The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

and then dad called out
son go and find your sister
i ran calling kathy kathy through the roaring trees
dad was right behind me all the way
he picked me up and we some times flew above the grass
how do you do that dad ? i cried out but he just laughed
where do you think she is ?
he yelled into my ear as the noise of our speed was nearly deafening
kathy kathy i was calling out as we glided in the forests heart
kathy! at the mouth of a gloomy cave
kathy isnt in there son… said dad rising above the hills
look! he said
on a little green knoll studded with quince trees
there she was , fast asleep in some creatures bower
all snuggled up in dreamy feathers and soft aromatic grass
wake up young kathy ! boomed dads voice
and she sat up all smiling and confused
dad lifted her out of the bower
and he brushed away the gossamer webs and spearmint leaves
we’ve got to get going, my girl… said dad
then he popped both of us in a pocket
and he held up his finger
and he whispered something to the wind
whats dad doing now? said kathy
oh shush , you wouldnt understand…. i said
dad was whispering to the wind
and the trees all started to shake and move in a gale
but we stood right in the middle of it all
we were hardly even moving
as things started to shoot by us
trees at first
then houses
and shops
and railway stations
and then we were suddenly home
kathy was sitting up in her bed reading a story
dad was peeling some spuds
and i was under the table playing with my cards
dad was singing as he peeled
and kathy put down her story and joined in
her shrill little voice sounded funny singing along with dads
and i laughed as i was hidden from view
dad hes laughing at my singing… she said
and then dads big face appeared under the table
youre not laughing at her singing are you? he asked
suddenly there was a knock at our door
me and kathy raced to answer it
but dad said
stand back now children…let me see who it is
dad opened our yellow door
there stood a strange man, i must say
all dressed like it was the olden days or something
dad seemed really happy though
dad said
children this is your uncle peter, my brother
uncle peter came in to our house
he smelt dusty and smoky as he wandered in
kathy and i liked him at once
he said hallo children in a musical voice and he bowed everso slightly
we were on his lap in a trice and we chatted for all we were worth:
ohh uncle peter…kathys got a white rabbit called snowboy
hes a hare, isnt he, dad …?
the widow greene has a wishing well….and we…
dad says i can get a drum for my birthday
no dad dont let him have a drum…
can you play a drum uncle peter?
eventually uncle peter set us down
and he and dad talked earnestly
while kathy and i sat still as mice under the table
dad and uncle peter were drinking some black beer
uncle peter smoked a pipe too
and he waved it around illustrating his words
what kathy and i heard frightened us cold
uncle peter was saying
we cant hold them out much longer, theyre too strong
we need some more stout men down our way, john
we heard dad say
i cant come ,peter…who would look after the children..?
at this kathy gave a little cry of alarm
and dad reached under and pulled us both out
dad, we’re scared now ….i said
dad just laughed and sent us to bed
we kissed uncle peter goodnight too
he looked like dad but with sadder eyes
and his beard was not so white
goodnight children he said softly
kathy was whispering under the covers
you know what theyre talking about, dont you
the goblins? i said
yes she whispered
that night i had strange dreams
i saw dad trapped in a hollow tree
and i saw uncle peter with a black arrow in his side
and i saw a strange looking man going into the earth
and i felt something sting me and i felt something try to swallow me
something had happened to our town and i roamed its empty streets
thorny trees grew everywhere and crows sat on the clotheslines
the clouds were black and the sun was lost
winter strode in surrounded by flurries of the whitest snow
the roses all faded
and kathys rabbit ran away forever
i sat at the table waiting and waiting
our little house was so silent
kathy had written a little note for me
stay there…
dont be scared ive gone to find dad …it said
i looked out miserably at the snowy fields
a churchbell tolled distantly
kathy had made me a cup of broth now long gone cold
kathy had left me her good luck charm…one of her babyteeth
she had gone after dad
the snow had me surrounded
the broth was cold
the note was in indian ink

tap tap tap
a man sits at a desk
writing away
combinations of letters
that form words
that become thoughts in your mind
why do you wanna read this mans words?
because once….
what…?
oh never mind…
no, go on now, proceed…
well once he wrote something…it made me feel unalone
it made me feel like someone else…understood..um, something
it made me feel like someone else could…..ah i dunno
…and it somehow made me feel….oh a connection..
really? with his words
yes somehow it made me feel special
like i was wrapped up in this big scheme
or part of a family
or like i was in on this huge secret and….
