The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

killer gets up early so he can type type type
killer goes on le balc
and has an early morning jazz smoke
now here i am
giving you my all and only
my dear readers
well my plane didnt crash
it was late but it did nae crash
it was a crowded n unremarkable flight
i tried to work on my lappy
but the geeza in fronts seat came right back
n i couldnt type a word in fuckin’ edgewise
after a while i skimmed thru the qantas menu
and ended up watching a show bout these naughty bloggers in blighty
the girl with the one track mind etc
all narrated by a scottish git with one of them edinburgh accents
that made it sound so urgent and fucking important
like he was discussing nuclear weapons or climate change or somethin’
anyhow
this naughty girl was doing naughty things with naughty men
and writing about it
it was quite naughty for qantas i guess
n featured very naughty naked bosoms (quite gratuitously )
and very naughty bits where the ladies read out their blogs
ie
i said to him
ooooh i wanna @#$%$ your @#$#$&
and he said oooh i wanna $%*& yer lovely great &^&*((%
and i said oooh you aint half naughty!!
etc
nevertheless
i remained unaroused in my cramped old seat
and was gladly glad when ye olde plain hit the ground
the lady picking us up had forgotten where the van was parked
we sat in the shade of a coolibah tree
and waited for her to find it
i checked in my apt
to find ricky rene maymi has snaffled the best room
we have a balc over looking the carpark….oooh nice
soon a triffid drops in with some jazzy jazz
ricky hooks up his computer thru the stereo
n soon we gotta bitta atmosphere going
we go over for dinner at a jap place
i get served freakin pork dumplings
which i understand to be tofu
i take a bite and
FUCK THIS BULLSHIT!
i spit out this foulness
this bits of dead piggy wig
yeccchhh!
i feel violated but didnt swallow any of that filth
ok
i just fucking carry on
what can ya do?
i drink some sake
the triffids all come out n join us
mick harvey from the bad seeds etc is an interesting n funny bloke
mark snarski tells me he dont wanna sit nexta to me
cos i look too bloody healthy
“this is sposed to be rocknroll” he says
n orders some disgusting smelling sqiddley diddley
n lights up a foul cigarette
if thats fucking rocknroll
then my dick is a kipper
(as my dad used to say)
i get up n leave
me n ricky check out the venue
AND IT IS AN ABSOLUTE TOP SHELF CORKER !!!
(ie for foreign readers the kilbster is well pleased)
its a great big lovely outdoor stage
there are sofas n stools n tables n chairs
it is well civilized
all around looms the botanic gardens
n the suave skyscrapers
and fountains n rivers n trees n affluent people
oooh i like it
like a jehovahs witnesses idea of heaven i seen in their pamphlets
i’m really looking forward to singing my songs there
then back to hotel
an early night
this email connection is costing me 25 bucks a day
so dont say i never buy ya nothing
anyway at 330 in the morning
the fire alarm goes off
ricky cant be bothered getting up
but i wander downstairs
where the whole hotel is lined up
in various states of undress n undies
i see mick harvey standing on the street
looking like an owl whod fallen out of its nest
finally were all let back in
me
n ricky who finally gets up
we sit there at 4 am smoking n talking on the balcony
finally i neeed to release some stress
i yell out at the bastard moon and stars
and all of sleeping perth
FUCK YOU! I”M WORKING FOR GRAHAM LEE!!!!!

wake up early kilbey
youre flying off to perth wa
tonite night off
tomorrow rehearsal
fri sat sun triffids outdoor perth festival
right now sitting here in n bondi
surrounded by rain n darkness
it seems a long way off
some plane
some airport
some taxi
some other room
somewhere else
if i dont hold my mind down
it floats off
off n away specially on mornings like this
while the rest of the family sleep on
the kids dream dream dream
the rain goes tap tap tap
the wind goes ooooh rattle ooooooh rattle
the cars in the street go whoosh
the ringing in my ears goes zzznnnnnngggg
my old heart goes thump thump thump (dont stop yet)
my stomach goes groan flying groan
the clock tick tick but never tock
my mind goes silent
the constant stream of ideas is turned off
i experience the silence
my mind goes blank
but what do i think of during the blankness…?
