
you will still see that mans face on your screen
yes you will see with your closed eyes
yes you can listen instead of prattling away
see the mans sad stern face
his eyes full of detached compassion
his vague sympathy
the foliage moves around him in some unfelt zephyr
the plants curl right out of your computer screen
the plants wriggle n writhe
you are struck motionless
you are rendered intrance
you are brought into focus
the background n inane chatter of your mind falls away
the ceaseless knot in your stomach relaxes
your blood pressure goes down n down
the blood pumps round your body smoothly
in great crimson spurts of life
still the man regards you
still the vegetation is not still
it weaves n wanders n bustles n hassles
the venus fly traps open n close
in a lewd flora-sexual come on
pollen shakes everywhere
rude little bees
the tiny hairs of the plants are in motion
small mouths are open
the plantlife is bumping n grinding
the flowers are all making love
but the sadman never loses his gaze
he watches you amidst the gyrating n bucking roots n leaves
the vegetalista
the lonely one
finally he utters a word
his lips form a single syllable
every one heard it in their own language
though the vegetalista spoke in holy and high english
the voice was soft sad and soothing
the voice sang as it spoke
the voice spoke as it sank
the mans eyes narrowed and harrowed
tiny points of light issued forth
presently he spoke the word
the word you wanted to hear
he spoke that word from your commandeered tv set
from your cheap little idiot box
or your widescreen plasmatic feelaround monstrosity
the vegetalista spoke and the plantlife was still
everything in the world was listening
every thing had been leading up to now
all those long seconds from yesterdays were so you could arrive here
the events
the cities in the dust
the long lives in the sun
all of it n everything
so that you could focus on this single syllable
the outside world recedes
there is now nothing but the word
the winged word which flies from his curved lips
the word
the word is
YOU

response skin
eternality lever
deep hankering after what…?
2032 and beyond
they send back help to the past
thats us
alive but buried in the past present
long after our presence has passed
who sends this transmission
last scene alive
where the worms meet afterhours
where the nuptials are mainly chymical
and the rituals last for fields
and the mixture tastes like an hour
and the hours relax before the sky
whereabouts is my little snake you ask
in edenic climes luxuriating with his scales
he sings
” nowhere, not long ago”
you were nowhere not long ago
you were nowhere you were nowhere
not so very
not so very
not so very
fucking
longago
oh no no no
oh no no no
you were further not faraway
you were further not far away
not far enough
not far enough
not so very
fucking
long long
ago!”
an audience is layered on like blancmange
some clap some clappety clap clap clap
like a loada seals thinks that cynical little snake
yeah yeah yeah you know his name
look up his venom
thats the problem with a star he shrugged
the future is signing up people right then
see…? the opportunicity is problemathematical
hey the little snake looks real good in the stage getup
captavational
devotioner
heartthrobber
seenstealer
rocksingingest
blasted hump of garbefaction
yeah do that song about the black door man
about how he met josie bimbong
and they robbed the united future
how he bonded peace and fused in the sun
how they smoked hook and shot gun
how they avoided jupiter
how they found water in a deserted hotel
how their discoveries changed your own mind
how that changed mind was decoded in the pentahouse
a new collusion between war n porn (sexdeath!)
sexdeath now available in following flavonoids :
deluxe cobalt blueprint
vanilla assassination with blood orange n crushed nuts
shambolic choc-blechh and choc-blechh blast
cherrypop bumsrush with violence n jelly
organic E547 enhancer with no answer
sexdeath not sold separately
sexdeath may have aside effects (retorts etc)
sexdeath ultra also available in participating wildernesses
be the first person to be eaten by a sexdeath kraken
little snake recommends sexdeath and sexdeath ultra products
win a holiday in antarctical tropics of paradise , ne
win a trip for two hundred thousand to pristine coral reefs
sexdeath recommends narwhale products
sexdeath flies courtesy of aerodynamic lawyers n suns
little snake uses a kgb microphone and stays at kremlin bros lodges
little snake got hips like steve kilbey
who appears here with no courtesy whatsoever
nor does he curtsey
no common indecency no hows yer father neither
marlarkey muh lud
little snake goes to knife king solariarums
little snake uses beethoven scale restorer
little snake sheds his skin n skins his shed
little snake presented by the united future inc
little snake travels at lightspeed and uses fuckingfast
steve kilbey does not dye his mustache
steve kilbey spells his name with a ?
steve kilbey is related to little snake…how?
see 2032s blog for answer
(answer : his aunt married kilbeys lizard)
little snake thanks time being subscribers
by singing a song in his own language
he will be wearing an octal map designed by his mum reppy
he will be appearing before your eyes
he will sing using his gills and his thorax
he will not be using his antennial forked tongue
he will not be using any pyrotechniques or liquidization
he will dance on tables only after soup is served
steve kilbey does not use guidelines
all rumours with coloured pool and inter conditioning
now with sexdeath applications
little snake returns to the stage near you
tree of knowledge tree of life appear courtesy j. hovah
vishnu appears as krishna
j.hovah appears as g sus
the son of mr and mrs man
nazareth
what small snake
his hour come at last
slouches towards bethleham
to get a felafel?
hmmm
mmmm
alright
you know already!

