The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

what if
what if?
what if?!
this is the truth
i stand before a mirror which offers no reflection
all souls night
the dead have been loosed from the cloying earth
and unspeakable monsters lurk in the darkness
the hot city is enveloped by an unclean night
and i hurry on my way down down down
voices call my name
peripheral things are glimpsed
and gone forever
the air is thick with accusations
we wait for rain that never comes
we pay off bills that are never paid off
we struggle and we survive somehow
who am i?
nobody really
just someone telling his tale
just one of six million stories in the naked city
john smith
no connections
no glamour holidays in gated timeshare @ s.e. asia
no chance to get out of my whole
just another bloody punter like you mate
victim of a swindle
no pros only cons
i slide along under the radar
i get by
what do you want?
i can play a song
i can dig a grave
other types of work and services
i go off to war and i shoot enemies
i stay home and ward off friends
i got a nice mansuit
dont i look good?
almost seemless
the latest style somewhere….but not here
our poor old mum used to read me a poem about the shark
now i got my own hooks
now i got my own tackle
now i know which way the wind blows
and why cats scream in the dark
and the black water where there is no light
i deal with vipers
i deal with vermin
i deal with both my eyes wide open
slicing out cards from all 3 decks
youre so pleased to see me ….if i’m on your side
you aint pleased to see me if i’m not
i dont need a costume
i dont need a fancy name
i dont need an excuse or any drawn out story
sir, you purchase my time and make no mistake
and payment may take many forms
and i am versatile
and arrangements may be made
but to forfeit …..ah!………
and who let loose the night
and who dressed it in such fine n splendid mockery
and who taught it to sink down like a melted bubble
the alleyways and empty thinktanks
the thorny gardens with their broken fences
the tunnels into the ground
the swans above the clouds, my friend
they can leave
they can leave here but not you or i
grimy black chains holding us back
railroad fumes and radio spirits
the money talking just round the corner
sure fire things
one last clean up
bang!
a new mansuit
who’d ever know it was me…?
indeed….
but you
you know me
you know me pretty good
and thats a shame
coz now…..
well nothing personal…
its just that…
this body aint big enough for the both of us
and it aint me whos gonna leave
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

this world
wrong world
i been sent to the wrong world
they abandoned me here as bloody punishment
i look around…surely this aint my world
i knew it right from the start
waiting for my mother or father to tell me
“son, you done come to the wrong world”
good god
what is this…?
a penal colony for clowns
are you seriously telling me
that in all of america
the best guy the GLOPs could find was johnny mccain
if thats really true…..
in all the united states
they came up with him?
am i awake or dreaming?
has something gone wrong somehow somewhere?
where do i protest at this absurdity?
at the same time
rock band ac/dc are playin’ to 40,000 people in chicago
imagine in 1983
if someone had shown me a crystal ball
and said kilbey
thou shalt behold the future of rock in twenty five years time
and you gasp with anticipation
and briefly you imagine all the weird n wonderful things 2008 will hold
the kinda futuristic boogie them future cats will be laying down
you look deep into the ball
something begins to materialize..through the glass darkly
oh no
you shudder
you laugh bitterly
you wince
shake your head
why no….you say thru yer abject dismay
theres bin some kinda mistake…!
this aint the future……..is it?
it cant be….!!!??
for there in that ball
(sigh)
you would see the geezer in the hat
n the geezer in the schoolboy get up
and
yes
then you fucking well n truly know
you got beamed down here by mistake
and the future aint much of a future
if thats what it holds….
oh please no
no no no
it cant be true, can it?
and people still eating meat
and people still fighting wars
and people still robbing banks
and shooting people at school
and crashing cars cos theyre driving drunk
and etc etc etc
still busting potsmokers
still dealing out guns
still getting pissed n brawling in pubs
is this it?
we got the internet but we’re the same old losers
i dunno….2008….
painkiller easily the best record of the year
and i aint even heard the others…i just know it is
(enjoying robert forsters the evangelist at the moment)
no wonder the record biz is down the drain
good fucking riddance
what will all those smarmy pricks do for a crust now?
real estate..or used cars, i guess
the future seemed more futuristic in 1980
what with gary numan n the human league
(and now thank god we got vince noir)
it really seems this future was hardly worth arriving at
hardly worth waiting for
a passe future
future of materialism
future of bellicosity
future of the yob
me…?
i’m trying to hang around till 2032
when they let the public in
on the real story behind jfks assassination
a story still too shocking i guess to be told now
if they think no one around then will give a toss
then they aint counted on me
at 78
i’ll still be furious
when i find out
that we
the good guys
the straight guys
the normal white nice guys
that we
shot our own king

