The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

wonderful spirit continue to guide me
flame on! light the lamp of love
fill my head with the sweetest words
summer for some of us
the days stretch out before me
the nights so black n inviting
knit me a mansuit i can wear
weave me my crown of weeds n reeds
coz i wander abroad in broad daylights
dazzled by the oaks thunderous voice
that reverberates underground
and i’m in league with the river
that accepts me without even a murmur
dive deep in her dark waters
lose your breath and be drowned
surfacing in another summer
golden rays call your vapour to heaven
summertime will be a love-in there
exquisite music
its…….david neil
“after that summer thats never coming a gain
my baby waiting for me
behind her frosted pane”
the angels toll the silver bells
go skinny dipping with jesus
drink sangria with rama
lie down n dream beneath the sleeping weeping willows
dream of summerpast
when you floated in bluer skies
right over the school so far below
you could hear a brass band playing in the distance
as you drifted away
into the effulgence
cos life is not solid
and we appear n disappear
and we bring to the table what we have learnt
and all stories are made up as we go along
and eventually
you must end up on your own
walking through a storm
where nothing can help you
in a black wood filled with uncertainty
then remember today today today
you are a childe
swimming in a vast sparkling sea
held up by the oceans hands
and gently surged to the sand
afternoon endless
your kind mama
your handsome father
your big sisters who tease you
becoming golden brown in the sun
becoming invisible in the warm black night
becoming yourself more and more
learn to love
learn to walk the astral path
learn to reach deep inside
and retrieve memories of summers long past
summers of boleyn
summers of iscariot
summers of ancient times that crowd your mind
the sun and the stars and the moon
the groves n the flesh n the wine
the lakes n the evenings n the dawns
your ancestors were you n me
summer is recycling us over n over
we pop up under the palms licking frosty fruits
cruising down the motel strip in a fancy car
we laughing cos we alive
at last (again)
summer deep is in the hills
jesus with his jaguar
strange birds arrive in the foggy blue
the great god pan is still king
we are golden youths in bacchus’s retinue
we crush the grape
we raise the cup
we dance with the dryads
into the nights wild depths
we are ecstatic n telepathic
we are in love with everything around us
the sacred glades come alive
and summer wraps us up
with warm sheets of air
and pillows of lovely dreams
and whispered words of welcoming
and summer is a beautiful girl bathing in a stream
and we watch her from within the woods concealed
we are rogues n ruffians n merry fools
we sleep under the stars
we eat wild raspberries and drink the dew
we ride the ceiling fans in hotelrooms by the sea
we check in to a deluxe suite
we amble down the boardwalk at rehoboth beach
shoot the curls at malibu
making friends with hawaii
summer comes in so many guises
listen to lord krishnas flute in the lemurian jungle
its all mixed up
lord krishnas flute in the holy night
mingling with the singing mermaids
far out to sea
too far out to see
a comet blazes overhead
star of bethlehem beach
for a moment everything is illuminated
then darkness returns
rendering all things equal

deer steeve
i am writing to you to say
blah blah blah
n
furthermore
rhubarb rhubarb rhubarb
i look up from the page
north bondi is dazzling in the early morning sun(day)
everything washed cleen by the rain
five daughters
2 brothers
one wife
one mother
54 years olde
13 different people living in my head
which one will betray me?
these are the ravings of a madman
last night it rained
sade is playing in my incense filled room
you give me you give me the sweetest taboo
the rain falls out there
but ive telescoped into my room
yes i am wildly intoxicated
on a potent cocktail of stuff
the room seems to fill with a fog
my eyes are wild
my pupils are like black plates
i take everything in
i look at myself in the mirror
a naked man
you can tell
by the hairs on my chinny chin chin
i made myself a sangria
one slug of red wine
one slug of triple sec
one dash of raspberry syrup
top it up with a berry v
n
voila
i slosh down my concoction
a door slams somewhere
people laughing somewhere
a painting i did of harry houdini
my clean n dirty clothes all mixed up
ants invading this house all the time
my wife is having a long shower
the children is all cuddled up
3 in one big bed
the rain : fall fall fall
the wind : blow blow blow
the wife : shower shower shower
the man in the mirror : naked naked naked
the 13 voices in my head : whisper whisper whisper
the stuff in my bloodstream : intoxicate intoxicate intoxicate
i give the ants some of my pot cookie to eat
fuck em if they cant take a joke…
but i reckon the queen’ll be sending em back for more
go on little anty
eat up yer nice sweet cookie
tonite the old nest will be jiving
they gonna be the coolest ants
meanwhile sade : there is no other love like ours
a blonde woman walks in the room
shes smiling
i must be dreaming i’m naked
or what?
this woman with an accent
a soft voice
the rain falling
its so perfect
sheet lightning illuminating the sky in flickering caresses
nothing else matters
there is nothing out there anymore
the outside
the rest of the house
the sleeping girls in the one big bed
the ants eat their cookies
staggering towards window sill
(rocker drugs ants!)