….and the words were a code for the real thing
yes like i knew him
like i knew him so well
you could almost see him there
typing away in his small room
an ordinary room in an ordinary place
he had cold feet and was hungry
it was early on a sunday
it was a wintery morning
the moon was still an echo in the sky
the city slept
sated in booze and violence and sin
the palm trees nodded but today they were silent
only a few cars still haunted the foggy overpasses
a dog barked and was quiet again
his eyes squint through his glasses
as he chooses his words so carefully
when he gets truly rolling
the words flow to his mind in an unending stream
he doesnt think then he just transcribes
tap tap tap
the letters joined up as words
the words coagulate into sentences
the sentences coalesce in your mind as thoughts
the thoughts fall together to become ideas
and the ideas form desires and pleasures
he writes about himself mainly…
strange that you of all people, shouldn’t mind
what do you care for some else inner life…?
maybe small sleepy children are sitting reading
in that small room where he types out his words
children with straight blonde hair and brown eyes
children with wavy brown hair and blue eyes
children with curly chestnut hair and hazel eyes
the children yawn and turn their pages
in the deep still of winter every thought turns to silence
the animals are motionless in their burrows and hollows
the fish hang in the water hardly moving
the only movement is the mans fingers
which type type type away
the sky is whitish grey like its been sucked of colour
some optimistic streaks of blue smudged in the distance
some birds have begun to wake up
tentatively they call to one another
what are they calling?
here i am all you sparrows…
or
here here we have found some worms!!
or
my starling bride has a lovely beak!
or just tweet tweet tweety tweet
we only understand our own modern english
what hope to know the birds…?
the man writes: it seems all things must come to us
but what does that mean…
that nature must approach man on mans terms?
that the birds must speak english if we are to understand them?
why understand them then…the man is writing..
to understand things brings everything undone
you just let it wash over…thats right….
you just let it all wash over you
all the words and all the birds words too
and the worms too
what would they sing if they could?
a song of earth
a song of fear…fear of birds
a song of blindness and darkness
a song without a sun
the man writes about the birds and the worms
he writes about small stones and little chips of green glass
he writes about some old souvenir from another time
he writes about the warm feelings in the reeds
he writes about the clouds no one wants to see
he writes about the outside
he writes about things we are starting to forget
the man…..he just keeps on and on now
no pause no nothing
the words come from the ether
where once there was nothing
he has built a sturdy idea
with subtle flourishes
put in
as it seems
especially for you
you alone
and no other you
nothing is ever definite really
sometimes the stupid things he writes makes you angry
and only later do you see….
see some humanity behind that or something
sometimes youre bored
and you only linger on the words for courtesy’s sake
but now and then
or eventually
or
sooner rather than later
and who wouldnt rather sooner than later obviously
words flock around events soaking up ambience
you seem to be a sensitive soul
a plane flies over head
a few miles up people reading the sunday paper
fastening and unfastening their seat belts
some of them asleep already
some nervous and anxious like you can be
with some mighty effort the sky is turning blue
the plane must have opened up the clouds
and the blue is seeping through
houses appear on hillsides all blond brick and stucco bestucken
morning is an illusion like everything else
its all in flux its all in flow
anticipate that flow…oh thats it
move with that motion
as you row merrily down the stream
time going everywhichway
there is a flow however
but its so hard to see
panthers and picasso can see it
jeff buckley can see it
johnny lennon and pauly can see it
new people come along and see it
seeing is believing
listen the birds have stopped singing
the day, as such, can begin
the man stops typing
he wonders how he can get warm
he forgets what he’s just written
and life rolls on
you conclude those last few minutes
and youre off
into the future

the child is dressing
her hands suddenly bloom from her sleeves like flowers
scarlet kilbey quite a scourge and a ratbag
no youre a ratbag she says
running around carrying on
no repentance for my painting
just a sly grin
your painting she smiles
in the painting
a blond bearded neuman holds a pistol
hes wearing glasses and a flower power shirt
behind him vegetation scrambles a la the vegetalista
thorns brambles leaves flowers fighting for light
outside a window sydney dreams harbour bridge and all
something has spooked him
hes alert and listening
his cheek and his chest are white instead of flesh
where scarlet the pimple-nell
attacked poor rudy with the turkey-oise
a bit of his ear is white too
cos it needed lengthening
neumans hair is metallic gold and copper with red n yellow hi-lites
his eyes are cobalt blue pastel tho that may change
he holds a gun in his hand
cos he’s a spy
no one knows whose side he’s on after all those doublecrosses
a consortium of japanese investors has invited him to australia
but something went wrong in the eastern suburbs of sydney
and now he’s holed up in some rich bints apartment
neuman spends his days on the computer
for the time being at any rate
he googles leviathan and kraken
the thing in the sea will wake up soon he thinks
an invisible woman was a following me
trying to seduce my immediacy
tho he must be in his fifties
neuman still looks early thirties, max
if that
his skin is smooth and pinkly tanned
his demeanour is that of a youngman
who knows why that is
something about him familiar
uh i dunno
hes got his finger on the trigger tho
hes squeezing it a little
he’s ready for those little gremlins
he’s loaded the gun with hyperdarts
it cannot miss
outside the window its about 1 26 p.m.