1 cup of rice milk
one cup of soy milk(or almond or oat milk)
1 banana (hopefully not screaming!)
2 or 3 dates..(like 13/9/54)
1 spoonful of peanut butter
i squirt of flaxseed
blend
consume
burp (optional)

oh next sunday i have a big day
vegan expo at 2 15 down by the harbour
then concert for dalai lhama (rama bang bing dong)
at 7 30
singing utmw with jimmy little (austs 1st indigenous popstar)
and some marvellous pianist

yesterday as i was getting ready to leave
a mynah bird flew in the kitchen
it took me 20 minutes to get rid of it
stupid thing was all frightened
got caught between window n fly screen
eventually i had to give it a smack round the head
with the broom to make it see sense
almost falling off the balcony to do so
man that lil birdie wont be back in here for a while
(ooh what a cruel olde killer???!!!)

nk n woofle n i parked on the tip of north bondi
and watch the angry sea and the driving rain
occaisionally woofle says something brilliant like
its wet!
the woofle has the wildest beethoven hair
she is definitely the weirdest n most difficult of all my kids
she is also a genius at something we aint figured out yet
her proportions are exquisite
the sweep of her little jaw
her well spaced sky blue eyes
her broad honest face
her scarlet lips n white white teeth
her husky little voice
what a character…….ooh she gets me mad sometimes
bossing the whole house around
ameliorated by a single kiss n i love you dad…

working on church with tim n jorden b
mixing starts next week
today still fixing things up
yesterday tim puts up yet another new unsung song
i wrote this:
i watched the sunken sun shrink
and all the rivers just ran outta steam
eternity loomed n my garret room
i think i saw ya in some kinda dream…
but then i ran out of oomph
to finish it all off with…
on long way home
jorden listened to shriek for the 1st time
marty has said its brilliant n “rad”
jorden loved all my accents
(i let a few of my demons out for this)
also
and this is no joke
work has been completed on
down to the cardboard
a very weird collection of instrumental trax
which started life as alt-country n ended up kraut rock
coming soon coming soon!!
(this one is martys baby)
so thats
down to the cardboard
coffee hounds ep
mercator projection
painkiller
kil/ken presents….
new church album featuring 17 min epic w/ cello
isidore ep(?!)
plus
gb3 new record featuring moi (i aint done it yet tho’)
plus get stoned n paint dvd (hey nelg…wheres me footage?)
plus mystery gig in melby early july (not open to the hoi polloi)
plus gigs being planned which are related to mystery gig
clue: guessed singer
plus various contributions to various things all coming to fruition…
on the negative side
i have still not addressed my tax issue n now im being fined
(which aint fine by me!)
and then you see how they squander yer hard earned dough
on bloody stupid things like war
instead of libraries
(but what do i know…im stupid n naive)

my exhibition in ohio in june
the empty place fiendss
tho my paintings are anything but empty
please attend if you can
and buy up all my paintings n prints
and help me sustain my delusions of grandeur
these are the best paintings ive ever done
and i wish they were ‘anging on yer wall
i know holly will make y’all welcome
and is ready to accept all that cash-ola

just in
in the
oh no department!!!
matchbox 20 are doing yep you guessed it
under the wilky may as an encore
please rob please…bleat my song carefully
and send me some fucking $$$$$$, will ya?