ok
i’m writing my own acka dacka songs from now on
for a start that geezer is one of the only blokes older than me
still going in rocknroll
so i’m a spring chickling compared to his venerable old carcass
ive already been shopping round for the hat
and i found a nice one at grimsbys fashions for seniors
with kilbey plaid on it
i wear it at a rakish angle
looking like a cross between andy capp n sid james
(‘allo darlin’!)
i’m taking some waddle n strut lessons from a man at the pub
including hefting guitar playing fifty year old school children aloft
(not tripping over their homework etc) and staggering about
i’m working on some lyrics…here ‘ave a look
n tell me what you think….
i’m thinking of calling this one something like…

BIG KNOCKERS

i woz out one day walking my cock-er(wink to lads in crowd)

and i wanna get me hands on yer BIG KNOCKERS

dont look down cos my sausage is a shocker
(then crowd joins in)
and we wanna get out our hands on yer BIG KNOCKERS

BIG KNOCKERS
BIG KNOCKERS
BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG KNOCKERS
love to roll my baby cos ya know she is a rocker
but i wanna bang bang wif yer BIG KNOCKERS
(fists punch the air on bang bang)

look i know its a still in an embryonic stage
i know a few parts need some work
i’ll be polishing it up a little over the coming months
as i do my vocal warm ups
i’m going for a cross between
a bawling cockney sergeant major
and an old codger sitting down in a bath
and suddenly finding out thats its much too hot…
look it aint easy to sing like that
and i wanna look like the foreman on a demolition site
bellowing through the unbelievable racket going on around him
actually people have said to me
steven just ignore the singing n words…listen to the music
just ignore the singing n words!
yeah
like go n see this film…ignore the acting n the script..but otherwise..
how can you ignore the words n singing to a song?
how can one compartmentalize music like that?
ooh thats enough now steven john my boy
why do those guys push yer buttons?
oh i dont know..its so benny hill
i genuinely feel so fucking sorry for any young man
standing row upon row with others
with my fist in the air and mouthing the words..
whats wrong with me…?
dont i like fun..?
everybody should get some fun…thats what the west is all about
‘aving a bit of fun
c’mon!

yeah my fingers a blur of action
words fill me head
gotta get it right…aw what does matter.?
i am the true po-it
i go beyond reality n hyper reality n sub reality
i penetrate things to their very core
i come out the otherside n i’m laughing
i am the sayer not the doer
sayer of the lore
two legs good
two heads better
i am primitively suave
i am elegantly awkward
i am older than you’ll ever get to be
but look in my eyes
they are one day old
do i worry bout dying
yes i do
i picture my ascension up the ladder to heaven
just like the pandava i find it filled with unworthy brutes
because nothing is as simple as all that
the cosmos is beyond our comprehension
most humans are sluggish and stupid
witness their proclivities
see them wolf down their meat
see them goggle the idiot box
see them stumble down the highway in their boots of steel
what were they thinking…?
they never ask
they never wonder
they never buy one million tickets to see me
did you know that ac/dc have sold one bazillion records this week
saving the record biznesses neck?
wow!
the most brutal unoriginal common and lets face it stupid rock there is
music for old men to sing to young boys about nudge nudge wink phoah!
and double entendres intended to be risque
but sadly just vulgar
the miscreant in the ‘at
or the old fool dressed up as the schoolboy
and why do they share their tired old malarkey
with rooms full of guys
young enough to be their grandkids
who are lapping this
sad tripe up
oh despair!
oh triumph of the philistines!
oh big mac n big brother n ac/dc
the diet of bilge
george bush n robbie williams n guy n nicole ritchie
what a puerile contemptible obvious world of men
indeed the age of the imbecile
the planet of the dumb people
the stodgy puddingish blechh of the hoi polloi
the all ordinaries indeed
the pits