fuck i am such a childe
i love stuff like that
i aint raging at the dying of the light
if darkness comes
then i will shine on regardless
out there where im nothing
in here where i am everything
yeah i am the violinist in the subway
yeah i am the masterpiece for sale for 150 bucks
only you n i know that
most people dont like people like me most
but it makes you like me more
that i am so under appreciated n under valued
i am your little secret
i am your refuge
i am your haven
i am a washed up old bastard
i am i am i am
i did it all by myself
i taught myself everything
but i guess i shoulda got a new teacher
at fifty four i dont have anything to show
but my lovely jawline n my steely thighs
i cant help admire n detest myself at the same time
in the mirror my face is flushed
my hair is damp n dark
pushed back from my forehead
i look like a red indian
i look like a lemurian crazyman
my eyes so huge n black
i stare at myself intently
my fascination with myself…
i mean
its sick
isnt it?
stupid olde narcissus is turned into a flower
the blonde woman lays her hands on my back
her hands go right through my flesh
and soothe my olde n aching bones
my face with all its planes n angles n lines
not the face of decency or morality
jesus steeve you been living a fucking hard life, boyo
take everything to the extreme
you indulge in simply everything
i never sit eating pizza n watching the tv tho
i never come home drunk n scare me family
i never watching sport with boys
i never down the pub chatting up floozies
my face is olde now
i can still see its me
can you see the real me…can ya? can ya?
the blonde stranger in my room
i let her touch me
i cant get a fix on her
she modulates
her delicate face though
i always wanted someone like her
oh shes so pretty
shes smiling at me
dont my wild black eyes frighten her away?
my black eyes on her white skin
an inexhaustible chemistry
my brown hands on her white neck
my lips touch a spot beneath her ear
her neck n throat are unbelievably fragrant
a soft young sweetness
i am a man
is it any wonder then….?
the light glows on in the room
i watch us in the mirror
as the rain falls
and night expands into the wee small hours
and the minutes slip skip n glide
mmmmmm

so many things at once
look its all happening out there
the clouds the rain the wind the stars
me n my baby love
so much more
n so much less
i can do anything i think i can
but i cant make the horses drink the water
i just gotta let go
i thought it’d be so easy
youre just an antenna
youre just a wire
saturday i played the festival
i guess you could say i was tepidly received
i just dont knock their dicks in the dirt, do i?
my glory days are gone
im just an olde geezer with a dodgy voice
no one there wanted to hear me
i struggle on playing
but whats the point?
after the show
lady: i like the cover of utmw!
man (excitedly) painkillers playing soon!
me : yeah dec 22
man : i cant be there….
wow
unless you know who i am n what i do
you wont really dig it
as an entertainer i’m a zilcher
what am i good for
(absolutely nuthin’)
on thursday
i travelled up to see my new accountant
who is a paid up fiend n subscriber
from way back
even his skills
cannot save me from being in deep debt to the tax demons
i got a couple of big lump sums
i didnt put the dough aside for tax
bang!
theres a problem
unlike most peoples
my tax is not deducted at source
its my own fault …i dont blame anyone
at one point my accountant says ruefully
you probably think i’m a ” straight”
no no no i say
well i am he says
a “straight” with good taste in music….
nonetheless
its good to be with someone
whos got ALL yer records
i mean
if he aint in my camp…who the fuck is?
now i need a doctor n dentist n lawyer
who are fiendss reading this blogge
just think
i could get my botox shots from a quack
whos got p=a playing in the surgery
or get defended by some barrister
who thinks freaky conclusions is just dandy
or if i had a fanboy dentist
he’d know to give me a little extra laffing gas
cos i’m the fuckin’ killer
n i can handle it
when natalie was “having” scarlet
she had this gas mask on with the laughing gas on high
have a whiff of this she says offering me a wee lungful
wow!
it knocked me into the middle of next week
i thought youd like that
said my wife who was astonishingly calm n composed
all things considered
gee i wish my dentist would give me a hit like that
talking of which
i need 2 crowns
the longer i put it off
the harder it will be
any toothquacks out there
eager to drill my fangs?
any used car dealers with a cheap car for me
that wont blow up?
anyhow
david byrne is OFF
hows that?
thats fuckin’ show biz folks
next thing up
the triffids in melbourne
thats gotta be good, right?