today we’re looking after daisy the labradoodle
who belongs to sophie who was matty c’s partner
of course i said “matty” and daisy sits up looking for him
i bet that dang dog misses that man…he took her for lotsa walks
we miss him too…it must be over a month now…

note for davem n mr humphries fans
the new church record contains the following words
cock
balls
tits
bums
am i becoming a vulgar fraction?

moor soon
i’m off to swim in the seapool

sydney enveloped in clouds n storms n rain
the city skyline disappears inside a cloud
the gutters overflow
the roofs leak
the umbrellas fall apart
the prying fingers of the rain sink deep everywhere
and strange bugs show up pushed out of their holes by water
insomniac rust eating eating eating
weeds go crazy in the fogs sprouting hither n thither
cool rich executives sit in the beemers in traffic jams
they text their p.a.s and sip their starbucks
the traffic on the bridge slows to a standstill
and the commuters stare dumb at the roiling harbour
pink flowers fall off trees n turn into maroon sludge
the palms rock in the turbulent air
the fronds whirl in the invisible currents
and still the rain falls down
a bad nights sleep full of ominous dreams
dreams in which i could tentatively fly or float
fly high above strange darkened fields
escaping my ever present tormentors
is it a relief to wake up?
yes
and
no
the dream world or reality
problems abound
nothing really fits
it was never meant to be fair
and it isnt :
luck and chance prevail out there
but the rain falls on everybody
and the damp rises
and the sun is blotted from the sky
the wind picks up
and the old timbers of the house move n groan
pipes murmur and boards creak
windows rattle within their pains
and the citizens lie in bed
not willing to venture forth on such a day
mothers in cold kitchens cut sandwiches in a trance
the rain slides over the glass
and the grass is all green
and the streets are all slippery
careful with the brakes
snails come out tasting the very air
worms washed out of the sandy soil wriggle all exposed
who sends the rain which lashes this world?
in train compartments people ride through tunnels in trust
planes take off with scared n sleeping people
fishermen cling to rocks in the gloom addicted to the sudden bite
in his room the time being sits
hes wearing one blue one grey explorer socks
hes wearing his linjo beany
hes wearing his busted n fixed n busted n fixed
n busted n fixed n busted n fixed reading glasses
hes wearing a longsleeved t shirt given him by the brother
of one of minnas boyfriends
hes wearing bonds undies and a pair of cheap cord shorts
purchased from k-mart
hes wearing 2 gold earrings that havent been off for 20 odd years
hes typing in the deluge
blah blah blah he writes
suddenly tired though its very early
suddenly tired of himself n all his japes
suddenly weary
more work with tee pee
thank you the cellos were a blast
today: voices
over and out

walk along arguing with myself
in the rain in the soft new winter rain
and i swim in that cold pool
which is cold and clear
and i force myself to do it
i ease down into that briny pool
at the edge of the land
swim swim swim
the body a marvelous machine
waves come over the side
the ocean is soft and creamy
it does its usual sandpatterns on the bottom of the pool
like zebra stripes
like camouflage
like a message to me
even underwater my ears ring
especially underwater
i like the idea of winter
i just dont like winter itself
i dont like the way it makes me huddle
oh my hands are cold right now
i heat them up sometimes on the doodles backs
the doodles always have lovely warm backs
the doodles with their constant jabbering n jawing
eve has a lovely singing voice
what a strange girl she is…..
im listening to winter dreams by all india radio
perfect for today
outside a grey white rainy foggy day
i sit in my messy room
what the hell am i?
i get paid to write about myself?
today i feel kinda hollow
but not in a bad way
i dont feel so opinionated…what a relief
who cares anyway?
about what?
about anything
today its softly raining
and i’m typing a blog
its 2008 and the twills are on the edge of seventeen
just like the white winged dove
and i got a little machine that does everything
and somebody in korea will read these words very soon
and somebody else prob’ly never will
i ramble on like a road
threatenin’ to lead you somewhere
you wander along looking at the sights
the bondi flowers all glowing in the rain
hey i’m living in a tourist resort in winter
bondi empties out around this time o year
but the trees dont lose their leaves
and all the flowers keep on blooming
and the surfies keep on riding
and the olde salty dogs like moi keep jumping in the sea
fuck being cold…who cares
i dont mind being cold in the sea
i just hate being cold at home
nor do i wanna be blasted with blasted heaters
i want it just…..so
anyway
today its over to tee pees place for more church
today some cello work on our burgeoning masterpiece
then some “fix-up” singing
last night johnny n i working on esoteric music club
coming soon on karmic hit
gee theres some goode stuffe coming your waye
also sent the hejstudio my latest paintings
which may or may not squeeze into my exhibition
which i am rather excited about albeit i wont be there
my paintings are getting better n better
so is my singing n writing
i’m fighting against the clock now
which i notice ticking faster n louder
as i enter my mid fifties
seriously olde….cmon
can any of you out there say
no no…youre still young
no im olde as olde and its a relief
forgetting style fashion image competition
i am free finally to concentrate on the real stuff :
creating something that you’ll think is nice…
and trying to eke a living for my fambley
and spiritual emancipation
and the search for a perfect banana smoothie
and the day to day confrontation of life
my life
life on earth
what does it all fucking mean?
somedays i say nothing
somedays i say everything
somedays atheist
somedays a theist
i intrigue myself like a random pattern on a wall
steve kilbey schmilbey
what did that achieve?
whats going on in there up there out there
i am the metaphysical singing detective
im looking n looking n looking
i think i find something
i can never put into words
theres bits of it all over the place
everywhere really
yeah
thats all for today