la de da
scribble scribble
blah blah blah
i feel emptiness in my stomach verging on nausea
my limbs are lithe n loose
not what youd expect being 54
54 …can you imagine when you’ll be that old again..?!
54 x 365 = 19700 days
and to think of all that impatience
most of my life lived with some needless nameless anxiety
i never noticed the clouds
i never noticed the flowers
i never noticed time fading away
oh god sometimes i bore myself
all the good stuff in here i aint explored
but i gotta get thru the waffle first
my mind is a garden
i’m trying to climb over the hedge
i’m trying to get into my own mind
which only proves what many wise men tell us
YOU ARE NOT YOUR MIND
you think you are
and your mind really thinks it IS you…but it aint
otherwise how could i be out here
trying to get into my strange mind
where all the poems n songs n paintings are
until i realise them
they are potential somewhere in my million square mile mind
inside my head is as big as the sky
sometimes it tightens up
my universe rapidly shrinks
until theres no room for me in my mind
my mind has collapsed like a flaming gas balloon
and its plunging with me wrapped up in it
fuck its hard being a renaissance man tho
when there is no renaissance on at the moment
far from it…its the anti-renaissance
the age of the imbecile
my father was a renaissance man too
except i could never ever play the piano like him
and he didnt do poetry
poetry? he’d say and shake his head
lay some boogie-woogie on me son!
my dad deliberately pronounced the “g”s soft
boojie-woojie he’d say
something seemed to make my dad hold his talent in tho
he had no ambitions to exhibit or perform for an audience
tho he was a real crowdpleaser at a knees up or birfday bash
people are still talking bout kilbey as my mums brothers called him
uncle stan telling my wife how i got it all from kilbey
people will never say kilbey as affectionately again
as when the old timers say it and sigh
remembering that geezer who made everybody laugh
and then jumped on a piano
and had em singing along
now kilbey has on a slightly accusative feel
why kilbey why? asked one of my old workmates
eventually he made a sticker for me
why kilbey why?
he stuck it on my back without me knowing
and i musta walked around with that on fer hours
people indeed asking themselves silently
why kilbey why?
in the mouths of bullies i hated kilbey
because of the kil bit
when obviously they were gonna kill me
fuckin’ kil-bey a bully would sneer
as he slapped me round the chops
wots wrong wif ya kil-bey…?
lucky in those days
the bullies punched you on the arm
not the face
so you got nasty bruises
but my lovely little nose stayed intact
ive seen a lot of people with big noses fretting about them
my dads nose was bigger than mine
n i know he wanted a smaller one
so i’m glad my nose isnt too big
thank christ..one less phobia to carry round
at least my nose is normal
unlike my mind
which
as i said is either too big or too small
its either a thousand miles to the next inkling
or its a crush of skull n blood n brains
but my mind aint my brains
and i aint my mind
but i am you tho
tho it is hard to believe
today aurora kilbey goes in early for her flute lesson
i’m working on natalie in lemuria
on my new big paper n my new big easel
standing up!
and paint n pastel begin to obey my will
and my lines are smooth n authentic
i’m having a lot of fun painting my wifes face
although i got it slightly wrong
now some wildeyed blonde stares back from the black paper
and i gotta put the jungle round her
what will you put in the border nk asks me
uh…skulls n hearts …i say
yeah thats good she says
ok easy
skulls, flaming skulls, eyes
thats the sort of thing i like in my borders
sort of setting the scene
like all the paintings backstage at the house of blues
its all guitars n skulls n flames n dice n virgin marys
n crucifixes n skellingtons n diablos n demons
n elvis n cars n mexico n robert johnsons
thats where my paintings should be
im trying to drum up a little voodoo here in nth bondi
tho i’m just a naive white man from canberra act
i like to visit the jungle via my paintings
n leave out all the mozzies n dangerous beasties
leave out all the blow pipes n mal-aria
so theres natalie staring back from black
her features which i know so well are delicate
and a tiny bit one way or the other can make it all wrong
i paint away n listen to music
i think surely someone will buy this painting
and i know in my heart of hearts that they will
the weather is mild n the days just melt away
and are gone
i will try to hang onto today for all i’m worth
and what i’m worth would vary from person to person
some would say very little
a very few might say a fortune
most would say who?
so i go on typing
surely i’m bound to be discovered soon….!!??

