The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

continuity remained elusive in the killers life
his memory had fractured into mosaic elements
a la the white plague
or a whiter shade of plague with the bark motif
everything is connected n then everything is disconnected
grasping at straws to drink my boost juice
tuning up backstage in berlin
shooting dope in a station in stockholm
standing on a ferry between nambucca heads n kempsey
you are no continuous continual free thinking man
you are a series of snapshots on the white pages of spirit
i check into my room with my bag of cassettes
and my great big cassette player with detachable speakers
the room is quiet the air conditioner purrs
the tv offers a range of services
exec check out
weekend specials
shopping vouchers
drycleaning services
open up the fridge
kilbey takes out the toblerone chocolate
eating at it as he looks out over the city
what was it?
new genoa ….?
with its hinterland of twinkling lights
with its rivers n statues
with its audiences n its money
kilbey shoves in a cassette
david neils classic after mars
kilbey fishes thru his belongings
books n cassettes…some cds
finds his stash of primo weedo
some ultra precocious college kid had laid on him
last night in santa rubella….
he turns up david neil
“yeah…..baby….like a lover i never had…
no …maybe…when all our love turned bad….”
the echo slide took over merging into the sad strings
the cod-female voices rising in weird unisons
kilbey dropped the tob wrapper
n mimed the guitar solo in the full length mirror
turquoise jacket
turquoise boots
tight black jeans gone baggy round the knees n bum
a black velvet shirt with a frayed collar
some white thing was coming thru the collar n he liked it
bags under his eyes
he needed a shave n a years good knights sleeps
he needed a haircut and good waking up
david neil hit his falsetto crescendo
the huge 3/4 time chords descended
like bells tolling the death of a king
” and its just no good…any….more….”
the rain began outside
kilbey drifted off into a little reverie
a hundred years in the future
type ype type before a little white screen
hello out there…its kilbey here….
a pleasant fresh sea breeze blows in n birdies tweet
all the money ran out
and the ringing in the olde ears
cold feet in more ways than one
ex-ratbag on remand in the doldrums
one finger typist
up to the elbows in arms
impossibly tanned
the caucasian skin with golden little hairs
write about what you know says a voice
all i know is myself
a trillion words pour out thru that one finger
his wrist is sore
the hand feels weird
still he bangs on non
his struggles with…himself
his admiration for…himself
his memories of….himself
i am everyman i am sings david neil
i am zeus sings apollo( as played by peter kopf)
i am the audience
i am the ambience
wow
the real kilbey snaps out of his daydream
the phone rings
hello? kilbey says in a phlegmy whisper
steve …?
its noel “banga” pearson , the aussie tour manager
mate, we’re all waitin’ for ya in the car…..”
kilbey chucks his other black velvet shirt in a plastic bag
he grabs the towel out of the bathroom
turns off the light
steps out into a hushed corridor
that night the band played so well
they’d hit such heights…could things ever be the same again?
the answer was….yeah..they could be the same again
kilbey sat in a corner sipping some black label whiskey
red faced and sweaty and silent
as a parade of visitors appeared n faded
inside his ears n head the band roared on
the show was over
there was nothing left to see here
in his head
where the guitars still screamed n dived n kerranged
where the people still shrieked n whistled n stamped
where the silence rang on in stone
where a thousand heralds blew their shrill horns
and the whiskey tasted real bad
it always tasted real bad
it burnt yer throat but it warmed yer guts
it increased the fog
if you could get lost in the fog
you could leave all that noise behind