tomb of the unknown rocker
rocknrolls where we all intersect really
cmon give us rocknroll mem’ries
cmon give us the wild stuff the dark stuff
its blurring in my mind
an endless stream of motel rooms and tubs full of ice n beer
shaking some bastards hand that i hated
sitting in some office somewhere on the phone
in a tiny dark room in new york at 6 a.m.
its winter its dark its cold i am a longwayfromhome
i struggle to make a suitcase close
always sox and shirts hanging out the side
im miserable and i feel nauseous
all around me the hotel comes alive
i imagine my compadres getting up in their rooms
a shower comes on next door
a door slams somewhere
the phone rings …a soft american accent
its big mike our tour manager
big mike who is a lithuanian giant
like a giant out of the bible or something
i sikked ‘im on peter murphy for his arrogance
and murphy screamed
keep that man away from me
then in new orleans
the mighty lemom drops ate peter koppes chocolate
a melee ensued
2 tough rock bands pushing each other about…
until big mike waded in
and the lemon drops melted away
anyway big mike is not only big
but hes a real smart arse as well
“good morning mr kilbey…how are we feeling today?”
mr kilbey pours out a string of invective that his olde mum
wouldnt like to read here
but mr big mike could see how enthusiastic i was
see you downstairs at breakfast mr kilbey he sneers
yeah bugger off you latvian monster i hiss
“lithuanian” comes the reply….as per usual
look in the mirror
my hair looks a fright
bags under my eyes
teeth yellow
nose red
eyes grey
tongue coated
pulse weak
etc etc
i burn from lack of sleep
my whole body trembles and i feel like im burning in cold fire
i see my bag of toiletries is not packed
so i open up the suitcase
which explodes in undies n books n cassette tapes
after another prolonged struggle the suitcase is subdued
i also have a carrying bag with my passport
and whatever book im reading
and a load of cassettes
cassettes like
everyone knows this is nowhere by neil young
best of bread by bread (i love bread!)
this mortal coil
echo n the bunnies
new gold dream by simple mounds
etc
i drag all my possessions together
and exit the overpriced hole
the roadcrew stand around miserably outside
smoking cigarettes on the footpath
trevor johnno johnston waves at me sadly through the glass
i shake my head at him
he gives me a dopey smile which cheers me up ever so slightly
we have 2 aussie roadies johnno and a character called john goodenough
goodenough is a rugged aussie specimen often with a bare chest
and very rarely without a lady companion
once in madrid he asked a record co guy if he could ride his harley
the guy says yes
and goodenough takes off overnight on it
much to the record co guys horror
he never came back that day
a five minute ride round the block
turned into a tour de force
goodenough arriving back just in time the next day
(with senorita in tow, of course)
(did i tell you that story before?)
anyway we stand in reception
and eventually the other jokers come down
we grunt at each other
we’re all pretty sick of each other by this stage
(its twenty years ago today…)
mwp aint come down yet
he’s hard to wake up sometimes
so biggus mikus goes up to search for him
(it was like waking the dead)
i go into the excuse for a cafe
where theres cawfee n baygles but nothin’ for me
nevermind i feel sick anyway