be patient
you’ll play all the parts
morning
summer
winter
evening
return to your old haunts
driving down country lanes you become your father
hanging in the sky become your son
suddenly you look around yourself
all this and you were hardly interested
now with time running out the doors
time pouring through every open window
time pawing your bones
time poring through your mind
temporal shift
today the flowers are all painted in brightly
the temperature has been adjusted to a jolly 75 degrees
oh maybe i should stick around you think
in a field like italy
beware of snakes says the flyer
men in green direct you to your spot in the trees
float over the lawns
nibble nibble
one side makes you taller one side makes you smaller
my mother sits like a queen on a portable throne
80 years old surrounded by her sons and brothers
sisters-in-law, daughters-in-law
nephews, grand children and well-wishers
time has shaped her inside and out
i remember when she was more restless
under some kind of pressure she put on herself
now she sits with her iffy knee fresh from under the knife
under a great pine tree
gracious and happy and contented
while a strange crowd of country bumpkins and hippies
listen to the bhagavad guitars
i talk a little but dont say much
always the outsider
russell says
i’d tick every box on the asbergers page
anti social
dislikes crowds n noise (oh you bet i do)
cant read people (apparently not)
etc
something in me cant feel
and something else feels too much
i cant stand the phony baloney chit chat trip
if i know you hate me
dont welcome me into your house with a forced smile
dont kiss me or hug me or ask me how d’ye do?
anyway i always keep me distance from em all
but now its a quiet distance
a modest distance
a distance filled with quiet vagueness
not a screaming silence
i dont sulk in a huff
i just sit on my own
no one can or wants to reach me
i see marlon cruise by
he looks at me now like we understand each other
neither of us can really participate in these things
why why why
i dont resent it if thats what it is
ive always hated small talk
i want to like it
i want to fit in
how many times has someone said to me
why cant you just be normal for once?
and i didnt know
i never knew what it was
i learned to approximate
you mean i should actually smile?
like this?
i knew smiling was good but i never made the connection
or if i did i could never be bothered
we are animals…we react to this kind of stimuli
maybe i tried to jump over all that
i cant remember
in my mind i was cold and cruel
but i am no longer that childe
the gardens pacify me
trees and flowers gently excite my wonder
i gaze with a painterly eye
endless shades of green to master
just like endless shades of meaning to glean
and eve runs around and drinks fizzy drinks until she just explodes
she has to lie down in a cool room to recover
aurora keeps going hard
and the baby is all hot sweaty n mostly exasperated
the inevitable sausages n prawns come out
i need to steer clear of that noxious smoke
this here is the real poison
they all dig in
no one will listen to me
i sadly see children devouring bacon n sausages
what a shame
everyone drinking beer
hey its a party isnt it ?
i like to see em all enjoying em selves now
i suppose thats progress
it makes me happy
to see em all happy
and i would love to lose myself
in any happy crowd
no it was really lovely
the country air
the warm evening
all the people
my mother hitting eighty
she never molly coddled me much
i used to wish she had
now i’m glad she didnt….it was good for me
and i see that through distance
i was able to get closer to things
and a load of other boring old paradoxes
that come with being some sort of human being
i suppose