the dawn awoke before the killer
a night of blue flashes and bone rattling thunder
a night of vivid dreams n astral visitations
memories slide down the window with the rain
my dad comes back sometimes n we talk
my dad says
youre older than me now, slim….!
i say
but i still cant play the piana like you dad
dad says
you need to let go to really play the piano, son
he starts to muck about on his piano
look at this….slim!… youre not even watching….
lyneham oh lyneham oh lyneham
wherefore art thou lyneham?
yeah they got some counterfeit lyneham there now, dad
what d’you meanby that, son…?
well they got internet access n gays drinkin’ soy lattes
dad says
i didnt understand a bloody word…..
dad, theres trees n all the houses are done up
and all the old ghosts have fled…..
and the young girls are now grandmothers
and the teachers are all old and distracted
time has moved on
leaving us all struggling in its wake
and this is just another dream, isnt it….
afterschool
i catch a bus into town to the olympic pool
richard michalak and colin burton n paul turner are there
the p.a. plays the latest hits of the day
and the music keeps me in a state of constant sensitivity
everything overwhelms me
i jump in the pool n nearly drown
i go n buy some lollies…a kurl bar n licorice
my sunburn is peeling
my hair is short
my head is like a square
my eyes seem old
my teeth are yellow with 2 white stains at the front
my nose is red n freckled
my hair is dead straight n nondescript brown
i stand in the mens changerooms looking in the mirror
god i’d like to become invisible n go into the ladies changerooms
god, i’d like to see a naked lady
i sit on the bus for ages
all the way down miller street thru turner n o’connor
megan mc who i am secretely in love with
has taken the same bus home
she sits 4 rows further up
oblivious to my presence
but to me the air is charged with fairydust
the bus drivers radio blasts tinnily
i say hey hey you you get offa my cloud
the rolling stones come thru some tiny speaker
it feels dangerous just to listen to em…
whats the date, dad?
aw i dont know…..november something, isnt it?
its the 20th of november, leslie…says aunty lou
shes putting the dinner things out
egg n chips with tomato sauce
custard n rhubarb for afters
be christmas soon …my dad says
mum in the kitchen groans
what you want for christmas then …..slim?
dad do you remember that year…?
i got a simon n garfunkel record
and i got a tank that needed batteries
so you drove me down the esso but they were closed too
and a loada people rolled up
who all got mildly drunk, i guess
except for you n mum
and the kids ran around wild
and lyneham itself was wild
there were frill necked lizards 3 feet long n yabbies in the dam
farmers with shotguns on horseback chasing us thru the barb wire
everything smelt of chlorine
our washing went round n round on the hills hoist
our back yard was half n acre of stones n weeds
canberra sat in a valley in a heat dope stupor
the sixties had finally arrived in minis n mu-mu dresses
the bitter lemons released their own record
wow! the bitter lemons…what a great name
at school i drew pictures of bands playing guitars
at school where slagger slade was the principal
so called
cos when he was talking he’d spit all over you
it was truly a disgusting victorian kind of thing
and he gave me the cane and fuck! it hurt
i played cricket n got in fights n got punched in the face
i got ten cents a day
5 cents for half a vegemite roll
5 cents for afterschool lollies
or maybe a sunny boy with a lucky number in it
or maybe chip in with someone for 10 cents worth of chips
lets ride out to the quarry off dryandra street
jesus its all uphill
at the quarry we chuck stones at the silvergreen water
and finally some kid chucks a rock through some glass
and people come out shouting at us
and we jump on our bikes laughing n riding away
but i hit a rut n fall off my bike n hurt my arm
n all the kids are laughing at me
as i try not to cry
when i get home mums angry cos russells hurt himself too
and the dog dug up next doors garden
n pru daly is playing country n western too loud
n mark daly is practicing the drums
he plays the same drum riff over n over
my dad says something that makes everyone laugh
even auntie lou
he says:
“he’ll never play those drums
as long as he’s got a hole in his bum!”
just like some oldtime cockney comedian…
oh les! says auntie lou trying to stifle her giggling
its not a pretty sight
shes such a big lady
shes not fat
shes big like a rawboned rugby player is big
charming language for the table says my mother
although she laughed as well
but outside
the drum practice n tammy wynette fill the summery air
lyneham as it will never be again
before all them trees n soy lattes
when kids ‘d shoot at ya with air rifles n cracker guns
and i walked abroad in my shortie pyjamas
2 channels blacknwhite
cup of tea n chocolate biscuit
mum rings england every christmas
dad always makes her mum n dad laugh
20th of november….christmas soon
school begins to kinda deterioate in early december
we are allowed to bring games
the last week of school
someone brings a record player
and we listen to records n play games
the sky was always blue
the nights were always hot
the stars burnt on so fiercely
dad, do ya remember all that?

rainy cool morning in n bondi
the killers mind doth roam
people
places
events
things
reasons
results
music
and arguments
always lots of arguments
i always know what i want
but dont always know how to get it
i am a genius who has trouble explaining himself
people get sick of my imperious ways
they resent me
i spend half my time in arguments
they wanna cut off the golden gooseballs head
to see where he gets all them ideas
they couldnt just trust
they couldnt just follow
why kilbey why?
kilbey always try to say
just do it
if kilbey says just put black on red
somebody always had to say
why kilbey why?
and if i couldnt exactly say why
then off we’d go
a little argument
instead of trying the idea
i work better on my own
of course there are people
who are better at certain things than me
but the fuckin’ arguments are killing the killer
i always say kill bee, no honey
or is that an olde siamese saying…?
i really do want
one day
an exhibition where
i will supervise every detail
from the moment you walk in
every note
every word
every colour
will be my choice
if other people work on it
it will be strictly under my direction
there will be no explanations
if i wanna put a painting
say…a rococo portrait of simone polinski
n under that a poem about the soft summers in sardinia
while an electric guitar plays a backwards g# minor 13th chord
over a cut up loop of pj proby n byzantine choral
then
i dont wanna have to explain to anybody why
its just the way i feel it should be
oh god all the explaining ive had to do
inside n outside
no…not only have you gotta come up wiv the goods
you gotta explain it!
therein lie my character faults
i am impatient
i smirk (oh i hate that smirk)
i am forgetful
i disregard protocol
i smoke dope all the time n get silly
i change my mind
i
i
i
i dont wanna have to deal with myself
if its just me then i dont…….
there are certain things where i happily relinquish the reins
(the reigns!?)
theres a lot that i dont have a clue about
gladly i can be relieved of those burdens
i am a specialist
i been working towards that exhibition
i hope i’m someday gonna have
my whole life
40 years of bands equals forty years of arguments
40 years of waiting around
40 years of hedging yer bets
a lot of misplaced loyalties
a lot of fucking insults given n taken
yeah its lonely in the tower
but i bet its quiet
i blame myself
i shoulda been the strong silent type
like arnie swartza-nougat
JUST PLAY IT!
but no
i was the bickery sensitive eager-to-please type
i wanted to run the ship n have everyone like me
always i ended up with neither
even this very blogge
this whiny self praising self flagellating missive
the nadir of self obsession
reprinted here only because of my commitment to honesty
and giving myself a way to work my feelings out
i feel a mass of resentment n regret
i feel ive played my own hand badly
oh how i wish for one of them legendary manager types
who coulda taken care of my business for me
because fuck knows i’m useless at it
ive stumbled from one disaster to another
helpless as a new born chick
and with about as much effectiveness
a dear cohort once told me
i wasnt a songwriter
i was an idiot in a room with a tape recorder..
you see….aint it the truth…?
now i’m an idiot in a room with a laptop
ha ha
yes i am an idiot
yes i am a savant
sometimes they come in the same package
n you gotta take one with the other
but here i go again
explaining myself
instead of saying
heres my blog…read it or not
still tryin’ to keep it all explicable
thats the way i come off as despicable
actually i’m feeling a bit sick of myself today
despite having made some breakthrus
i’m still caught in the same old spin
the usual vortices
the same olde dilemmas
the weeks fly by
nearly chrimbo already
its a very trying time of the year
and n y e
got some gigs coming up
dec 22 in sydney …i’m looking forward to that
meanwhile
a rainy day
a teacher strike till 11.30
what are they striking for….better students?
my ears ring ring ring unlike the phone
russell rang yesterday
i answer the phone with “russell?”
he doesnt even say how do you know it was me?
(is that cos everyones used to a number display thingy?)
was that psi power?
anyway
yeah
go forth n multiply