small parts of me go on calculating n plotting
somewhere in here
in my mind bigger than the universe
in my mind which can imagine infinitely
in my tiny closed grumpy mind
so small it cannot admit even one more outside idea
my small mind my big mouth my stupid smirk
my blah blah blah
my bits of blu tac
my bits of paper
my meridians of pastel dust
my empty plastic bottles
my empty cans
my old lolly wrappers
my stupid bag of dope
my nasty olde coff
my constant anxiety
my messed up messy mess of a room
outside
the city skyline has disappeared into a fog
the clouds swallow up sydney
and frankly
who cares
the sharks bite
the crooks crime
the hoods from the hoods in their hoods…no robin hoods
the tedious lumpen proletariat chasing one thing after another
the recession which is king out there
the planet starting to rebel
the morning starting to arrive
a soft grey light suffuses my room
some hoarse crow barks outside my window
my feet are cold so cold at the end of time
i hear noises of humans getting up
winter around the corner now
the streets are not inviting
bizness men get up feeling sick drinking cawfee
numbly button up their suits
drive to work
and each gasp on the cig
jangles yer nerves and fouls yer breath
you arrive at yer job
a beencounter in a widget and sprocket company
shuttup kilbey somebody has to count the widgets
ok ok
i just an imagining it after owl
mr widget fidgets at his pesky desk
the quick brown sprocket jumps over the lazy plug
the figures sway back n fourth on his screen
his new cup of cawfee says drinka me
his new cream cheeese bagel says eata me
his next cig says smoka me
he stands in the rain in the big end of town
look i’ll play the part myself
i’m standing there
(looking handsome in my suit, if i may fairly say so)
i’m standing there
you saw me standing there smoking my bagel etc
down in the doorway with the other smokers
if i smoke 20 a day at ten minutes each
why theres 200 mintes gone…just like that
plus walking up n down the stairs
plus the cigs n cawfee make me weee like the billy-o
plus going out to buy more cigs n bagels
its a wonder i been counting any widgets at all
i sit back at my desk
my buddy sends me a message on face book
gee…i read it for a while
until i need another cig
the boss tells me to come in his office
uh oh
we only need to count half as many widgets cos
uh the depress…i mean the recession..
but the govts injecting 3 billion into widgets so
(gee i hope they hit the vein!)
and ah…i need another cawfee n cig now
i need to calm down
half as many widgets as before….hmmmm
can i do that ? i wonder as i loll in the doorway
making insolent faces at the passersbys
and blowing smoke rings into the ether…
illusion shattered
the kids all suddenly get up
last night scarlet and i went outside
ooh what a dark day she said
ha ha
now they tumble out of bed laughing n talking
the woofle clutches a balloon that seems like it may burst anytime
the doodles got their own thing going on
gee i’m lucky i aint that widget guy
(that suit tho…it was quite bee coming)
i just gotta getta onna plane to ye olde perth
at the ends of the earth
4 hours to fly
i wonder if other triffideers from sydney will be on that flight
youth group?
mel o?
anyhow
i’m gonna get my lapp top out n write some stuff i sposed to do
the new church album must be coming down the line soon
youll be glad i aint a widget counter
you be glad i a singer
you be glad i so good wiff words
you be glad i aint gotta suit
you be glad i aint gotta jobbie
you be glad i sing the body alektryk
you be glad i anticipated all your dreams
and put them in these songs
listen to em n weep
weep cos ya love those damned songs so much
weep cos we all gonna die
weep cos the pollens making yer hey fever play up
weep cos kilbey is at the top of his game n climbing
up n up n up
into the sky
the indian rope trick
i pull my ladder up after me
and i ascend into a world of dakinis and angels
up there
i am finally ‘preciated
(present company accepted…i know you depreciate me)
and my every little whim is catered for
trouble is
i am now such an ascetic aesthete
(look those words up if you dont know em)
i am practically whimless….