kilbey peers into the mist
i painted a picture it sang me this song
oh everything is easy now
oh everything is nice
if only you do fix me good
i’ll really fetch a price
(remember…it was a painting singing)
(and dont be stupid)
there was something quite wrong with this
i needed freedom
i needed to let all things flow
and reach that place inside us
where everything verily doth come
source of light
sauce of dark thoughts
the jungle in my room has swallowed me whole
round milky sphere where i scry the angel of the future
little i-droppers filled with flew-ids
a load of coins n brushes n reeds n trees n rivers of paint
my room my room
i call out from the eastern marshes
a hundred miles from the door
an avalanche of postcards covers my tale
i swim through ancient verona with my piggy bank safely guaranteed
hey mum n dad thats me on the beach in london
thats me n oswald lee harvey skiing in dallas/st paul
dear me isnt that the outskirts of alexandria
and we stayed at the ithaca hilton n the thracian travel lodge
and we camped on the fields in flanders…fido digging for bones
and we rested in the long mornings out in hammarby
and the circus disappeared
we ate dinner on the porch with m krall
when no one knew our number
and no one knew our name…..
but i am still lost in this room
self portrait on the wall opens up his little mouth
no i dont need YOUR advice i say to him
spiders….daddy longlegs…bob in the distant corners
the ceiling is the sky
n the sky is the limit
n the limit is one person per ticket
so i’m afraid i cant guarantee you re-entry
cant you see me stumbling around here
my ego weighing me down as usual
muse: and contributing very little….
god kilbey where do you come up with all this rubbish
its not rubbish …its…..
anyway
anyway what
anyway what i mean is…
youre lost
i’m lost
we’re lost
we’re lost n unprepared to pay the cost
the room looms
my room has finally taken me down
pushing up the scree of gold paint chips
unopened packages n bits of string
little boxes of …tiny parts for something
stencils n pencils n flashing controls
the pastel dust settles
sometimes mimicking a navaho sand painting
the blinds open out into pale mornings
the lightest blue sky n ribs of white clouds
pine trees n palm trees no breeze
buildings catch the timid sun
white and gold light up
i shiver in my mansuit
i pause with my paws n my clause
williams radiotronics stuttering iacocca staccato
an astralnaut lost in my room
a cosmos unto itself
i am the drifter
i paddle up the dreams streams and reveries cul de sacks
i am the salmon deep in the cave
hiding from odin
my room with its mountains of guitar cases
my room with its million memories before me
my rented room
my minutes ticking out inexorably
my chilly room
silent room
early morning room
no sign of kathy or mr weird
no sign of terri or terry
walk through the early morning streets
“air blows cool hurryin’ on my way”
some imaginary life i lead
still in my room though
my foot on a box of books
dreaming it all up
conjecturing
living room
thoughts like veins crossing the surface
summer has stalled
we change our plans
re think it out
look a head
choose more
want more
get more
nick more
take away
get off
get on
get lost n forgotton
forget yourself?
sure

we know nothing of ourselves
who we truly are
our capabilities
our capacities
we are deep continents submerged in a sea of not knowing
we face each day blindly oblivious of our true pasts
we end each day no closer to ourselves
strangers to each other
still thinking i can hurt you without hurting me
still judging and under-estimating you
still ignoring and bothering you
people told me who i was
other people told them who they were
i tear off the mask only to find another underneath it
masking the rusty surface and facing the sea
asking me for a purpose so patiently
a purpose…?
endings n beginnings
reasons why and dates
we have no idea what we’re measuring
certainty is a joke
nothing is certain
nothing is sacred
nothing is forever
open up now
to the possibility you may have been wrong
prepare to accept you may have erred
maybe your memory
maybe your perception
maybe your thinking was out
and you never ever saw it
an actor hooked on his lines
you never leave your play
you never drop out of character
and walk to the back of the theatre
and see that its all just a bloody act
you so fixated on anything that comes along
money
gossip
fashion
power
fame
youth
strength
victory
domination
power
omnipotence
prestige
yes yes
give them to me
yes yes
anything youve got
in my sleep i scream out for someone to wake me up
a sleeper calling in a roomful of sleepers
a little starfish in a tiny pool cursing at the ocean
an eagles feather stuck in a stupid idiots hat
a black panthers pelt in a cardsharks hovel
i pick up my paints and i paint lemuria
i paint me in lemuria
i paint natalie in lemuria
i paint steve draper in lemuria with guitars and eyes
i paint elli n minna in lemuria with the temples n snakes
i paint scarlet kilbey as a moon goddess priestess in lemuria
i paint details of lemurian jungles
but when i stop
but when i hit pause on my i-box
but when i rinse the paint n pastel dust off my hands
but when i look in the soft mirror and fall right through
but when nightfalls short and daylong
and memories seep from the shadows
and i wake up in the light of a bye gone after noon
when i wake up in yesterday
when i re enter the continuum
when the film has started to print through
when the discrete channels begin to hear each other
when the god in man starts to wake up
when the last man is killed
when we stop and realise
when the reductionism reaches its final logical phase
when scientists say we dont fucking know
when they gonna realise
that you really do have to pay your dues
if ya wanna sing the blues
that means without authenticity youre nothing
thats why they say people suffer for their art
not because arthur rim baud or dylan t
got writers cramp scrawling the stuff
but you gotta be wide open if you wanna catch it
and youre gonna catch everything
n things you didnt foresee
n things you didnt want
and the better you are
the crazier you are
dont you see they go hand in hand
but what is madness and genius and pain
except a mind so finely attuned
nothing escapes its attention
and a mind not content with its own explanations
that is
you cant be jim morrison without being jim morrison
you cant have one without the other
and thats why dylan is so easily spooked
and why poor jeff buckley had to go swimming
and why kurt needed nothing less than oblivion
and why some masters never utter a word
and why winter follows spring
and spring follows a meandering course
and why krishna is the colour of a cloud
and why we dont fall off this world
and why it never comes when you want it
and why you better carpe fucking diem
and scarlet kilbey with her big head full of ideas
still sleeping
dreaming of her lemurian childhood in the jungle opera
when they summoned the gods and the elements
when they spoke in tongues of lightning
and the music was blazing
and the rhythm was infectious
and the jungle closes in
closing in
closer and closer
the monkeys and big cats
the medicinal vine
the bark with its dmt
the shrubs n luminous moss
the roots travelling underground
the rain and the wind
the open spaces
the temples on the hillsides
electrical disturbance!
a blue white flash
a sudden illumination
steve kilbey drops his paintbrush
the magenta
the ice blue
the marine green
the lemon yellow
the violet n indigo n purple n mauve
the crimson n maroon
the paper ripped from a tree
the distance recedes
people step out from behind the trees
natives
savages
wild men n witchdoctors
barbarians
sun worshippers
woad wearing britons
egyptians with bird heads
i dont know
whatever theyve got
franks, celts, yutumbi, watusi, belucci
fettucine
babychino
crash
thats evolution
i guess