meanwhile
its saturday nite
im gonna get wasted

nobody knows anything
i travel round this n other worlds
a free spirit but you dont get it for nothing
past weeds n stones n little bunny rabbits
i roll over bridges
i fly over lakes
i walk thru walls
i am a presence waiting for you to close your eyes
i hover in the summer darkness
i am so very patient
now
i can wait
i go where i want
in shotgun shacks at the edge of town
get yer skulls n powders here
i am black madame apollyon
i am a thousand years old today
i eat men alive
i swallow cities n towns
i lift up my skirts n darkness comes down
jus’ count yer money carefully honey
you dont wanna cheat me
i know how you died
i know how you gonna be born
i am the snake mans daughter
i am a childe of the marshes
i am the morning that never comes
i am so pretty but you never see me
i am that bird on the line
i go up n i see everything
in the deepest lake i am an eel
in the highest sky i am a cloud
in the strongest tree i am a termite
in the hardest metal i am rust
and lower yer voice
you never knows who might be listening
and close yer eyes now
n fall asleep
let yer old mama croon you away
as the train clicketty-clack clicketty-clack
past the houses with their back gardens
past the factories n general stores
past the fields where the labourers groan
past the fallen down silos
and past the sandy trails
yeah your mama sings to you
and her fingers soothe away the past
and she cradles your sweet white skull
and she gently rocks with the train
and people move past on the screen
thats me you say
no thats me
no thats me
oh mama wont you sing some more
oh yes childe
surely i will sing some more
about a devil in the deep blue sea
and about
an angel in a pit
about that little boy
who one day
woke up with a black fury sucking him off
and about the monkeys in lemuria
who were vicious n mad
and about a beautiful lady turned men into pigs
oh that aint too hard says an old ladies voice
and everyone in the carriage starts to laugh
oh mama oh mama
yes my sleepy childe?
oh mama sing me those songs about the kings
about the gold
about the boys who never grow old
oh sing me to sleep because i am so tired
but i’m shaking
and i cant tell whats wrong with me…
oh childe let my love dwarf thee
oh childe come back into the dark earth
be a part not apart
oh childe listen to my voice
the wind is my friend
he carries my words
and i talk to the night
whatever that means
and the night has a thousand eyes
and the walls can all speak
and the carpet burns
and the dawn is mourning
hush you little rascals
dont wake now
atlantis has gone down
down to the depths
with a boiling white sound
someone interrupts
hey its madame apollyon….
shut your mouth!
i’m singing my little steven asleep
my poor tired boy
all sweaty n hot
from working all day
so hard in his mind
he tried so hard to run from mother earth
but now as his day draws nigh
he turns to me and he sigh
someone in the carriage says
hallelujah!
and they all join in my mamas song
mama sings :
ashes and dust aint so bad
cmon now n dont be sad
the passengers in the carriage :
aint so bad
don’ be sad
mama sings:
tomorrow wont care whether youre there
son dont let the blues hear you fuckin’ swear
passengers in the carriage :
yeah don’ swear don’ swear
mama sings :
one door close
another one open
but maybe it wasnt
the one you been hopin’
but thats alright
its goodnight
goodnight
goodnight
passengers in carriage :
aaaahhhh goooood niiiight!

no time no time no time
splendish duffly xox
wing wang woo
a quikky
right it down bee-ling
pro cream your genie us
isnt thiz grande
tacks nailing me
its all micksed up
is this then in sanitee
the roo ins
the abs n loot pitts
bread pitt
broad pit
angel in a pit
angel of the pitts + kil-be-el-z-bub
hey bubba louie
hey my my hay
have i done enough yet
i must not write silly bloggs
i must not write silly bloggs
why not?
oh…
thats right
give my wrista wreste!

sometimes i feel like jus’ making it all up
i mean, who would know
but life is always weirder than friction
and thats how the snake got out its skin
and kilbey flounders n struggles from one disaster to
another
i could right a fucken book
kilbeys semi-autobiography
the real story un ex purr gated
or whatever…
hey its all bullshit, right?
who cares if kilbey insulted hughie louis n made him cry?
who cares that he snorted coke at roger jaggers bar mitzvah
(or was it bar none)
or at the pittsburgh area music awards
a drunken slurring kilbey
he didnt mean to be drunk
but he thought it might help
actually it didnt take much to get us drunk
a sip of champers
and kilbey was staggering round the green room
treading on rick ocaseks corns
and eating mister misters guacamole
we went out for a stroll in the snow
as luck wood have it
we bump into ziggy marley n end up blowing a spliff
kilbey pretending to know all about dub
says some stupid things
“thats not fucking dub, man(mon)!” says z m
we’re left coughing in the snow
what you say that for? i ask him
i dunno he says
fuck ‘im if ‘e cant take a joke !
ah touche
sometimes our minds think so alike
some fan recognizes us
oh no kilbey says
lookin’ round for an exit
but the guy is loomin’ large
steve?
no
yes it is!
no its not!
steve kill-beee?
no!
me : it is…he’s just being rude
k: shut up you imbecile
fan : steve?
me : yes!
k : no!
fan: steve kill-bee…of the churrrch?
me: yes n no
k: no n no
fan : excuse me…are you steve?
k : (looking daggers at me!) yes…..
me : you see, i told you
fan : i’m sorry, are you steve kill-b…..
k: (emphatically) YES!
me : are you?
k : shut up
fan : steve kill-bee of the churrrch?
k : yes…can i sign something…?
fan : ( giggling) steve kill-bee oh ha ha
k : (warming to it a little) yes….its me ..in the flesh
me : oh ha ha ha hee
fan : steve….?
k : yeah…..?
me : here we go…
fan : steve …..?
k : yeah….?!
fan : (proffering programme for the p.a.m.as)
could you get rick ocasek to sign this?