the cbd stands there preposterous and bold
the water in the harbour is ice blue mixed with white
just outside next door sprawls leafy australianic suburbs
gum trees
lovely views
the harbour to the west
the ocean to the east
still neuman listens
listens forever
forever young in gouache and pastel
all 3 and a half feet by 2 and a half feet of him
sticky taped onto my wall
bubbling up all over as i put paint on
if he looks very german
its because he is very german
his mother mechthilde was from the west
his father trauma neuman was from the east
now he lives in brazil
because thats his kinda town
a cat and a maid and everything
the border is unfinished
a rhomboid space also stands empty
coming in at a weird angle
it will contain at least one orchid
maybe more
the window and the angled orchid will also interrupt the border
which will be eyes
cos neuman himself says
the night has a thousand eyes
and vishnu has a thousand names
at least a thousand ways to die
at least a thousand ways to love
eyes watch you
my paintings watch you back
look out
i see through all the eyes in my paintings
like little recon. devices all over the world
my eyes look out at your world
my seeing paintings see you so beware
skarpa dej !
neumans gun is solid adamantine
his hyperdarts are uranially tipped
soft explosions which will thump the night
gentle penetration gentle interpenetration
which universe are you from, neuman?
hes focussed on something we can never see
something outside the painting
you cant have it all
and you cant paint it all neither
somethings forever remain unknown
how could you know everything?
and how could you remember it if you did?
neuman is a bit of a genius himself
look i dont condone or condemn the man
hes blown away a few fictional villains , so what?
now here he is visiting sydney-on-the-waters
the leafy eastern subs
be careful, neuman
another attack by scarlet in blue
maybe
the end of you

yeah thats me
alone in this house full of childrens voices
i pass the winter at my window
i watch the world go by
no one sees me
no one hears me
i light my fire and watch the flames
many years ago……ah! whats the use…
i walk down by the shore of the deserted sea at dawn
i am utterly alone
as alone as birth and death
as alone as the earth itself spinning through nights and days
a planet would you believe…..?!
a baby planet crawling with its living things
i remember how god planted a garden eastward in eden
west of the land of nod
i remember that garden had roses and shiny black panthers
and it had buttercups and herons and cranes
it had warm lovely cuddly lions and snow white lambs
it had fruit in the trees
the morning sun poured down
angels surrounded me then
half invisible
they spoke inside my mind in music and words
they gave me their gift of song just to converse
they sang
oh dont walk there you man
where thorns are sharp
and snakes are quick
(another took up the song)
follow us along these verdant lanes
for the garden is large
you could become lost!
(and then another began)
oh sweet blackberries
oh sweet oranges
sleep in the shade
you man who needs to rest
(and then all of them)
man with your soul
soul with your man
oh your father really loves you
so follow us
to arbours cool
to blissful bowers
to sacred groves…
i’m struggling to remember the rest
when i remember that i’m wandering along
on this cold july morning by this greying sea
is that really me
that old straggler almost alone
i say almost
because there is a one legged gull
hopefully hopping along alongside me
wondering when i will put out something she can eat
is this then my dawn companion in the autumn of my life?
the sea is supernally still
a fog emerges silvering everything
the gull and i stay close together
she’s a beautiful bird
oh i grow quite fond of her inside this fog
by the stillest sea
the quiescent sea
we stand there gull and i
me on my 2 legs
gull on her one
once i was your wife she said
you were the king of the gulls
and i, seastarling, your wife
i turn around to look at the gull
but she has gone
i hear her voice somewhere in the air
now i have no leg
and you have no wings…..
at the sound of her tiny voice
the ocean began to gently move again
as if freeing itself from a trance
tell me about eden says the sea
and it extends a foamy hand for me to shake
eden ….eden…oh ha ha i say
no seriously…says the sea
ok i say
eden …hmmmm…let me see i said
the 4 rivers
pison
gihon
hiddekel
why i knew those rivers! says the sea
euphrates…i continue
but tell me of that garden says the sea
adding sadly…i never see any gardens, you know
oh the garden the garden i say
but my memories have withered within their storage
the outside has somehow wormed its way within
my memories of eden have faded or dwindled down to nothing
go on says the impatient sea becoming bigger
white caps appeared and rollers rolled onto the beach
what about those trees ?it said, becoming angry…
the trees were …um…large…and..uh…
what? snorted the sea now an ocean again
what? said the grunting and rollicking ocean
as it clashed all its tiny shells together
the trees were…the trees were…
i begin to stutter but i’m drowned out by the sea
which is better than being drowned in by the sea
go home the pacific hisses as it chased me up the beach
i walk along the empty streets
as it was before the houses were even built
a tangle of undergrowth
the murmur of birdsong
the soft sun bashfully peeps over the horizon
the soft sound of zebra hooves
the smell of roses and frangipani
the smell of lilac and honeysuckle
the orange blossoms
the peacocks and the fawns
the stallions on the lawns
eden eden eden
thats more like it says the sea
thats more like my kind of eden he says
your kind of eden? i say
only i dont actually say it
i write it
i write it down
here

bear with me
a little longer
i may bite
i may growl
i may sulk off in the darkness of my cage
life hurts…ouch!