whimpering…maybe
but whimming……errr….no
there were some important things i needed to say
no
there were some imperfect things
there were some foolish things
these foolish things remind me of you
i take me leaves
n bid you all frond a dew
as i take to the thin air
in a very heavy machine
god i hope i can believe in it
see you in the west
sk

l

and it walked on down the hall
oh jimbo i miss you
if i could only be half as dionysian as you
but jesus
it killed you
so i just content myself painting pictures
and writing catchy little songs that the kids’ll love
i slip in arcane references for those in the no
i slip in puddles as i rush my girls thru the rain
scarlet kilbey comes in n lies down on some pillows
i blasting marquee moon
she doesnt wake up till i accidentally kick her
im painting a pic of barry obama
im quite taken with his handsome honest good looks
i cant believe we got ourselves a decent geezer at the helm
who woulda thunk it?
i heard hes gonna invite me to the not so white anymore house
to jam in the ovally office
yeah dream on sailor on the seas of fate
i do some long interview with donald on 4ZZZ in brissie
we discussed everything including the dreaded gear
and my advice to absolute beginners in show biz
(fuck off! its already too crowded)
i started swearing towards the end
but i guess they can leave it in
weather is strange here
rain sun wind rain
i say we should drop sharks on the fucking bushfires
kill 2 birds with one stone
and afterwards therell be roast flake for the locals
actually doing a benny fit for fires on 24th feb in glebie
at word in hand
actually the whole bushfire thing is tragic n numbing
it takes a lot to jerk a tear outta my cynical old eye
but this does it everytime
ok kilbey just think yourself lucky
and such beautiful towns that damned fire took…
im not much one for burning whiches at the steak
but i think mr firefuckingbug should feel the heat
what an evil nasty creature….n what do ya do with em?
meanwhile in sydney
at town hall station
some nasty doggies bale up our mr ricky
and snifter him for druggie wuggies
but guess what
serenity and poverty
rendered our mr ricky cleaner than clean
and those dopey dawgies schniffed our hero in vain
but nice use of police resources
err hey fellas
(cliche following )
WHY DONTCHA CATCH SOME REAL CRIMINALS?
anyway
our mr ricky will be joining me n others
in perf
oh perf
capital of um west(ern) aust(ralia)
not the one in scotch-land
and its got its twin city freo
which is yonder n very groovy (some say)
when my mum n dad migrated here
when i was a tiny sweet lad
the first place they came to was fremantle
and there was a sign which was advertising
a certain brand of insecticide (flick)
and the sign said
GET A FLICK MAN
but some naughty wag had joined up the L and the I
rendering it somewhat changed
my dad told me later
when he saw that
that he thought he would enjoy australia after all…
*
david neils album is almost wrapped but for one track
and some minor fixes
mutton kennedy sends me some more k/k new stuff
which is very very nice
i have a long talk to miranda kilbey on the phone
ah boys……
shes got one of them boyfriends that cant express his feelings
he dont know what he wants
and shes quite flummoxed
(if a swede can be flummoxed…i know turnips can)
jesus
how can some oaf be treating my daughter like that?
oh true love never runs smooth
i know because i heard gene pitney sing that in 1963
and i aint ever forgotten
the things you hear in a song
stay with ya longer than any other kinda things
fucking hell i got marco bolan going round n round constantly
guy on 4zzz says who would ya have to dinner, any 7 ya like?
i says bolan bowie jesus buddha lennon
he says ya got 2 more
i say
i reckon those guys would be enough
oh yeah i’d have mr ricky there too
for moral support
and make sure buddha washed up his plates afterwards
ok
i got one more pick
and theres no women there yet so
ok its outta dannniii min-ogre and a veronica
gosh its hard to have a dinner party isnt it?
maybe i should invite ann boleyn pre cut
or a sybil from the olde days
or take medusa up to the reptile park
or enter pegasus in the bleedin’ melbourne cup
can you really imagine some weird dead famous types
sitting round at some tossers dinner party
imagine serving jesus some guacamole
(what the hell is this? (in hebrew))
imagine playing buddha the new U2 record
(what a ponce!(in pali))
yeah
i’m just trying to scrape together the price of a sandwhich
and get mahself a cup of cawfee
i’m on a street corner in the snow
i’m in an alley in l.a.