me : oh ha ha hardy ha ha
k : (blushing ) err…yeah..sure..you wait here
as we re-enter the building
kilbey chucks the programme in a rubbish bin
(or was it a trash can?)
i dig it out n i say
c’mon get that chaps programme signed
kilbey tears it outta my hands
muttering under his breath
about fucking idiots n jesus christs
although he got ocasek to sign it
it still ended up in the rubbish
with the poor geyser probably still waiting out there..
eventually after knocking over sineads perrier water
and pissing meatloaf off
with a veggie jibe
kilbey n i hit the frickin’ podium
we had a speech prepared
but kilbey had ripped bits of it up as filters
over the week since i wrote it for him
plus it had gotten snow on it
and a few pages gone missing
kilbey started off by saying
he thought the p.a.m.a should change their name to
“the pits”
absolutely no one laughed
except me
i laughed at no one laughing
one by one his jokes fell flat
his drummer jokes were badly received
if he’d done his homework
he would have seen
that the vinny capice award for best new group
was named after the late vinny capice
pittsburghs most famous n beloved drummer
who died in a freak accident a month ago
when a steinway piano fell on his head from six storeys up
kilbey then made references to
republicans with crabs
ted nugents left testicle
david coverdales smoking jacket
n tawny kittaens flea collar
william penns penis
and a load of other faux pas n insults
that went down as banga pearson said
went down like a pork chop in a synagogue…
sensing a revolution
i took the mic
ladies n gennlemen…
i said ,soothing the boiling rabble
ladies n gennlemen
tis wiv grate plessha that we read the nominees
for the vinny capice encouragement n special award
for the pittsburgh areas most improved and original group
this prize will include 2 whole days of recording
at nova sound where your sounds are important!
kilbey giggled n quietly burped
i continued…
(but the bugger was trying to put me off
having made a bit of a rum go of things
kilbeys solution was always just then to make it worse
go all the way
n hope salvation is located at that point
where a shambles meets improvisation
n hope for the fuckin’ best)
anyhow
i tried to be serious
kilbeys very demeanour showed he cared not a fig for any of this
his very posture said fuck the fuckin’ pamas
he stood at the podium
stooped shoulders n scratching his head
he hoped he looked stylishly dishevelled
but he looked like a fucking scruff from sydney circa late 80s
anyway
i tried to ignore ‘im
the nominees are:
johnny n the young rockers
(kilbey groans…he hates stupid names like that!)
lenny n the p.a. rockets
(kilbey : god…thats terrible)
little julie n the pittsburgers
(kilbey chokes on his champagne, spluttering)
billy n the bad boys
(he continues to splutter n cough loudly)
and finally but not least
kilbey interjects : but definitely last…
the brad waddlespoon band featuring todd waddlespoon
kilbey : we were gonna call my band that…..
and the winner is…
kilbey…gimme the envelope
him : i dont have it…!
me : (whispering furiously) youre s’posed to..
him : well i dont..
the audience sat there suddenly sobered up
they were stony faced and to a person angrily unimpressed
ah…i say
my voice sounded huge in the silence
like the whole universe was listenin’
to whatever i would say next
ah….i said
we ..ah..lost the envelope
kilbey stepped up to the mike n coughed
onvelope ….he corrected my pronunciation
we stood there awhile
there was movement behind us
rick ocasek pushed aside n said
the winner is…. the .brad waddlespoon band
featuring todd waddlespoon!!!
the place erupted
the waddlespoons came on n played
a truly awful new romantic boogie
no one spoke to us after
we never got paid
we found our own way to the airport
and our flight was delayed
n then after 6 hours on the run way
the plane bounced all around the sky
scaring the hell out of us both
fucking show biz…i ask ya
cue david neils : memory of metal sheets
memory of metal sheets
looking thru dark glass
i think about a stone hearted woman
n how the time go pass
i talk to talking creatures
i climb the money trees
i swim on empty beaches
searching for my sheet metal memories
(from western songs : david neil in the wilderness )

shopping in melrose
i point out to kilbey
in alvin aardvarks
a pair of anti-lopes
real 1960s anti-lopes
they wont be in my size kilbey says
his needle-nose pressed up against the glass
bullshit….i say …go on n try ’em
kilbey just stands there
visions of anti-lopes in his head
it was the” inne shoppe” canberra 1968
(is this where his fetish for adding the “e” came from?)
shopping in david jones with his mother
he wandered away from the haberdashery for a moment
down thru the record bar
down the mysterious back of this sprawling emporium
it was 68 n psychedelia had broken loose
gents clothes were sposed to be floral n colourful
paisley cravats n bright cor-du-roy
like you were percy shelley or someone
up the back is the inne shoppe
a few square feet of modern rags
as kilbey n i stand gawking from a distance
a cool dude comes in the back doors
he n his girlfriend leave the royal blue skies
n the pine trees all behind
as they walk towards the inne shoppe
oh wow! kilbey whispers
what..? i say
shhhhh! he says its ronnie haze
the best bass player in the a.c.t.