life breeds strange currents
life causes death
life on earth
life like love
move on move on
so easy to take umbrage
my thin skin which admits ideas
it also admits insults and sleights
it also admits the numerous implications of your looks and words
it also detects your futile need to compete
i am awake and perpetually on it
i walk through crowds of fools
i swim through rivers of lives
i casually master any skill
god appears before me as devil
devil appears behind me as god
friends betray us…then forgive them
enemies fling their barbs…oh never in person…
the world turns its back and moves on
as it were ever so
i sit down to count my blessings
when i am rudely interrupted
by news of more personal failures
my ships have gone down at sea
and thus my cargo is lost…i am fucking ruined
and ruinously
alas and alack….have someone executed or something
life is cruel
you can get over a scratch like that though, cant you
oh look…i used a comma
i promised you no commas and then bang….a comma
look,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,
that’ll make up for all the times i forgot
see i can make up the rules in my life
life life life
what what what is life, boy?
answer me, boy
answer me kilbey
kilbey: life is hard sir
sir : wheres the comma, boy
kilbey : sorry, sir…life is hard, sir
sir : and why is life so hard, boy?
kilbey : (mumbles) i dunno, sir
sir : what, boy ..?.you dont know….?
kilbey : because
sir : go on …..!
kilbey (becoming bolder) ; because….
sir : yes….?
kilbey : BECAUSE I WANT IT ALL, SIR!
i want warm days in winter, sir
i want the summer sun not to burn
i want to eat n eat n never grow fat
i want to hurt n hurt n never get hurt
i want to laugh n laugh but never cry
i want the stuff that killed everybody else but i dont wanna die
i want some more safe danger
i want to intrude on other people with my 8 year old self
i want to be loved n loved even tho i hate n hate
i want the moon but leave it in the sky as well
i want my coke and snort it
i want nights without sleep
and days without consciousness
i want to live forever but never age
i want to understand how i could be so misunderstood
i am no ordinary man
yet i am no extraordinary man neither
i applied for a job as a renaissance man recently
i saw an ad for one in the paper
i arranged an interview
i turned up with my paintings n records n books n blogges
i turn up with my fender bass and my big box of sennelier pastels
i turn up with my riffs and my racket
i turn up with my allusions n my fucking on a mat appear
i turn up with my white beard like a king from days of olde
i turn up with my mellifluous voice like a distant french horn
my magicians tapered fingers and soft grey eyes
with my flower power schtick and my jingo jive
with my groovy doo-dahs and my funky soy chicken
sit down and wait says the receptionist
but …but..but…stutters my mellifluous voice
sit down and wait she says
ok ok
i sitting there
i singing some painkiller
sir please be quiet says the receptionist
i singing then that olde song
the one i wrote about the hash star in amsters damn via lactea galactica
you know the one in the film about rudy neuman in miami vice, captain
everyone must know my little standard
everyone will know my little aussie classic
my mellifluous voice starts up
sometimes when this plaice gets kinda …uh…
he’ll see you now sir says the receptionist showing me in
you should be called a deceptionist i say
yes sir goodbye sir she says
i am in a large office
with fabulous views of the beach and the distant snowcovered alps
plush plush plush
the furniture has a soft sound
everything is muted or subdued
a big important (much younger) man sits there
he is dressed in an impeccable suit
it falls off his magnificent physique
like water off a ducks back
his hair is thick and lustrous
his face is perfectly lineless
his hands…tanned and manicured
his shirt …its…beautiful
well…?…he says
can you dance?
a little…i say
lets see he says
but …what about music…i say
what do you want ? he says
do you have once upon the seas of abyssinia by tyrannosaurus rex? i ask
instantly the strains of the song begin piped in somewhere
i dance around to the song
after about 20 seconds the music abrubtly ends
sit down please he says
can you sculpt…no?
i shake my head
opera?
no
read music…no…really..?!.hmmm…
can you tell jokes?
yes i say
go on then
there was a opium addict and a nun and jesus
all on this desert island and the addict says to jesus..