i’m hanging out in badlands nevada
i’m down n out in cork or in boston
i’m at the naughty old mans home in west ur
i’m a foolish git with a dirty laptop
broadcasting n narrowcasting my vile bilge
all over the into-net
i am i am i am
hey its garbage day in n bondi
so it cant be all dull
someone next door has (been) moved out in a hurry
and the entire contents of their place sits in the rain
notice boards with photos
scateboards and boxes of xmas decorations
socks n undies n sad reminders
i wonder what happened
the inevitable pickers pick at it
and soon the discarded memories are blowing round the streets
aint life sad?
it can be

molecules whirl
mirrors absorb
rivers run and run
dawn turns into night
night turns into midnight
the birds talk among themselves
the silence listens
the darkness gawks
the wilderness walks
on n on into the fields
the rain wanders in
the clouds float underneath everything
the music drifts like perfume
the empiric world
the meaningless forms
the formless meanings
the breathtaking minutes
the long long seconds leading up to this
the warm bed of family
the cold world outside

the imaginary reader remains imaginary
you think you are real
but i assure you
you are merely a part of this fiction
you read voraciously
you are fed your reality by the story
you glued to your screen
your old life was just a dream
you exist to read this story
when it ends you will extinguish
an actor will go on playing your part
the actor will know what to say
everything has been taken care of
now feel free to indulge
please live my story up to the hilt
i am you
we are all in this together
almost a thousand of us
all thinking this together
all over this imaginary world
in carthage
in rome
in athens
in abyssinia
in timbuctu
in san fran
in sante fe
in situ
in gloria deo excelsis
i am everyman
you know it for sure now
and i have led this life
so that you didnt have to
i made the music you needed to hear
but no one else on this whole imaginary world could do it
i said those things you needed to hear
but who else could say them?
you owe me
you owe me your concentration then
concentrate now
and we will all be together
concentrate with me now
please
deep breaths
slow in
slower out
close your eyes
your third eye will read these words
we are becoming connected
interlocked
locked in n locked on
lovelock shylock lock stock n crockery
if i say i am standing in a garden in buenos aires
then i am standing in a garden in buenos aires
we are all standing here
invisible (like)
just kilbey and his sister
but we know everything in their minds
it doesnt matter whether kathy has a brother or not
many people have claimed he doesnt exist
we know in our deepest heart that kilbey is real
his voice at some stage has spoken to us
as he throws his random fractions of the big picture out there
he has no answers but he has no questions
he just mentions things like a kinda code
and you hear a phrase
and you go
yes he understands
so all the understanders are gathered here
in this garden
you have a right to be here
as much as stevekilbey
only kathy is truly real
only kathy will walk away
and put a small plaster on her finger
which was pricked by a thorn
only kathy will walk away
and cook dinner in her kitchen
while drinking red wine
oh god
we are all so imaginary
think about your solid life
and it evaporates like a mist
like the slight fog in this garden
this rambling garden studded with magic realistic objects
little statues covered in mirrors
ponds with weird fish
an old car redecorated with scenes from myths
you can imagine
yes
you can well imagine
so imagine it well
this garden
a sign says gethsemene
this garden with its wild exotic flowers
this southern hemisphere garden
this magic continent where things are not so ordinary
all the magic has gone out of europe
this is where it all begins
south america
the hairs on my arms raise up n shiver just to say it
south america
where all things are still possible
does kathy like south america
oh yes she says
she turns to face us
oh kathy
you look so tired
framed in your foggy garden
oh how i will long to be there
as i get jostled in a crowd
or line up on a plain taking off
or stand on a corner waiting for some soup
or questioned by the senseless authorities
about where i acquired my genius
oh the garden the garden
the trellises the insects the beautiful weeds
the cracked crazy paving
the walls n fences
the sounds of beyond the garden
the south american sky stretching overhead
saying to me
why dont you come back home?
now here i am
with all my friends
with all my imagineers
all still concentrating
why?