n his girlfriend
who is the saucy sister of a guy i knew once in dickson
anyhow
unless mick jagger himself had walked in…
hazey was the bees knees
long blond hair
blond sideburns
slim n impossibly groovy
tanned skin
a nehru jacket ….so tasteful
his black boots were just….right
his girlfriend was like him in negative
black hair pale skin
groovy outfit
she seemed devoted as she clung to him
oh my life would be complete if i was him
c’mon ..! i say
kilbey says ssssh!
ronnie haze is checking out the inne shoppes clothes
theres a guy working in there would scare anyone
immaculately dressed in double breasted pinstripe
a supercilious flouncing ninny
kilbey’d never dare go in a shoppe with a guy like that
i seen kilbey in action…he’s scared of shop assistants
he hates buying things
he cant decide
he n i get into arguments
me : they fit
him : they do not fit!
me : hold your stomach in
him : you hold yer tongue!
etc
anyway hazey walks right up to this ponce
can i help you sir? says the ponce with a smirk
hazey says
have you got any zigger jackets?
the guy frowns n shakes his head
hazey says
have you got any anti-lopes?
the guy starts to mumble something
shaking his head
hazey gestures around the guys shop
and lifts a shirt up off the rack
inspecting it
sniffing it
n suddenly replacing it
like it was the most disgusting object on earth
no zigger jackets or anti-lopes
yet you dare call this the “inne shoppe?”
hazey laughed a mirthless laugh
n he n the girlfriend swept out
like ambassadors leaving the table of negotiation
from then on in
both kilbey n i were anxious to secure
a pair of anti-lopes
they had proven elusive
we were beginning on our evolution thru jeans
amco
leisuremasters
levi-strauss
lee
lee coopers
wranglers
bear-cats
but
somewhere out there
was a pair of anti-lopes with sks name on em
finally
that day had come
but he couldnt stand it
luckily being much the same size as him
he was 32 in those days..
i went in n tried the bloody anti-lopes on
kilbey stood outside gesticulating thru the glass
oh wow they fitted perfect, lee
not too tight
not too baggy
buy em! he was outside saying
ok ! OK!
later on kilbey gets busted for jay-walking
the sign says dont walk but kilbey walks
c’mon he says
dont walk here on a red sign i say
impatiently he snorts n steps out into the traffic
cars start stopping all over the place
horns start honking
and a policeman cruises up on his bike
n busts kilbey red-footed
sir, let me see some id
kilbeys got no idea let alone id
sir i’ll have to take you in until i can determine who you are
kilbey starts laying on the aussie accent
oh…youre from downunder? says the quite frankly dopey copper
i have a sister in crows nest, nsw says the copper
his eyes are a little misty
i havent seen her for ..what..2 years this christmas
kilbey waxes eloquent on the joys of crows nest
a lovely suburb.. he drawls so honest n harmless
the cop n kilbey chat about crows nest for a while
every now n then kilbey rolls his eyes in my direction
eventually the cop says
look sir
i’m not going to take you down the station today
but jay walking is an offence in california
and please pay this ticket..
he gave him a ticket for 10 dollars
oh yes i will !said kilbey pathetically subservient
(and he did! …what a rebel…?!)
anyway
a load more things happened that afternoon
but jesus
my rsi is killing me today
so this is the short story
after a series of hilarious misadventures
the anti-lopes got locked in the boot (trunk)
of a hire car
that got dropped off somewhere
before their absence had been detected
kilbey n i blamed each other
most people (who were interested) believed me
the anti-lopes were never seen again
he never even tried em on
but he never paid me for em neither
so fair sfair i guess
oh god they were lovely tho
i know kilbey still thinks of em
on a misty night in the purple gloaming
(cue david neils ” alberta”
alberta , give me some more time
i cant see how i could have been so blind
and tomorrows faraway
jes’ like yessaday
alberta, please gimme some more time”

tonite
finally
i will be cool
in my zigger jacket…..
the phone rings
a bus blasts its horn
a plane begins its descent for landing
kilbey stands in a queue
my passport is stamped
i walk through
carlos from curare records meets us
at the restaurant i find nothing to eat
the others eat the fish
i sit bored and i argue with kilbey
kilbey sits there yawning
he wants to sleep more than anything in the world
carlos is getting on great with the others
but kilbeys ignoring him
so i’m ignoring him
kilbey n i get up for a stroll
we’re down at the edge of some sea or lake
the sky is almost a creamy green-blue
i remember the zigger jacket n i smile
where is it now tho? someone asks
fuck, my zigger jacket….!
kilbey looks deeply troubled
where is the zigger jacket? he asks me out loud
for christ out loud ..i say…
its in the suitcase, isnt it?
i didnt put it in there , did i ? kilbey wonders
you must have, man….cos i didn’t
we stand at the edge of the sea
no sand only rocks ….i say
yeah..says kilbey hardly hearing me
lets check the case kilbey suddenly says
s’back at the hotel….
gotta go there now then
kilbey goes in n tries to disturb the others lunch
theyre drinking beer n eating prawns or something
all having a good laugh with stupid carlos
who thinks he’s pretty funny
kilbey says we wanna go back to the hotel
the others ignore him
c’mon….! i say
they go on drinking n eating the dizgusting crustacean bits
kilbey n i take matters into our own hands
which fuckin’ hotel is it? kilbey asks me
i take out my key
mercury gardens hotel the city
we bump along in some old cab
the drivers strikes up a conversation with us
kilbey asks all his usual questions
whats the population of this city
where did the driver learn to talk such good english?