thatll do says the man
can you paint ? says the man
yes i say beginning to unroll my scrolls
in oils on canvas ? he asks
i shake my head sadly
i put my scrolls away
what about poetry ? he says skimming through my books
got any poetry? he asks
well uh…those you got there….were…um
oh? he says embarrassed….quite..
well can you sing? he says
i whip out my piano and i do that song
you know that famous one
that one that sold quite a few last century somewhere else
before i even get to the chorus he interrupts me
got anything sexy? he says and winks condescendingly
i do that other one the one with the good bits
yeah ok he says after a few bars
we sit in silence for a while
i write blogs too..i volunteer
yes yes he says
we sit in silence some more
i can see some rich guys down there on the beach
i can see some rich guys skiing on the alps
some other rich guy knocks on the office door
i see my interviewer motion to him : one more minute
look he says
i can offer you the job if youre willing to compromise a little
what should i do i ask hopefully
look he says
go out there
do some opera
do some big exhibitions
get some good reviews
get in some big productions
you know you could get a part of a male witch in wicked
try to take in some acting lessons
get a m.a. in lit
or get a phd in zoology or something
do some tv
do some theatre
write some more hits
and come back n see me when youre ready, ok?
ok i mumbled
goodbye the receptionist smiled
goodbye i said…see you soon i added
yeah…she softly laughed

its fucken weird being me
i mean
presumably youre interested in me
or why read this bloody blogge at all
alright
i dont really know what its like to be anybody else
i admit it
not in this lifetime at any rate
course ive been other people in other lifetimes
i expect….
but
i ‘m so bloody olde
yet i feel so young inside
bursting with ideas
that no ones really probably interested in
howcome i dont care about all that stuff
othermen need so bad?
fancy food….i could eat peanut butter on toast everynite
wine….who cares …its all the same after the first drop
sport …watching the game with the lads.. loathsome
fake bosoms…….scares the hell outta me
fake suntans…….’orrible
anorexic bints on paris catwalk…….meaningless tedium
watching telly….ive got better things to do
goss rags….c’mon…!
yet another people live for these things
the popey is having some do on here at bondi today
buses pull up disgorging backpack wearing flag waving “youth”s
we could hear the soundcheck at the pool this morning
quote from old digger “theyve got a fucken rapping cardinal….”
can you imagine being a “youth”
with the wherewithal to fly round the world
and you choose to show up in sydney
in the middle of fucken winter
to hear some silly olde german git
speaking italian
about some olde jewish malarkey
that may or may not have ever happened
and so badly mangled and mistranslated
and misinterpreted
and misunderstood
and the main character
mr jesus h christ
would certainly hate the popey and his helicopter
and his huge p.a. belting out disco-ish slop
and his costume and his hat…especially the hat
and all the murder n mayhem the popeys organization represents
yet the bloody “youth”s are flocking to this festival of inanity
the press gush and go on n on non
am i going mad or what?
is everyone asleep out there…?
we can invent supersonic aeroplanes that do 2000 miles an hour
but we accept mediocrity and bullshit like we’re all in some
incredible trance
if there is a god does he need the pope?
its like me speaking on behalf of the fucking moon….
steven the first, the mope
“the moon wants this, the moon wants that…”
the popey is blatant absurdity..yet no one says much
they just let it go on non
just like the stupid kings n queens still hanging around
people…it was the kings n queens
n popes that have always sucked us dry
wise up ferchristssake
i was at the hall o fame the other night
this guy came on
and sang this olde rolf harris song
2 little boys had 2 little toys
a cloying mawkish little nursery rhyme number at its best
but in this guys hands
i wanted to tear my ears off rather than hear another note
oh!
such was the coy cutesy schlurppy nausea of his version
changing chords to sevenths or whatever on his electric piano
he reinterpreted this stinker adding his own brand of whimsy
that should have had the crowd pelting him with food and drink
after all this was the kinda of twee slop that rock was suppose to annihilate
but here we all are clapping after the dribble mercifully ended
was i the only one so squirmingly embarrassed by this bilge?
you see films like that too
or tv shows
so abysmally woeful
so devoid of any subtlety or passion or intrigue or imagination
am i the only geezer in the world looking for that sorta thing…?
am i the only one tired of plastic surgeried scrubbers and dance routines?
or medieval epics where the warriors quip smart-arse one liners
to each other in american accents
look you just dont have american accents in narnia or middle earth
or in 1215 or what/whenever ….why cant they see that…?
wolves in narnia dont talk like a chigago gangster
no more would hucklefuckingberry finn talk like john cleese
yes and im including australian accents in there too
you couldnt have a bloody aussie merlin…could ya?