my ears ring on n on
my cilia vibrate uselessly
like a million switched on television sets
my eyesight dimmer n dimmer
my judgement….it was always dodgy
my memories swirl n distort n change
aurora kilbey gets up n greets me twice
she forgot to say goodmorning dad yesterday
so today she walks in once with a smile n a kiss
second time with a frown n a kiss (representing yesterday)
aurora kilbey has the complexion i envy
tanned olive skin n blonde hair n brown eyes
you dont find any kilbeys like that except her
she looks like a cross between ursula andress n a
palomino rabbit
she is the most unusual kid i got
baby scarlet is the spitting image of elli
she also looks like mimi her cuzzin
and juicy joycie the octagenerian nanna
aurora looks more exotic
nk has some “red indian” blood
does this account for ak’s dark looks
and her somewhat melancholy gentle wisdom
thank god her night terrors have passed
i used to get that stuff
realer than real
i also used to get this optical slip
late at night especially
when everything would slide up close
then it would all slide away
recede into the distance
wow that trip used to freak me out
my mum ‘d put me straight to bed n it would pass
i used to hear voices too
and my own world was as solid as…..
my ears are ringin’ like a bitch
40 years of rockin’ n rollin’
what a stupid bastard i am
and i asked em to turn down all the way along
they all told me
you dont understand electric guitars!
ha ha!
because i didnt wanna go deaf
i didnt understand their guitars…..
go fuckin figger
gee tho…i wish i understood….
well my ears must really not understand
besides what others started
ive helped to continue
by blasting myself with walkmens discmens n ipods
the louder the ringing
the louder i play the racket to get over it!
hey brien c
i hear that jeff beck does the same thing ie
hes so tired of the ringing he drowns it out in headphones
its like stabbing your leg to staunch the blood
yep
i’m gonna need a hearing aid before too long
deaf from too much music
thats a joke n its not funny anymore
the doodles have tiny little pods
i warn em n i warn em
top 5 songs on auroras ipod
1 outbound
2 i’m a believer
3 we will rock you
4 brickhouse (by the commodores)
5 tell me what you want (spice girls)

top 5 songs on eves pod
1 girls just wanna have fun
2tell me what you want
3 outbound
4 holiday (green day)
5 american life (madonna)

girls, did daddy make you say outbound?
both : no!
ok, aurora why do like that song?
A: oh i dont know but i like it
E: um i like the radio noise…
cool…i aint arguing with that….

they also got wolfe on high rotation
hmmm..maybe i could blow the wriggles off the kiddie charts
maybe the kids want spacerock instead of that insipid bullshit
maybe the kids want short-wave angels n white noise cream pie
maybe the kids want stream of unconsciousness
maybe kids wanna plug into the sk grid
maybe the kids are waiting for ricky maymi n simon polinski
maybe the kids want the simulated feeling of waitlessness
can you imagine a mass outbreak of little renaissance people
(where are all the renaissance women anyway?)
can you imagine learning rimbaud n studying the primitives
can you imagine doing advanced bass guitar n 1st year ambiguity
yes i’m ready to tutor yer kids
the whole package
i’ll send em home whistling van gogh n painting like shakespeare
seriously
it’ll cost ya a fortune but yer kids ‘ll be argumentative snobs
unable to ever get a real job
n all puffed up on some bullshit art malarkey
just like the rreal me

can anyone out there tell me why my laptop cant get gmail?
when i tell it to go to gmail
it gets caught in an endless flip flop between two pages
that never come up
i’m sorry i aint been on gmail and
this is why….
i would like to say thank you to ALL my subscribers
you are making me possible with your generosity
especially in these hard thymes
the recession…its like self fulfilling prophesy
its like a filigree diamond filched from a ring

yeah you see i’m doing some gigs with the triffs
at the whineries
opening for olde lenny cohen
who i think is slightly over rated
but hes very cool n grande
just not as amazing as they all say he is
sorry…its only my opinion
everyone else thinks hes the bees knees
n hes written some great songs
i just dont worship or adore him
its all a bit samey i reckon
n sorry
i read some of his books which i dont rate at all
whatever
who cares?
if i ever get to meet him
i’ll probably supplicate n fawn all over the olde geezer
such is life!
such is fame!
such is me!

meanwhile…..what?
a lovely sunny but cool day has dawned in n bondi
tibor still sits in the yard
but he needs to be towed away n mercifully put down
(sigh!)
have many dark clouds on my horizon which i hope
will all just blow over
feeling troubled
ok?
bring on tuesday!