(kilbey n i exchange a wink in the mirror)
he asks about the war
the guy goes into a long complicated n passionate answer
i see kilbey gets put off n doesnt listen to a word
the guy can see hes not listening
so he starts talking to me
yeah yeah mister….thats too bad..
aw fuck i cant understand a thing he’s saying
but he’s sure upset with some general or somebody…
eventually we get to the mercury gardens
kilbey jumps out n strolls away
leaving me to pay
theres some argy bargy with the tip
i tell the guy to fuck off
the car drives off with a screeching of tyres
i gave him a tip i say to kilbey
kilbey says how much didya give the bastard?
i hold up a note
i gave ‘im 5 of these
great says kilbey …you gave him a ten cent tip!
fuck ‘im if ‘e cant take a joke ..we roar in unison
in side the hotel the people dont like us
kilbey looks like a real scruff in his get up
and his great big bag full of cassettes
at least i had a shave this morning
kilbeys got reddish hair n a black shadow
his face is pale his nose is pink his eyes are blank
gimme the key he says to me
i aint got the key! i say
didnt you check in already ?he says incredulously
there is a vague n imperious side of kilbey i hate
we all do
he wanders around wishing out loud
like some kinda fool prince on a picnic
i aint got the key.. i say one last time
go to the desk then ..he says
you go to the fucking desk ! i say
kilbey shrugs n goes to the desk
i almost feel sorry for him sometimes
he hates doing anything…ANYTHING…
for example in paris:
hey kilbey we just arrived in paris..wanna see the sights
kilbey: no i hate sights
wanna get some food?
no i hate the food here, i’m gonna eat a sandwich
that i bought in luxembourg…
hey kilbey wanna watch tv..?
kilbey: no i hate tv
the soccers on…
kilbey : i hate the soccers on..
jesus what a wet blanket
kilbey checking in is a piece of work
hes mumbling n keeps checking all his pockets
all he finds are crumpled bits of paper
some of which he unfolds n reads
before sticking em back in his pocket
do you know where me passport is? he snarls
bangas still got it from the flight i say
kilbey says fuck!
he goes into some schpiel about something
n finally they let him have the roomkey
on his nsw drivers license
it takes us a while to figure out how to use the key
kilbey gets blustery n tries to force it in
look ….like this… i say
the door opens
its a nice room
the suitcase has already been delivered
the zigger jacket ! he says
i take the cassette player out n stick in some david neil
” someday honey , i’m gonna find my way home…”
kilbey looks perplexed
what is it? i ask
d’ya remember the combination? he says
the case has a combination lock
the silly sods forgotten the combo
we sit there trying all the obvious combos
666
069
013
007
etc
finally kilbey spins all the dials
suddenly the case pops open
it explodes in socks n shirts n underpants n books n cassettes
where is it?
where is it?
the fuckin’ zigger jacket…where is it?
kilbey just sits there shocked
i rummage thru the case again n again
kilbey gets on the phone
he insults the airline n its baggage handlers
he insults the country
he insults the hotel n the staff
he rings up banga n insults him
he finally slams down the phone
n he starts insulting me
you know how much i love that jacket ..he says
why didnt ya look after it a bit better ? i say
this incenses him
he hurls the hotel dossier book thingy at me
it explodes midair in envelopes menus n postcards
he goes into the bathroom slamming the door
a second later he appears sheepishly
its ok now he says
what?
its ok..he says …i found this…..!
hes holding the zigger jacket in his hands
oh god
despite all the carry on
i’m awfully pleased to see it
wow
a work of true sartorial elegance
can i wear it a little? i ask him
sure …he says , his face softening a little
i put it on n walk around the room
looks good on doesnt it? he says
yeah…it really does…
wow….
whoever wears this will be a true rock star
and then the unthinkable happens
we order up some food
and i get guacamole all over the zigger jacket
kilbey is angry he cant speak
then its a flurry of calls
kilbeys moaning n carrying on
banga comes round eventually
you n yer fuckin’ zigger jacket…he says
they have a brief argument
culminating in kilbey asking banga
“what could be more important to YOU than MY needs?”
banga snorts with derision
“mate” he says “get fucken serious!”
he slopes off with the jacket
that night at the gig
things are at an all time low
the jacket has supposed to have turned up
but it hasnt
kilbey n i bicker with each other over “responsibility”
banga tells kilbey to be patient for the hundredth time
n the others couldnt give a damn
finally
just as the strains of the intro tape are dying away
(deodatos the ride of the valkyries)
some little foreign lackey from curare records
comes runnin in the gig
holding the zigger jacket all wrapped up in drycleaning plastic
are you fucken happy now? banga roars
n everyone laughs
kilbey smirks n unwraps our jacket
n then his smirk turns to a nasty frown
as he tries it on
as he tries to try it on
its shrunken to a small girls size
everyone tries to stifle a huge inevitable laugh
as he casts the shrunken garment to the floor in a cold rage
the guy from curare makes himself scarce
the gig was a stinker
we never got asked back
dont ever mention that fuckin’ jacket to me again
or kilbey
just DONT mention it!