” c’mon there young artha…dont be a bloody mug
c’mon old son pull that fucken sword outta the stone !’
why does rank mediocrity prevail in this vale of tears?
conversely it means the really good guys never get their just vegan desserts
eg vincent van gogh
never sold a painting while he was alive
cos the people around him were blinded by the idiocy of the zeitgeist
sad but true
over n out

sk

oh ho
alrighty
my my my
i went to the pool
freezing freezing
i tell you that you swim that first lap very politely
head out of the water n everything
you feel all the breath squeezed out of you
you lungs can only seem to pant
your body feels shocked
the cold water feels like pain
it hurts, baby, it hurts
hurts so good
by the time you done one lap
the pains turned into a dull numbness
a numbness that almost feels warm
like youre immersed in very hot water
you can start to breathe now
and you can immerse yer face in the water
i do ten laps of breast stroke (im good at breast-stroking!)
and then i do 5 of backstroke and 5 of freestyle
by the time i get out my body is thoroughly confused
i head to the sauna on numb and wobbly legs
ah…theres no one in there
i sit back on my perch and silently admire the ocean
i get into lotus and start to meditate
mmm
when
suddenly
a very loud trebly and phlegmy voice pierces my reverie
WILL YA LOOK AT THAT THE WHOLE FUCKEN POOL IS EMPTY!
one of the olde “diggers” that is a permanent fixture at the pool
theres about 10 of these guys in their seventies
they swim n play cards regardless of the weather
theyre permanently tanned n weather beaten
and everything they say is liberally sprinkled with the word ‘fucken”
THEY HAD THE FUCKEN RACES YESTERDAY…..
ALL THE FUCKEN BLOKES STANDIN’ ROUND FUCKEN FREEZIN’
i see nirvana disappear in my rearview mirror
i know this guy doesnt really like me but i’m the only one there
I HADDA FUCKEN RACE AND I HADDA STAND AROUND FUCKEN WET
FOR FIFTEEN FUCKEN MINUTES WAITIN” FOR THE NEXT FUCKEN RACE!
he’s one of those blokes who talks at you
he doesnt care if youre interested or not…
ITS FUCKEN ONLY 12 DEGREES IN THE FUCKEN BABY POOL
he adds
12 FUCKEN DEGREES….THATS FUCKEN COLD!
his voice is five times louder than it needs to be
a foghorn of a voice penetrating yer mind with its abrasiveness
TOO FUCKEN COLD FOR ME hes saying
i get up and leave the sauna
hes still going as i close the door
WILLYA LOOK AT THAT….NO ONE IN THE FUCKEN POOL AT ALL..
i walk home quite high on my endorphins
you dont reckon them lil painkilling doo dahs come out like crazy
when youve immersed yerself in water thats only 14 FUCKEN DEGREES?
i feel very rubbery
a good rubbery
i feel flexible and healthy
i pound down the pavements
aware of my feet propelling me along
aware of all the sinews and gristle n cartilage
and all the muscles pushing me thither
i listen to an admixture from my ipod
gimme shelter by the stones
some underground lovers
some other stuff
when i get home
i bounce up the stairs
nk greets me at the door
very worried
um scarlet got at your painting she says
oh no
i feel icy feelings of rage destroying my bonhomie
no no not my painting…
i run to my room
FUCKEN JESUS
shes taken some turquoise paint
and smeared it all over the face and body of a painting
a painting i’m doing for a friend
a painting i’d been carefully n lovingly working on
now schmeared in thick turquoise gouache
all over the pink pastel skin
i do a little dance in my rage
and i liberally sprinkle my exclamations with the word FUCKEN
the people all disappear outta the house to get away from the madman
as they drive off im still FUCKEN FUCKEN FUCKEN away
eventually i start trying to work on it
i dab at the paint with wet tissues trying to take the worst away
shes slapped it on thick too
( as well as eating half a tube herself apparently)
i knew it was coming
only the day before i’d run into my studio
and found her poised before my painting with a roller
shes been fascinated watching me work
and i know she wants to have a go
so it wasnt totally outta the blue…(bad choice of words…)
but….FUCKEN HELLL!!!!!
anyway after about twenty minutes
im left with large pale blue stains and the pastel all funny
i start the laborious process of trying to cover the paint with pastel
then fixing it
and going over it again n again
after a couple of hours work
the guy in the painting looks like he just came from the panel beaters
with white crusty bits where hes been fixed up
i aint been game to get to the next stage yet
so i dunno if i can totally fix it up….