i must admit
when i first met my nephew marlon
i thought he was a naughty little sod
he reminded me of myself as a kid in many ways
he didnt like saying hello or goodbye
he was difficult n hard to reach
he always seemed like he was up to something
he flouted authority
only he took it to the nth degree
while i was more easily “brought into line”
i must admit i got angry with his antics n his carry-on
just like all those old bastards got angry with me as a kid
then i guess he was diagnosed
with having aspergers syndrome
a type of mild autism
it gradually became apparent
to even me
that marlon was not merely a naughty little sod…
after accepting it
it was so much easier to hang out with marlon
and leave him alone if he wanted that
he came on a bush walk with us one day
saying nothing at all….he was about 5
but every now n then hed say something incredibly pithy
or he’d ask what “prosecuted” meant after reading a sign
russell n i were discussing a film
marlon was sitting there blank faced
you woulda thought that he was miles away
suddenly he says
“that film is actually available on dvd now
ive seen it at the video shop , filed under blah blah
and it costs blah blah to rent or blah blah to buy”
and hes suddenly silent again
he has the ability to get obsessed by an idea
ie being harry potter
and take it all the way
just like a genius
or a madman
or any mover n shaker
i dont understand it
i still think there are naughty little sods out there
and everyone gets a syndrome these days
and some ratbags are hiding away under their supposed label
but marlon is undeniably different
hes in his own place if he wants to be
this world seems a bit ordinary to him
he has a lively imagination
hes very handsome….handsome uncles on both sides will do that
and hes strange but obviously a bit of a genius too
and thinking about it
its possible that i myself
could be
(drum rolls n cynical laughter)
or could have been
very very mildly asbergers too:
the disdain for the mundane world
the rich inner life
the lack of social skills…i was a ‘orrible kid
(or was i?)
aspergers children cant read other children that well
or be read by them back
i was a little like that
i dunno
maybe i was just a naughty little sod
anyway
russell n amy
have turned it all around
taken this potentially tragic situation
digested it
taken it on
and turned it around
with 2 docos on aspergers
the second one was screened on telly last nite
a student of russells with asp. n 20% vision
this guy mark
he can tell you any chart position of any record
from the 1980s (especially)
so russell n amy have the great idea
of trying to get mark on rockwiz the aussie rock quiz show
i myself was on a few weeks back
anyhoo
the doco tells us some fascinating things about mark now nearly 40
he dreams a parallel world every night “a continuum”
in this world he has a wife
hes got his own label
hes a rockstar
an astronaut
a hero
a detailed parallel universe
his imagination is so incredibly developed
all illustrated and mapped by mark
i’m totally sucked in
i’m feeling like this universe aint so imaginary
mark tells of instances which sound just like astral travel
then the sad stuff
HE WAS BEATEN N RIDICULED N OSTRACIZED EVERY DAY AT SCHOOL!
fuck!
even the rottenest kid at lyneham wouldnt have hurt a guy like mark
where do they breed these monsters?
what kind of syndromes do they have to beat an almost blind kid?
i was starting to cry at this point
my family all stared goggle eyed at the screen
forgetting now we were watching russells doco
n just caught up in marks incredible story
yeah it was a fuckin’ tearjerker
and i was so on marks side now it wasnt funny
anyway russell n amy take him round to see glenn a baker
austs own rock brain of the universe
and a bit of an old mate of mine
we question each other on trivia
and last time i saw him at the divinyls last year
i outgunned him
(knowing the keyboard player from grand funks name!)
eventually mark tries out for rock wiz
and vindication!
he slays em
he gets on the show
he is selected
what happens next you’ll have to wait for saturday nite
when the actual episode is aired
but im hoping for a fairytale ending
eg marks side wins
an amazing doco
about the capability of the human brain
about what we used to call idiot savants
about redemption n justice
about russ n amys own struggle
about the determination n perseverance of one guy
against a stupid cruel world
i rang russ up to compliment him
lo n behold mark himself was round there
we talked for twenty minutes
i was pumping him for info on his private universe
jesus…what a guy
yes he deserves whatever comes now
maybe not much after all the hoo ha dies down
he loved music so much growing up
all those love songs
those songs he listened to at home quite friendless
“i just wanted a girlfriend to love n be loved
just like other kids” he said sadly on the phone
imagine his loneliness
that beautiful genius mind of his
sussing n grokking all that music
cataloging it in some strange way
just like tommy in the rock opera
his soul n ‘magination took flight…
i cant wait for saturdays show!!!