for one year
every night
helsinki in the morning
minneapolis in the night
minneapolis in the morning
mexico city in the night
mexico city in the morning
manchester in the night
yes i was taking it hard
i was all fucking shook up
i was triple jet-lagged n double hung -over
one night the drummer said to me
i havent slept for 4 nights…i just keep drinking coffee
his eyes gleamed with feverish mad intensity
oh no
kilbey has to sleep
i dont want…
i would never want sleeplessness
oh sleep waits for me at the end of everyday
my tiny mind needs a big rest
i flow back out at night
let kilbey be empty for a while
let his olde bones rest
mean while back on le bus
the drummers got some dub going
he chucks me a grubby little envelope
inside is a lump of some brown substance
opiated hash he says
what smoke or eat? i ask
both! the drummer cackles
an hour later we leave madrid
and we’re cruising round luxembourg
looking for the drummer
that is we were but…
well banga jumped off the bus to find him
but when he found him
he gave banga some of the same stuff i’d had
and no one ever came back
so i went out to find banga
who i found eventually
but now we’re sitting by a river in luxembourg
its neutral weather
its 6 a m in the morning
fuck we’ll never get to new amsterdam at this rate
banga sits on our bench with his head in his hands
an old lady comes walking along with her dog
excuse me miss! banga stands up suddenly
the olde lady takes afright
but the big st bernard jumps up on bangas chest
and growls n snarls inches from his face
take it easy banga …! i mumble …fuck..!
the lady pulls the dog back
and she hurries away
the red eyed beast still growling
eventually a woman comes walking along
banga pearsons demeanour changes
he hits the suave button hard
this is not easy at 6 am in luxembourg
dressed in a satin tour jacket n shorts n blunnies
me? at least i was dressed norbal
tight black pants n a t rex tshirt
my hennaed hair was a tangled birdsnest
n the kohl was still slightly smeared
and our eyes glowed in the dark
red n stoned n tired
now everything just seemed one long continuous aussie prank
like i’d never left school
please dont talk to her banga !i implore him under my breath
why not, killa ? he says standing up
offering his hand “hoi,oi’m noel…call me banger!..”
jesus christ!
the womans on her way to work n…
she stops n looks at banga n smiles
i’m so embarrassed n stoned n tired
i cant tell if anything is happening or not
this changes from exhilarating one minute
to frightening the next
i look away from bangas classic chat up
i can hear his voice droning on
with occasional silences as the womans nods n smiles
i am ashamed to say banga was trying to speak in the worst french…
it was making the hairs on my arms cringe n my teeth ache
wee wee ! i could hear banga out the corner of my ear
as i looked around the luxembourgian park
a lovely statue of some long haired medieval git
little boat shed n little boats for hire
little cafe opening in little more than an hour
regular ordinary people walked past
some stared at the aussie tour manager n bedraggled rocker
but most didnt
they worked in well lit offices with comfortable furniture
they had favourable employment packages
they drove audis n saabs n lotsa beemers n mercs
they had summer houses somewhere or something
in my receptive state i flow out n live all their lives
time is a relative
everything is/was flowing
pounded by 2 hundred days of music
hounded by tiredness n druggedness
n hangovers that were starting to queue up to happen
i was reading reading reading any books i could find
to escape
and then
there i was
on a park bench at 6 15 in meta-europe
escaping
in some lux parallel thingy…oh bother!
living all those lives at once
its a strain on the system
banga comes over
ok
ok what?
ok this ladys taking us to her place
what?
you heard!
i aint goin’!
ok …stay ‘ere then
no ok..
ok what?
i’m coming then….
banga walks along speaking the most abysmal french
but the lady seems to keeping nodding n smiling
i follow along miserably
i just wanna get on that bus n sleep all the way to
hammersmith
eventually we come to a door
open it up
inside is the errant drummer
drinking schnapps
smoking dope
and i dont believe it
on the stereo
david neil is singing
was there ever talk of love?