a tour bus pulls up
and some guys jump on
big mike is angry now
peters wandered off looking for food
and ploogy tried to not pay his incidentals
eventually mart appears dressed in his black coat
he doesnt say anything or even look at anybody
he goes straight to his bunk and disappears behind the curtains
tom verlaine gets on the bus with his eternal cig and cawfee
errr you aint lookin’ so good there errr kilbey he deadpans
tom dont look so good either
no one does in the ghastly light of that pale winter dawning
hey killer …ploogy beckons me up the back
the inner sanctum…sancti sanctorum biggus called it
we go in the back room and ploog chucks on his dub cassette
hes giggling like a fiend
he produces some weed hes been given
and we sink into some half dream
the bus starts up and the heaters finally come on
the dub drones on in the back compartment
others come in
but me n ploog are sprawled all over both seats n they leave
half propped i watch the sights of manhattan go past
the tramps n hookers n biznessmen n women
the chauffeurs in the limos
the doormen the bag ladies
i watch from my cocoon of dub and bus
its real warm in the back here
ploogy sleeps n snores n wakes up n rolls another spliff
by that time we’re rolling thru bleak industrial badlands somewhere
black rivers full of filth and chimneys vomiting muck into the sky
but its all like a film rolling by
in here where i listen to the best of bread
which has driven ploogy to his bunk
i am king of sancti sanctorum now
i gaze out across the bridges n cars n lights
the people hurrying to work
screaming at each other silently behind their windscreens
traffic lights flare on the rainstreaked windows
i watch, a stoned detached foreign watcher
unseen from behind his tinted glass
mothers drag kids across zebra crossings in the morning drizzle
guys load up their trucks n vans
none of it in the least vaguely connected to me
i have achieved detachment from this rat race
now im a hampster running on my own little treadmill
we drive n drive all day
we stop for lunch but mwp sleeps on
we drive into the rain n sleet
north to boston or somewhere
the amps n guitars
the strings n frets
the straps n buckles
the snare n the cymbals
the lights n the effects
the speakers n the desks
roadies in their bus watching spinal tap or porno
smoking cigs n dope n eating burgers n bitching bout us
big mike comes in the sancti
mr kilbey he slyly smiles
how are we feeling now mr kilbey..a little better we trust?
come in here you giant i say
or close the fucking door!
biggus sits down n flops out his paperwork
hes got receipts and bundles of cash
hes got maps n directions n agendas n stuff
he runs through my list of activities that day
like a kings advisor giving his monarch the rundown
at 4.30 youre going on wpox to talk to randy sangwich
me :bullshit!
at 5.15 youre talking to the baltimore balls from a payphone
me :oh no!
at 6 we do a 2 hour soundcheck
me : what…!?
at 7.30 we meet retailers
me : no fuckin’ way!
at 8.30 we meet the lovely folks from arista
me : what the f…?
at 9.30 your onstage
me :great…!?
and after the show you meet the competition winners
me : what about my fuckin dinner?
mr kilbey its taken care of…
we’re ordering in pizzas half hour before show
me : oh no
oh yes mr kilbey…now have a nice day
he exits
i look out at the grey wilderness of the freeway
wheres the fucking glamour, fiendss?