did the adelaide vegan festival yesterday
nice people who ran it
they had a decent p.a. for a change
the sound seemed good
i did the usual songs
i did the usual raves maybe not so vehemently
i had to do 2 sets
now i dont like to do 2 sets
thats getting a little too much for me
but i did cos they were nice people
the guy who met me at the airport
he was over sixty but veganism had rendered him slim n boyish
i didnt mind if he called me pete
which he seemed to do a bit
the audience were ok
there wasnt too many there
but enough to make it ok
they listened
they clapped
i had some time to kill
so i wandered round
got myself a lentil burger
then i wandered into a booth showing films
as i walked in
there was a bullfight on the screen
a tired bull covered in blood
and losing blood copiously
stuck thru with nasty little spears
finally the matador appears
a real hero
ponced up in his stupid fucking clothes
no, he should be wearing a butchers smock
this courageous prick
eventually stabs the dying confused bull
in the head
and the poor poor thing
expires in more torrents of blood
then the whales
blasting em
hooking em
chucking the “bad” bits away
mothers n calves….ah fuck em
harpoon em all…theres plenty more
then the dolphins
i’d seen bits of this before
but now i was transfixed before the screen
in a little booth at glenelg public school
on a lovely day in adelaide
i watched as somewhere in japan
someone secretly filmed the dolphin slaughter
confusing em with sonar sounds
herding em into pens
they then drag em out
onto dry land
the mothers n calves calling out to each other
i began to cry
tears of rage
tears of sadness
tears of shame
the dolphins are dragged onto the dock
where the japs walk around n slit their throats
casually n jokingly, hopping around adroitly
to avoid another huge spurt of dolphin blood
n grinning to each other
as if they were picking daisies
and the dolphins expire
just like youd expire
if someone ripped yer windpipe out
IN FUCKING PAROXYSMS OF AGONY
you should see these creatures
as they die a horrific death
as they shudder n convulse n their life gushes out
yeah
theres humanity for ya
we got computers
we got museums with fancy pitchers
we got the a-list n glittering functions
n
we got this unspeakable horror
next up was the cows
ok
i thought
cows
at least its not dolphins right?
i mean i grew up knowing cows had to die, didnt i?
ok
but these were indian cows
that their dirt poor owners had sold for leather
these cows had shoes nailed on their feet
so they could do the long journey to where they killed em
they are dragged with no food or water for miles
if they refuse they break their tails
or rub chili directly into their eyes
this re-motivates em to keep walking apparently
many die on the journey
piteously pitifully so sadly so fucking sadly my fiendss
finally if they survive
they have their heads sawn off
(not cut off cleanly but sawn off)
in front of each other
the camera focusses on the big sad eyes
of a gentle cow
an innocent defenceless creature
a sentient living being
a mammal that had calves n fed them n loved them
we see the eyes of the cow
as some little malnourished guy hacks her head off
and the eye of the cow focussed right on me
n i just hadda watch
n i just had to shudder n cry
because i’m only human
and i cant stand it
and the cow asked me “why”
why is this being done to me
i have feelings
i have fear
i had a life
and then
we see all the other cows watching
distressed n anxious n so fucking afraid
ok
i cant move outta my chair
i’m sorry if this aint what ya wanna read
i’m sorry it aint a nice poem
or a story about my paisley shirt
then came fur
there are no regulations concerning fur animals
a secret hidden camera filmed a fur farm in the u.s.
foxes n ermines n things i didnt even know
raccoons n things
are all in tiny tiny cages
they cant take one step in any direction
they boil in summer
they freeze in winter
the camera films as some kinda fox-like white creature
is dragged from its filthy cage by a rope round its neck
its just lifted up by its neck
hey its vermin, aint it?
its dragged out by its neck
n its anally electrocuted
ie
a probe gets stuck up its ass
n
another probe is stuck in its mouth
ok jerry switch on the current!
the fox stares at the camera
we see the foxes eyes as its shocked…
damn jerry…the damn varmints still alive
they gotta give it a few more shocks
before it gives up its miserable ghost
as i looked into this fox’s eyes
as i saw it die in agony n humiliation
it negated all the lovely poems
all the pretty paintings
all the clever songs
all the elaborate religions n mythology
all the concerts n games n celebrations
all the pretty girls n handsome men
all the committees n proms n socials n parties
all the obamas n osamas n whatever else
here is humanity at work
heres how the expensive fur gets on the ladies shoulders
blood n piss n shit n guts
but
ya know what ma fiendss
this fox woulda thought it was real lucky
cos then we switch to the chinese fur trade
they had animals in cages
that woulda made the u.s. fur beasties
seem like they were being put up at the hilton
and these tragic things…they mostly look like
some kinda doggies
these doggies would have prayed for 500 volts in the rectum
cos these guys
WERE SKINNED ALIVE!
uh huh
they hung em up
n they pulled the fucking fur n skin off em
leaving a living creature like a muscle diagram
its eyes still blinking
writhing n struggling
in the most unbelievable agony (un)imaginable
i will never erase these pictures from my mind
while i was still trying to keep my lentil burger down
you saw a tip truck
empty the millions of skinned things into a pit
now just shapeless disgusting objects
some were ground up n fed to the remaining ones
hey! waste not want not…
then the baby seals
right in front of the mother
wham a pick-axe through the skull
gee dont that blood look red against the snow
and the little seals cream coloured pelt…
id had enough
i stumbled out into the daylight
back to the “normaility” of sunday
re-radicalized
fuck it!
this is the good fight!
i am disgusted by “humanity”
as the film asked
are we not the cruelest most savage creatures on earth?