bloody bastard kids……!@!!!! (sorry joycie)
of course i still love lil scarlet n all
but christ…
my anger exhausts me
i just sit there for a cuppla hours recuperating
it turns into a nice day
i go out on the balc n pump painkiller
and do a long long yoga session
oh my olde carcass is getting flexible
i start off with the dog pose
stretching my calves n hamstrings
my head hanging down free
i move between upward n downward dog
for a while
rolling my toes
strengthening my core
getting my feet flat
i move on into the standing poses
stretching my arms n back out
paiunkiller sounds good blasting into the open air
the sun is warming but not burning
i start to feel good
the yoga sends more endorphins into my system
i feel like ive had a shot of some delicious opiate..
i stand in garudasana my favourite position
the eagle pose
my shoulders open out
my legs fill with blood and get a good flush of it
then i get into the tree pose
i hold each pose for about a minute
twice to each side
then the standing poses like
the triangle
the warrior
the blah blah blah
finally i finish with the seated twists
twisting my stomach right around
forcing blood through my organs
maintaining flexibility of spine
painkiller pumps on in the bright air
i do a shoulderstand to end it
then shivasana
the corpses pose
let that good yoga sink in
i tell ya fiendss for fifty four
i feel FUCKEN good
in the night i go up to jlks place
now as youve probably noticed
the esoteric music club is up n running
everyweek a new song
not all of em featuring moi
but many or most will
we’ve already recorded a whole bunch
i leaked zoo 42 out early to davey duchow
so thats what that is…
now we’re trying the donation system here
you can get em for free but we’d appreciate a donation
if you dont donate
the emc will eventually fold due to lack of funds
if you like the tracks please give generously
this is our living
we’re not breadheads
but we have bills to pay and stuff
so if ya dont pay
the thing will eventually go away
and like all paypal transactions
its better to give ten bucks (say) in one hit
than 1 dollar over 10 hits
(due to the way their commission works)
if you want a new track from us each week please donate..
then jlk n i worked on another gb3 track
which ended up splendidly
the words and melodies came easy
we banged it all down in a cuppla hours
jlk’ll do some homework
and then we’re 2 tracks down and ready for more
come home in time to read to the doodles
(we’re on the second book…the subtle knife
its almost as good as narnia!)
then finally
all the bloody kids asleep at last
nk n i let down our hair
and enjoy whats left of the evening
in the honour of eros
the wee god of lurve….
oh yeah
and
right on
another crazy FUCKEN day in the life of …….
(drum roll!)
the time being

words are hard to find
last night i dreamed i had a day to live
i had been diagnosed with cancer in my head
and i had one day to live…
deep in my dream
i had no idea i was lying in bed dreaming…
i was at some hotel/gig/ concert
everyone knew i was gonna die tomorrow
i was on the phone trying to make arrangements…
who would look after my family…?
who would raise my poor sweet daughters…?
still the time ticked on in my dream
tomorrow loomed impossibly although it never arrived
tomorrow just sat there threatening tho’ never revealing itself
i still had to play my show
whatever it was i was booked for
they were holding me to it….
i railed against my fate in my head
i imagined my obituaries
no no …this could not be happening to me
i mean….tomorrow….
the doctor was specific…tomorrow!
were they gonna euthanase me or what?
i met people i knew
oh too bad about tomorrow they all said
and went back to their usual chatter
all the things that would be happening after i was gone
i tried to call my wife
but couldnt get through all the tears
it was tomorrow
tomorrow
tomorrow
a big black nothing waiting to swallow me up
leaving everyone i cared for bereft
leaving everything undone
death didnt care
it was waiting patiently for tomorrow
my last night finally arrived
in a haze of tears and confusion i wandered the streets
people going about their usual things
all would still remain when i was gone
everything carrying on as before
i would fall
but everything else would carry on
as it will and it should
ah…..
the dream never finished properly
obviously i woke up
it was 8 00 on a dreary monday morning
i was still alive
no death sentence
everyone else here asleep
the streets quiet
a heater lightly whirring on
the house silent
i feel shaken
i feel scared
i feel temporary
the world seems strange, almost counterfeit
i feel spooked
a warning?
or just my stupid mind playing havoc within itself..
(kilbey suppresses a shudder…)
ok then

well that bloody well does it, i’m afraid
what?
my mum cant come down n see us cos of the pope
the bloody pope?
he’s in sydney for world “youth” day
do “youth” need a day
isnt youth its own bloody reward
why not old slightly deaf codgers day
or middle aged women who never got married day
or people who are bad at maths day
or people who hate broccoli day
get the picture…
quite frankly…..youth…..they got it good
why should they have a bloody day
its sunday ….aint it enough…?
dont give em a day
no one asked me….bloody youth….
oh heres your day
and all us older non youths or children not yet youths
will bow and supplicate and anoint your athletic feet with oil
oh youth hurrah! hurrah!