kilbey?
what…?
go on
what?
what happened after that?
which bit?
any of it…dip in again
ok…um…nothing coming to me
try man try…
dapto
dapto?
yeah my dad bought his first ever house in dapto
the fibro one….
5 billabong avenue..
how very australian….
my mum n dad made fun of australians accents
mum sent me to the shop to ask for sort
for sort ?they said
yeah i said you know sort n pepper
you mean salt they said
but we say sort n pepper i say
whose we?
us! i dunno…..my family
les n joyce n steve 5 billabong ave, dapto nsw
practically in the bush
kids went to school in bare feet
there were frogs n turtles n goannas n skinks
n kookaburras n snakes n ticks n ants n beetles
we play cricket n some kid’d knock it out into the bush
we jumped from the roofs of half finished houses into sandpits
we climbed up trees n got attacked by magpies
we roamed through the trees hunting little creatures
we went to school where we sang lavender blue dilly dilly
we did our work in lead pencil n later little wells of ink
we got hit behind the knee with the nasty bit of a feather duster
my teachers were miss rowan, mrs allen, miss dewgood n mrs mcguiness
we had 2 sets of twins the abbotts identical
n the holloways non identical
i felt lonely n naked without any brothers or sisters
everyone said bloody steven cos he’s an only child
didnt they know i was gonna write some stupid pop song 20 years on?
everyone seemed to wanna take you down a peg or 2
being precocious was not where it was at in dapto in 1960
i can see that now but sometimes i felt like a freak
but not an unhappy childhood?
oh no no no oh bless me no my unhappiness was merely melancholy
i was always interested in sad films sad songs sad people
didnt like happy endings…cept for myself, of course
i liked to play alone
i liked to play with my soldiers
how did you play? how did you while away those hours?
you know…i cant really remember
i was a soldier performing heroic tasks
being shot over n over again
i made up some brothers glen kilbey n kevin kilbey
they were heroes as well in your battles
yeah we were a fighting heroic family
as the battle swung between my bed and the wardrobe
sometimes i’d play the game with decks of cards instead
i guess i was kinda writing a story
starring steven kilbey as tragic courageous ‘andsome lieutenant kilbey
or as the jack o’ clubs….
ah….the imaginary bloodshed in that room…
relaxed days
halcyon days
watermelon days
guns n holster days
binocular days
dog n cat days
riverbank days
roaming days
being cruel to bugs days
school holidays that went forever
sitting in the back of the car
hardly any bridges in them days…lotsa ferries
dad was always wondering at the raw wild country
the inchoate roads
the barbaric conditions
a long way from welwyn gdn city, herts
but he found the freedom…yes he did
he was exhilarated by the open road by the possibilities
in those days…
no internet
no mobile phones
no colour telly …only 2 channels
no cassette tapes
no ensuites or lifestyles
no walkmen or discmen or ipods neither
there were electric guitars
but no one was playing em prop’ly till the beatles
i remember i had a friend called andrew bristow
he was a real boy genius
this cat could read n write n converse with grownups
when he was only bloody 4
he came round one day and told my mum jfk had been shot
i d never ever even’ve known who he was when i was nine
he also had a magazine
this 8 year old kid had a magazine featuring these young blokes
the whole magazine was about them…
i’d seen em on telly
my dad said they were daft ..that they wouldnt last
he changed ‘is mind for a while later tho’
said they were as good as bloody batehoven or mose-art
until they went all weird n the japanese bint arrived
he used to call her yokohama…
hey im jumping way ahead of yourself now
back then you didnt really differentiate em
they were just all this hair
hair?
yeah this hair waving around
and when the drummer waved ‘is hair around
the kids in the audience went bloody nuts
silly bits of girls my auntie lou said
and a local show sent them up by having a group called the butterflies
oh the butterflies….oh ha ha oh how funny….
but andrew bristows gotta whole magazine full of em
whose your favourite? said bristow sitting in our back yard
what? i said…i looked through at em
they all looked the same
i couldnt believe andrew had paid one shilling n one penny for this
but he was totally fascinated
he got me to test him on pauls favourite colours
what kind of girls did george like
what did ringo think of life as a beatle
john was married
bristow was really disappointed that i wasnt interested
a bout six months later i got that same magazine
my uncle harry had lashed out n bought please please me
and i was hooked
was their hair really long?
no it was very neat n washed n shiny
why all the fuss?
cos they had fringes (bangs to yanks)
thats it?
thats it..before that blokes had combed their hair back
but the beatles combed it forwards n it touched their ears
its hard to estimate their impact on this world…
unless you were there noting the changes
my dad eventually even grew sideburns n combed it forward
what a groover….?!
oh no he never really got the sixties
i think he liked the seventies better…
the sixties really were a mini renaissance then?
gee it seems like it…not in 1963 in dapto tho’
it seemed a long way off
it was all lawn mowers n timber n blokes with greasy overalls
it was rothmans for me dad
n viscounts for uncle dennis
it was aunty lous chutney n spotted dick (a dessert)
it was tadpoles n mud n sticks n stones
ah
salad days
the inviolate past