oh no
some people got the temerity to criticize painkiller….
i can’t believe my eyes…..
oh fuck
now i’m so de-motivated
i aint doing another one for seven years
jaysus when will i realize you just can’t please everyone
always some tetchy little (foreign) person
i dont like this
i dont like that
ok i’m sorry
i won’t do it again
my next record will be perfect
no one will (dare) criticize it
it will be fast and slow
it will be carefully thought out improvisation
it will rock like a bastard but politely
the lyrics will be wild flights of fantasy that make perfect sense
the music will explore atonality with lots of tunes
the long ones will be shorter
the short ones will be longer
the heavy ones lighter
the ….well you get the picture
but herein lies the real barb
the nasty persons said that if you liked painkiller
then you were either delusional or an “ass-kisser”
now aint that a little extreme…?
thats like the kind of rant i’d come out with
after smoking ice n snorting steam….
because they were too cloth-eared
to hear i’d made the best record ever
then you guys who like it are kissing donkeys
sheesh!
no steve does not want honesty
steve wants everyone saying painkiller is very good
steve wants millions of dollars n eternal life
steve wants to be the prime minister n an anarchist
steve wants what steve wants
and steve wants it all
i fucking love painkiller
i even listen to it myself
which i dont normally do with my other records
this is me
this is where i am fucking at
and that record is impetuous because i am impetuous
and its fuzzy cos i’m fuzzy
and its inchoate coz i’m inchoate
straight outta my head onto tape
the way i do things
the way i always like to do things
one massive ego trip
the studio is my domain
i got more tricks up my sleeve, steve
or tune out
go find some other crazy genius
yeah
julian cope…hes still out there
i dunno….whoever
whatever
i gotta tell ya
i’m moving on
despite my advanced years
ive got a very excited kid in my head
and he wants to write n paint n make records
i am so fucking sick of under the milky way
i am so fucking sick of all the blah blah blah
so what!?
i am so sick of the eighties and thinking about it
i am sick of colourless paintings n music with no thrill
i am sick of imitations
i am sick of any compromise
getting someones fucking permission
you like the old stuff
there it is….its all yours
me……the old stuff is killing me
i gotta leave it behind
i dont care about it
i did it once n its done
spawned a whole load of imitators
i am active
after 10 years of heroin addiction
n its aftermath
i am active
painkiller is my first salvo
expect energy
expect anger
expect strangeness n charm
i am the master
the master of all i survey
i make mistakes but theyre glorious mistakes
they are my mistakes n no-one elses
i aint no joe fucking schmoe
you aint kissing my arse if you like painkiller
you tuning in !
as i say in my lovely record
GET YER OWN SONG IF YOU GOTTA COMPLAINT!

last nite i had the terrible misfortune to watch shine a light
a few misguided souls had vaguely recommended it
and besides
it was martin frickin’ scorsese directing it
it couldnt be a tragic old pile of tripe n bilge, could it?
oh yes it could!
it was bloody woeful
the 1st question is :
couldnt jagger stop sprinting about just for a minute
and…here comes a revolutionary idea, mick….SING?
jagger croaks n barks out the songs without the slightest thought
the words are now meaningless syllables
that he hoarsely shouts as he goes thru his exercise routine
nothing…not even some well deserved irony…no feelings
pass through any of the material
the stones are playin’ in the beacon theatre new york
where your very own olde time rocker played in 88
(as i remember we were tres mediocre!)
an intimate venue for them…
maybe jagger can no longer, like, “personally” perform
he is so used to the huge stadia n mega-domes
he cant stand in a theatre n actually “sing”
you know mick
think about the words
reinterpret them
play with em
change em
hit some actual musical notes
nail the melody
i dont know
but anything
ANYTHING!?
except this
not even hollow or empty
not even anything
i cant even fuckin’ think of an adjective
to truly describe how abysmal jagger has become
now look here mister
i used to worship mick jagger
i read books about him
i imitated him
i still fuckin’ do if i neeed to
listen to the high vocals on crystalline rush..
i loved jagger
i love every stones album up to black n blue
i know the words
i know the myth
ive seen cocksucker blues (the real stones film!)
i was an obsessed n obsessive fan of the stones
and all their implications n innovations
but lets face it by 76 it was all over
unless you like start me up
but i dont
anyhow
this film is a moral story on peter pans
who are still trying to do the same old thing forever
everything has subtly deterioated into something else
jaggers rebellious feyness is now a prissy queenish awkwardness
his urgent dancing is now a series of aerobic trots n feints
his loquacious hand gestures are now like arm exercises
his animal grace is like a very fit p.e. teacher
whos had too much coffee at recess
his sexual grind is now like chimp getting shocked
everything about it is bloody ‘orrible
the choice of songs is ‘orrible
lets break up the horror with some amazing things:
jaggers hair is amazing
its like boy of 17s hair with all its thickness shine n bounce
not many guys at 45 let alone 65 have hair like that
vince noir will still be proud of jaggers do
ditto for ronnie wood whose hair is thick black n spiky
the 4 main stones are all very very slim
amazing for gents in their 60s…dont forget that
they seem more youthful from a distance
than most geezers half their age
who at 30 are often getting their first set of double chins
jagger must exercise nearly as much as madonna
(saw a pic of her on her latest tour
she would now be a perfect sea-hag…scary stuff!)
and goes to show you can overdo anything
yes it is amazing that a 65 year old can dash about like that
mind you the dashing about completely negates any “singing”
but why be fit if you dont run around n around n around
ok thats it for amazing things
next
the absolute nadir was jagger singing ” as tears go by”
which stripped of its teenage insolent naivety
becomes a croaky jingle
in which the silly olde sod
cant resist the ever present but meaningless frantic gesticulation
in other numbers
he runs up to drummer charlie watts
pulling a faux face of excitement
but often
too often
jagger comes across as a slightly retarded geriatric ape
his huge mouth opening n closing of its own accord
meanwhile theres keef
you wanna see what an endless diet
of booze n cigs ‘ll make ya look like, kids
keef also invokes some simian comparisons
which is a shame
coz he was once the epitome of cool
a rocknroll pirate or whatever the fuck
elegantly wasted etc
now hes truly of dorian gray proportions
his overdone eyeliner n his funny dangly tassles
make him look like great aunt flo
whose been drinking scotch n having monkey gland shots
he has wrinkles that would make methusaleh do a double take
he shuffles n laughs n mutters
pissed permanently out of his skull
forever puffing on a fucking ciggie
how pathetic
sometimes he looks around the room
with a look of vague panic like a senior cit whose become lost
other times he crouches n rocks just like the old days
the one moment of (fake) authenticity
is when he sings you got the silver
and jagga mercifully pisses off to change his nikes
but seriously
most of the night his playing is rushed sloppy n mediocre
the songs themselves are all pumped out too fast
even amazingly
they fuck up tumbling dice n brown sugar
which sound like a bar band playing at double speed
so they can pack up n go ‘ome early..
any push n pull
or rocknroll
is gone
no friction
no frission
no sex
no love
just putting every thing through a machine
which seems to render it all at the same feelingless tempo
they trot out 3 special guests
the strange pudding face jack white (real name john gillis)
who joins in on loving cup
a piece of dross written years
after jaggers lyrical gifts had deserted him forever
what an embarrassment
sorry i dont like jack gillis white
my wife does
but i’d rather listen to my own tinnitus
than endure one of his turgid ditties
his appeal remains a mystery
and on this showing
hes bleeding awful
then buddy guy….gee
then the truly vile n repulsive christina ugly-leerer
whos as “sexy” as a jar of toenail clippings
and who mangles anything she touches
in paroxysms of overkill
she is the bleeding pits
please take her away n never let me think of her again
oh what a nasty little horror
oh dear
what a hatchet job!
how did anyone ever ok this?
its almost as bad as the church live at the basement….
almost!