coke
sangria
a smoke
music plays low n cool
smooth operator smooth op-a-ra-ta
some cat was laying down a lotta soul he said
the mirror lies about your age
its raining outside
but outside doesnt exist
oh youre a lucky man
light some incense …..musk and sandalwood
baby gets out the shower half drunk already
her eyes roll a round in her head
she moves thru the dark in a slight stumble
half dressed in her costume
oh yes you look lovely my little creature
you look so…….extraordinary
you spent so long getting ready
now all sweet and dishevelled
docile and intoxicated : loves swift darts
and if you asked what year this is
why she wouldnt know
the screen flickers silently…someones mouth open
the cushions are plumped and waiting
the night tap tap tap at the little window
the clock racing
i dont want time to pass… the creature whispers rather naively
or i wish it would go on n on non….just like this she adds
what language is she talking in someone wonders i guess
the author in my head is grasping for words
the words gasp for life
sweetlife@eternity.net
the mirror reflects her in pink n white n blonde n black
she is like a foggy moon with her own reflected glow
her brown eyes are quite vacant now
she looks but doesnt seem to see
i think about how lord krishna slowed down a night
for thousands of years
and he multiplied himself into thousands
and he danced with the thousands of women
and he loved them all
and each thought she had that sly blue god to herself
and krishna whirled about himself in the rasa lila
and the other gods dropped beautiful flowers on them from the sky
and time, so in love with the lord, was induced to indeed stop
and each kiss and caress of the lord was perfect
and the young women would swoon under his divine hand
and the warm indian night
and the tigers watch on in awe
and the snakes unblinking eye mesmerized
and the white swan glides
and the pink lotus blooms
and pleasure
no not knowledge
or triumph
or power
but pleasure
this warm night traded for the cold aching morrow
this moving room for the rat race
this comely wench for old skullfaced death
this white powder for ash
this wine for christs blood
this holy smoke for the pyre
my little coquette what you tryin’ to forget
myself
yourself
ourself
our selves
this night
this rain
the throbbing black vegetation
the mescaline filled cactii screaming to be eaten
the thunder of distant doors slamming
baby puts iggy n the stooges on
im so messed up i need ya here sings iggy
now i wanna be your dog
now i wanna be your dog
well come on !
the guitar incandesces in a white fizz in my frozen mind
anxiety and lust in equal partnership
i want more
i want more too she says
more n more n more
and time to stop forever
little doll i cant forget sings iggy thru the rain n the years
across the room and through other worlds
marilyn monroe naked in the pool like a killer whale
mae west manhandles the equipment
is that all you? she jokes
as you tinkle on her piano in the wee small hours
in her apartment above miracle street
brings happiness n everything sings iggy
yeah and then
i think about keith
i need a love to make me happy
i need a love to make me happy
baby
baby make me happy
baby
baby keep me happy
the rain keeps falling out there somewhere
i’m starting to feel happier
much much happier