look i thought youth had it good already
you know no arthritis or gout or all the rest
the fountain of youth…yes please…i wanna be young again
leave my old brain in…but change the rest
erase these wrinkles
whiten these old teeth
straighten my aging bones
thicken my hair
steady my gaze
strengthen my limbs
etc etc etc
i wont need a day …will i….?
but you know what they say
youth is wasted on the young
and thats because
you wont know how great it is being young
until i all starts to end
thats right
all those gorgeous perfect youths gonna end up olde
and thats a trip in itself and its a lesson to learn
my old man said to me
you arrogant little sod…you think yer gonna be 18 forever…?!
and i, in my igno and arro gance
i said yes…i’ll never be olde like you are
oh yes i thought i would find a way to stop the grey
oh ha ha
pity dad aint around to laugh at me now
another olde guy courtesy of olde father time
now im not complaining
im nearly fifty four but it aint that bad
not as good as eighteen i s’pose
actually i can sing n play better
i can paint better
i’m much nicer to people…i can talk to em now
i can lurve much much better ..oh yes
i can swim better
i can do yoga better
i can do so much more
if you knew me at 18 you can still see its me
my hairs still the same colour
its getting thinner like my dads did
but its still brown …not white
you’d know me if ya saw me
but
but
oh no i’d love to be young again
young for fucking ever and ever
but getting wiser n wiser
ha ha
that is not this worlds design, fiendss
i’d like to tell ya that i stumbled on the fountain o’ youf
but alas i see in the mirror that it is not so
just lately i really looking my age
but thats as it should be
ive had those years
they cannot come back again
and mankinds attempts at eternal youth will always go wrong
witness botox and plazzy surgery…what a mess
i’d rather have my wrinkles and saggy bags
than some fucked up weird face thats scares children
like a lady in bondi we call botox meat
she looks like a bloody trout
just cos she wanted to look young
now she looks young…like a young salmon
all shiny and discoloured and stretched all out shape
nows shes bloody frightening…is that what she wanted
whats wrong with being whatever age you are
if youre a decent human with charm and grace
you can be 9 or 90 and its a pleasure to meet ya
i met gorgeous people and their beauty is a pain in the arse
elli n minna…you cant get younger or more beautiful than them
but dealing with em is ridiculous cos of their age
who cares about some anorexic bint dressed up in versace bollocks?
not me…..i take people as they come these days
and quite frankly i dont give a toss about yer “youth”
i aint bitter
i dont resent it
hey…we all get our time in the sun
and if you do yoga n dont eat dead stuff
you may look as good as me when yer this ancient
remember im 6 years off 60
but as for world youth day
bah humbug and piss off
as far as the pope..
now lets see
hes the incredibly wealthy nominal head
of a large secretive organization
who have over the years killed and tortured millions of people
thats right
from the people who brought you the witch trials
and the inquisition
and all kinds of wars and strife
ladies n gentleman
some olde geezer dressed up in a silly white costume
complete with the most awful hat you ever seen
(even i wouldnt look good in that)
some silly olde pontiff
thats clawed and bribed and threatened his way
to the top of a heap of child molesters and powerdrunk wankers
proclaiming himself infallible..(oh ha ha ha ha ha)
cranking out some dismal misinterpretation
of a book of dubious fables
his own organization helped to obfuscate at nicea ages ago
(put this in…take this out…get rid of this bit)
yep then they made themselves rich n powerful
playing on the suspicions n fears of us plebeians
all the while buggering little boys and poisoning each other
and selling dispensations
(eg baron boffly has murdered another man, cardinal..
yes…well that’ll cost him 2000 silver marks if he wants to get to heaven)
they repressed science
they repressed women
they meddled in politics
they were a useless pack of self serving fuckers
that ballsed up christs message of love
and were totally unable to live it
the pope…..in sydney….for youth…oh hardy ha ha
what has this crusty old bishop got for youth this time
make em feel guilty?
promise em some pie in the sky bullshit if they believe in yer nonsense ?
go on popey..tell em about all the wise- women in germany
your lot roasted alive cos they didnt conform to your superstitious jive
yes pope yer still the same olde crowd
with yer fucking opus dei and your big money deals
and attempts to get bigtime catholics in power like the old days
but oh dear
attendance is dropping off in the church
all churches (including mine, wise guy)
gee mr pope
what pathetic hogwash will you pull out to save your churchs career
cos quite frankly
they been saying its the end of the whole pope malarkey soon
and good riddance to a stupid idea
you aint the right hand man of god
youre just a silly old sod in a costume
and someones written a speech for ya
and theyve closed down half the roads in syddley
and my mum cant come down
so some outdated olde ponce can recruit some more youf
and quite frankly mr pope you can sod off to hell
or purgatory
or wherever
dont come back ‘ere!