martin scorsese…. what did you do?

beautiful summer morning here in terra australis
a sky including many blues
soft clouds seem to graze up there
from my window i see the palms n pines moving
i see the red roofs light up as the sun reaches them
eve kilbey silently slides out of bed and begins some homework
aurora kilbey the human bunny sleeps on
scarlet kilbey is also out for the count
looking like shes been king hit
and her mum sleeps next to her
gently breathing in a deep rhythm
on the drawing board is elektra
whom im doing a painting of
yes
i certainly have 5 gorgeous daughters
the sort of girls i always was hoping to meet myself
kind intelligent n pretty
but fatherhood is fraught with little traps
not too much one way or the other
or you’ll lose it
you gotta take the middle path
just like old buddha used to say
an even keel
eve comes in looking for a lead pencil
i got red white black metallic n pastel pencils
but no lead….
aurora gets outta bed wearing a cartoon expression of dismay
aurora….what you looking like that for?
eve answers for her: she was tired!
aurora sits glumly sorting thru a huge box of buttons (!?)
it 5 to 7 in the morning
i hear a bus groan past up the street
so
yeah
i’m working on a portrait of elli
usual procedure
paint the white sheet black
someone said why not buy black paper?
you cant buy this paper in any other colour than white
besides i like the interaction sometimes …
i used to find drawing faces was hard
i was concentrating on lines to enclose spaces
thats not how real life looks
real life is shapes n surfaces in relativity to each other
not lines enclosing n defining spaces
but when we draw onto white
we try n represent it thus…which is hard
i try to forget its a face
and i look at all the planes and the way the light falls on them
so what i start with is
a general mass to represent the face
and where the light highlights features
let it all remain as abstract patches related to each other
elli has very regular features
ive found her very easy to “nail”
sometimes it takes a while to “nail” someone
that is
before you capture some essence
of what makes their face so recognizably them
i have found that perfect young faces
are easier to paint
than
ugly old faces
for many reasons
(tho not always as interesting)
beauty is a funny thing
it IS in the eye of the beholder
yet
there is also classic beauty
ie that that michaelangelo strove to capture
the mimesis of the greeks
the statues of the gods
apollos straight nose
and his huge perfect eyes
his sweeping jaw
his broad brow
his long muscled neck
his curly blond hair
he is a classic handsome bastard
he would be ..in any age or any place
i believe these proportions are easier to capture
than that of less perfect subjects
whose forms are more elusive to get down
elli is all tanned …almost the same colour as her tawny hair
and she has an enigmatic look on her face
a half smile that could become a sneer or a grin
depending….
nk points out that she looks a bit like that moaner liza
yeah
wonder if elli ‘ll end up in the loo-ve tho
there is a wonderful thing about being a human being
that is
if you do something often enough
you start to get better at it
now i been painting hard for 5 years
lots n lots n lots of paintings
the payoff starts to happen
jesus i’m starting to become a real bleatin’ artist
just because i persevered all that time
just like yoga
if you hit something everyday
eg
a language
an instrument
a discipline
an endeavour
eventually
you’ll get better
suddenly in leaps n bounds
one day
you just go from ok to good
like suddenly figuring out how to ride rollerskates
or realising how to swim
or kiss
or kick a football….
so the rewards of perseverance
give us something to look forward to
eg
i am getting older n uglier every day
but my yoga n painting are improving
actually now that they are improving
i care less about being fucking fifty four
than i would if i wasnt getting better at something
it excites me to paint because i dont know what
i might come up with now
now that ive put all the hard work in
people
i urge ye again n again
begin something
practice something
learn something
it will offset the passage of the years
i’m sitting here going
ok the bad news
in ten years time i will be 64
(will you still love me?)
which is olde beyond olde
yet
imagine how good my yoga n painting will be then..!
so its like…not so bad
however
if i was just learning doing practicing nothing
then in 10 years time i’ll just be bloody older
n all those tv shows i watched
(instead of actually doing something)
will avail me of nought
so thats my plan
take on a load of things
and time can be yer friend
as well as yer enemy
(tho he’ll get ya in the end)
you can either go out
an old master
or an old couch potato
really
the choice is yours
im an overachiever by nature
and i produce a voluminous amount of stuff
you could too in yer spare time if you wanted
you do it for yerself
and if you dig it
others will too
if you dont
why wood any one else?
eve kilbey is getting real good at drawing
she should be
shes been going hard at it for about 6 years
so the rewards are starting to kick in
her pictures are grand in scope
and shes always inventing new flourishes
aurora k does complicated cartoons
of bunnies
living in hive like conditions
all with speech bubbles telling the story
on the fridge is the picture which tickled rickys fancy
the bunny band
the lead singer :” in the meadow where its green”
backing vox bunnies :” green green green”
all this practice the doodles have been (unwittingly) doing
their whole lives
will one day pay off
when they miraculously discover
that theyre really good at something
without realising its the years n years
they put in as kids
drawing bunnies n mermaids n fairies n horses
my kids experiment with making up songs too
auroras taking flute lessons
there should be no distance between them n creativity
evie especially entertains no doubts about herself
she expects to be able to do
whatever artistic or physical thing she wants
and lo she can
everyone reading this blog is interested in creativity
how to harness it
well
the answer is the same
as last time i was trotting out this rant
now even more emphatically
PRACTICE!
even if you cant draw or play an instrument
then write
its as easy as listening
to that voice in yer head
and writing it down
who knows?
you could be an absolute fucking genius
i know times are hard
believe me
i aint got a wardrobe full of new shoes
i got a blown up car n a debt to the A T O
i gotta dirty half dead laptop most basic old model
i got a little tv doesnt get most channels
i got a messy room full of junk
but
art
yoga
music
these must needs be our consolations
and thru them
perhaps a way to our creator
if you believe in that sort of thing
dont despair
you dont need that fancy stuff
there is no where i’d rather be
than at home
painting a picture
list’nin’ to music i love
better than restaurants n niteclubs n whatever
create or be damned then
or sit on the couch n watch telly
see what satisfies ya the most………