“was there ever talk of love
in the stillness of a night
did you ever walk away
from a love so bright
but she was burning cold
burning burning cold….”
the second schnapps was warming my cockles
when the bus pulled up outside
of course this whole thing was a dream
if it ever happened it didnt happen to me
so i climbed on that bus
swung into my bunk
pushing all my david neil cassettes outta the way
the engine purred beneath me like an old friend
i could hear banga carrying on somewhere
just down the line in some other town
roadies humping gear down the backsteps
the music still not faded from the air
a train rushes past symbolizing the velocity
n fixed nature of life
the audiences drift out
the sun comes up
i wish i was warm warm warm in bed
jus’ sleeping
dreaming this whole thing off

memory swirls throughout time
like raspberry juice swirling through triple sec
chop up some lemon n orange n apple
keep chilled
music is one thing
wine is another
blood holds it all together
the dark red stuff
ichor in the veins of the gods
aphrodite from cytherea
zeus from olympus
kilbey from nowhere in particular
the sky darkens as you sit there watching
typical says a voice in another room
the sun fades away behind the grey
the heroes return from the war all bled dry
diminished and wanting
david neil sings in the headphones
the plane touches down n rolls into town
maybe yer precious ‘magination is all used up
saturday is a strange day
sometimes it makes you cry n
makes you feel so bad
the 4 of us plus noel “banga” pearson
hurtle through the night
down some highway going south
at hyper speed
gigs pop up
we play at a million strums per second
the crowds dwindle n surge
words come out my mouth
peter kopf sends telegraphic messages with his devices
the clouds whizz passed overhead
the crew sets up n packs away
money a blur as it changes its hands
the faces on the notes age and grow old
a hundred dollar note in my coat sings david neil
gonna see a man about a boat….
backstage twenty years have passed
you step on stage at 34
you come off at 54
rip van kilbey
where are all my old haunts…mutter mutter
god, ive been asleep so long
that was a long set, mister….says a janitor
as he casually cleans up the mess
the lights have come on
and the place is littered with crushed beer cans
in the cruel light everyone seems pale and lined
the light stabs yer eyes n you blink like a dormouse
a husband n wife come forward for a photo
they smile when you say ok
but they groan when they look in yer eyes
wow you better get yerself some…..
sleep ? i offer
yeah uh huh some sleep
david neil sings sleep with me but dream alone
the road south is flat n broad n unending
i stick a cassette in the player
not fuckin’ david neil again, killer ! banga shouts as he drives
much laughter from the backseat
isnt there anything else? someone yells out
we’re cruising through the desert at 90 miles n hour
all the windows are down
everyones smoking something or another
and david neil is blasting above it all
suddenly another gig looms up
in one second flat
i’m checked in
tuned up
sound checked
dinner’d up
n
onstage
we used to be popular in this town…..sheeesh
which town is it ? someone asks
its uh….not syracuse
not melbourn florida
not saska toon
not uh….i dont remember exactly
but my room had a view over a park
and the flowers were ….uh…
anyway
its always the next day
think about that when tomorrow comes, killer
banga pearson was the philosophical aussie type
like a digger from ww1
he was strong philosophical n liked a fucken beer or 2
he grew up on the mean streets of new south wales north
n he could surf like a demon at 8 years old
when asked by a man or a woman why he was called banga
banga ‘d say ” do you wanna fucken find out?”
one of bangas brothers was in jail
the other one was the lead guitarist
with phyllis stein n the nom de prunes
who had had some chart success in the south west
banga ‘d walk thru a brick wall for me (he said)
but he couldn’t be bothered with finding my passport
which he’d lost in a rumble with some other idiot
boy he was a good driver tho
when hed had a smoke n a cuppla lines
gee he could go all night
no more david neil killer! he screams out over the racket
as arizona n santa fe and mississippi go past
david neil sings
oh the sorrow of parting from you nadine
split me down my silver screen..
what the fuck does that mean asks banga a year later
weave finally stopped driving
but the ground still trembles under my frictional feet
we sit in bangas room with its beer bottles n cigarette packets
banga rolls up a huge great spliff which i wont smoke
cos of all the tobacco hes put in there
we watch mtv n video smash hits n top of the props
david neil comes on
fuck, no! exclaims banga
i dont believe it!
david neil doing the unplugged thing
boy he sure can play guitar tho
even banga has to admit that..
banga :pigs arse i do!
he’s looking kind of old but in a cool way…
david neil sings lets go to la tolteca
lets go inside there
david neils fingers glide over the guitar like a magician
the sangrias clotting he sings
there you go ! exclaims banga
bang!
but its true what they say
about the endless road n the lost highway
the miles do as their tolled
the bridges detour leaning
and the signs
can only point you in the wrong direction
still the palm trees bend in the wind n rain
and of course david neil was never found alive
and by the time the doors open
we should have had something to eat
you’ll have time to do 2 quick interviews
n pop back home n get changed in to yer mansuit
sip the sangria
smell the rosy apples
chew the bitter lemons
nibble on orange counties
strap on your pulverizer
and stuff yer strut
emi have got the test pressings
cbs have got the masters
wea have got the blues
and curare records have disappeared
theres a curfew at 11 so dont play 10
the house takes 15 per cent of all winnings
and the deuces are still wilde..
banga looked up from his guessed list
as the gig boomed n thundered all around
it smelt of beer n aftershave n smoke
2 pair he said
almost a full house
wait till i tell killer he said
he’ll be stoked…..!