jesus
i was angry and sickened
to see
the bali bombers execution
so lovingly raked over by the local rags
including headlines like
“straight to hell”
and
“this is what weve been waiting for” etc
isn’t it enuff that they were executed?
in the weeks leading up to the executions
certain papers gave us long lingering glimpses
into the bombers fate
including the absurd(ist) sight
of a man being given a medical check up
to see if hes fit for facing the firing squad(!?)
like a headline i saw once
“cow injured in a slaughterhouse”
is this fucked up or what?
no the newspapers were overplaying their hand
the people do not want garish bloodthirsty revenge
the people wanted justice
we are not interested in the gory details
a small sentence could have said
the bali bombers were executed today at 5 pm
that says it all
dont the cheap sensationalist rags realize
that in attempting to whip up this fervour n fever of hate
against 3 misguided foreign criminals
they become the very thing they hate?
SHAME ON THEM!!
they are instruments of ignorance.
the death penalty….
christ
that is beyond my scope
like abortion
like euthanasia
real questions of life n death
i go deep in my heart
i can find no pithy answers
there are always arguments for and against
i dont even want to open any of this up
it ends up with people cursing at each other
which at the age of fifty four
im tired of all the cursing at each other
so dont fuck around with me you bastards
yes i been enjoying the peace on here lately
i used to enjoy a bit of discord
but now…ah i long for peace
i remember a phrase
oh it was so long ago
i was watching an abc version of the emperors nightingale
which you must all surely know the tale
if you dont
i will quickly retell it in killer new speak
but will stop for the poignant phrase
(which is the reason for all this malarkey)
once
in china i s’pose
or maybe tai wan
there was a bit of a spoilt olde emperor
not content with being a (fuc)king
he needed to go the whole eton-hogge
and become a bloody emperor
which means
he owned several kingdoms
including the animal kingdom n kingdom come
anyway this olde emp
he really digs the singing of this nightingale bird
which sings outside his window
(presumably for chicken feed…)
i mean
have you ever heard a nightingale
i hear even jokermen sing to their tune
theyre certainly up there with larks
as in you could say
steve kilbey sings like a bloody lark
or
steve kilbey sings like a bleedin’ nightingale
and both would be correct
ie
the nightingale is a lovely singer
anyhow
the emperor is always listening to his feathered friend
(i saw mick jagger play this part once….he was great
as the fey monarch)
and you know
to tell ya the truth
the little nightingale is flattered by the emps attention
(could be the imperial birdseed…)
and he hangs about singing
until one day
one of the emperors flunkies
brings him a mechanical nightingale
its a little pre-sampler device
a wondrous singing machine
driven by clockwork
(maybe this eastern potentate has never seen clockwork?)
and anyway
olde emperor rubberlips is smitten
the freakin’ birdietron can sing over n over n over n over
whenever he likes
not like the real bird which has lice
and quite frankly
has sometimes relieved itself on the imperial furniture
the real bird that moults n lays eggs n builds nests
(however the nests could end up in the soup, i guess)
look
the birdietron is instant gratification
the emp loved to wind it up n let it go
n he listened to it over n over n over
sort of like my neighbour pru daly
who one hot night in 1968
listened to “stand by your man” about 100 times in a row
uh huh
the emp gave the birdietron a good caning
meanwhile the nightingale is feeling like
the proverbial spare prick at a prostitutes wedding
hes pissed off with the emp
and so he should be
the emp has disregarded the real deals improvisation
and variation and composition and the bird
wears a badge which says
keep music live!
all the emp gets is that mech repetition
but he kinda digs it
the nightingale pisses off
in an avian huff (great name for my next band!)
and the emp dont even notice
till
till
yeah
TILT!
the birdietron blew its fucking head gasket
and no one in the whole empire
could sort it out
it was kaput
it was over
it was gone
the birdietron was mess of springs n sprockets
it had sung its last swan song
it was now silent
now the olde emp
kinda hooked on the b-tron
he goes into massive withdrawals
uh huh
just like the gear
he starts to shake sweat shudder n shiver
he loses his appetite
he lies in his beddy
wasting away
anyhow
imagine
i’m very young
i had never seen death personified before
i’m watching a blacknwhite tv show in the early sixties
the old emp is about to cark it
death approaches
its…a pale faced man dimly glimpsed beneath
a heavy black cowl
the emperor is crying out now
crying for his real nightingale
who appears
assesses the situation
and sings a beautiful tune
death withdraws from his business with the emp
and turns as if hypnotized
and says to the camera
ah
i must go
the bird sings of a quiet churchyard
the grass wet with tears…..

and that is the thing that has stuck in my head forever
that even death needs a sanctuary a haven
and that the bird could sing it to him
which illustrates the power of music
anyhow
when death has buggered off to find the churchyard
the bird sings for its emperor
who gets immediately better
and
everyone is happy
except the emps son
who was hoping for a bit of throne
too bad
the greedy debil

tibor (nee $1000 falcon) died th’other day
when he blew his head gasket
and that, my friends, was that
a loyal n noble beast
poor tibor had served us well
tibor suffered from a variety of conditions including
rust
alternator problems
no lockus the backus doorus
cockroaches
a mess of small toys n sweetie wrappers
old empty cans of berry v
a great sound system
seat covers with fire
bumper stickers:
no fat blokes
SAW
little miss naughty
poor poor tibor
the kids are really quite sad
so is daddy
tibor would cost more to fix up than he’s worth
he must sadly be put down
oh woeful day
what will i do?
alas n alack!
i’ll have to get a cab to the airport sunday
i’m flying to adelaide to do vegan festival
i wish i wasnt but i am
it never works out for me these gigs
it doesnt feel right to play ordinary songs at these places
they are always in horrible conditions
outside or in big noisy halls
always in broad daylight
i dont wanna fly n i dont get paid
i always hate doing it n usually piss someone off
anyway
if there are any killer fans or fiendss in adelaide…
but i doubt it…
i’m just not cut out to be a spokesman
2 weeks after that the earth festival in centennial park
where i’ll just be singing n playing my guitar
(which isnt really the thing i’m best at)
its not really what i do that well
not in daylight at a festival
its not my setting
but there you go
on friday night
in the pianobar nite club the cross
im singing a couple of songs
at a benefit for a movie ive got a small role in
2 unfinished films about bondi being made
i’m in em both….
one as a “reckord pra-dusar”
the other
as a zen furniture salesman
oh the horrors of typecasting….
i ask scarlet kilbey yesterday where her mother is
“her ‘scaped ” she says (she escaped)….
at the dinner table i was giving the girls a quiz on horses
whats the difference between a mule n an ass ? i ask
evie says innocently “oh an ass is smaller!”
(now remember my girls are all american)
they all burst into laughter including eve
as she realises what shes just said…
scarlet asks natalie to make a list of the family
after all the usual suspects are listed
scarlet thinks for a while
theres someone shes forgotten….
ricky! she finally says
much laughter ensues
aw ricky will be “home” soon
and killing pain at the oxford arts factory 22nd dec
you should fucking well be there
come in from other states n countries
cos the church aint playing this year
so you better come n getta fix of this!
come on down
you can get a fistful of aussie bucks fer yer dollars n euros
you can see painkiller
surf on chrimbo day
be back in yer cold miserable hemisphere by n.y.e.
or whatever
after all it is only our second gig
and we’re playing with all india radio
cmon have you been reading the odd reviews on websites
people are digging painkiller
oh i’m so glad
yes it is a quantum leap for me
in or out of the church
more energy
more directness
more random craziness that i love
its more time being
its like this blogge on music
its like my paintings as songs
its purer kilbey than you ever had before
it is undiluted with de-mock-racy
no one interfered
no compromises
no time or money wasted
a vision fulfilled
this is my future
i owe allegiance only to my own vision
painkiller is the beginning of what i can do
without compromise
oh i’ll probably still be doing other things
but painkiller is the direction of my journey
from here on in
i want to concentrate on making music like this
puts me where i wanna be
dont wanna talk or argue
dont wanna explain
dont wanna rake over the past
dont wanna wait
dont wanna approval
i need to conserve my energy
i dont wanna waste my gifts
hey i know the way (again!)
you can follow me if you like
or not
why should i care
there will be more art music words
my monkey nature is irrepressible
my aim is true
i am on course of course
you WILL enjoy whatever I do next
but you see
it is a lonely place to be
no one around who can advise me…
where i wanna go
no one around here has ever been…
ha ha!
oh grandiose talk
its funny
isnt it?