for the hell of it all
because you must want to find something here
here in my sisters garden which has an inclosed spring
my sisters garden with its dappled shadows
we look around
each of us picks up things special to them
a lost heirloom
some words from a loved one
a useful premonition
a new understanding
here here
take them
take them
no i insist
take everything from this garden you can
dont blame me if you cant find it here
look harder search discover
oh kathy can you see em …..my friends my imaginary friends
oh kathy can you …can you
yes my darling i can see them now…small points of energy
they are the readers kathy….the readers..can you credit it?
no ….its quite strange…i must admit…
but kathy what does it all mean…?
mean? mean? magic realists never mean…they imply
and the reader infers?
correct
kathy?
yes
are there any more of those biscuits?
you may have one, steven
only one?
yes because
its the last one…..

i fly to argentina
where my sister lives
but when i arrive
ive already split into a loada different people
my sister is waiting for us at the aeropuerte
dressed like i dunno what
i must say for an olde girl pushing 55
she looks pretty damn good
el maymi has flown down with me
because his dad is the argentinian minister for defence
and because we’re hoping to mix our new record
at silverado studio in a leafy little street
just off the main drag
that damn kathy who is my twin my double my opposite
she knows how to hurt me
needling me about things i didnt think i’d done
mentioning embarassing things
only she and i know about
of course kathys got twins
and their twins have got twins
so it looks like little scarlet k
is the only monozygotic kilbey extant
oh kathy it hurts to see you becoming old, my love…
you know steven you always know how to cheer me up…
steven if youre a vegan..that chocolate is not vegan my dear
kathy, if you were a vegan, youd look as young as me
steven as a painter youre a good bassplayer
kathy as a sister youre a good enemy
steven threw yabbies at our uncle ken, ricky
kathy stole dads cigarettes and got caught being sick
he was in the sea cadets!
she was a fucking brownie!
he dated carmel farquar
she dated moose bostick, the school bully
bullshit!
its true..
she reaches out from driving n flips me in the face
its bullshit!
ricky in the backseat : whoah!
we drop him off at silverado
he seems a little miffed with the in-fighting
and he hefts his guitar n suitcase of pedals in silence
and some guy appears to let him in
me and kathy drive off
nice fucking work you upset our mr ricky
no bullshit you upset him by going on
i didnt go on
yes you did
no you went on…i tried to ameliorate everything…
…and made it worse…
the conversation goes on like this
we arrive at the hacienda …gee…not bad….
but you didnt get this yourself…
what d’you mean by that…?
you married a rich fucking author n he got it for you
yeah…maybe he’ll marry you too…if youre nice
i laugh
i would marry the bastard if he’d get me a joint like this
we go inside
different mes go in different rooms
the angry nasty me in a gentle balcony room
the patient nice me has a room near the kids
the handsome straight up me is in the guest room
and the ugly crooked me in a caravan in the garden
kathys husband esteban
well he reminds me of me
what with his fucking white little beard
his freckly skin
the angles of his face
and oh no
i cannot fucking believe the dude sports 2 gold rings
just like….errr me….and errr kathy too for that matter
jesus christo i say
kathy you married a spanish version of moi!
you vain ninny…youre the whatever version of him!
and dig this
esteban has a twin sister too!
is she here?
no but shes coming!
how old is he…are they…?
54 she smirked
what star sign?
virgo! she said triumphantly
youre trying to do my head in!
esteban spoke pretty good english
i had read some of his books
and christ!
i had to admit they were pretty good…
kathy: why did you HAVE to admit it….?
esteban poured me some sangria
it had some chili in it it was delicious
we smoked some good dope
esteban likes the good things in life… kathy says
so do i …i say cheerfully raising my glass
oh but he can afford them says kathy winking at her smug hubby
oohh …i say..but cant think of anything much cleverer than that
estebans sister arrives…conesuela
jesus shes like the rest of us
freckly
fine brown hair
middle aged
angular
slightly rude
and slightly ok
only slightly
she rather got my back up to tell you the truth
much to kathys delight
the woman began needling me about this n that
have you read borges she asks in her snooty way
yes i say i love him
which ones have read? she asks
well that one where he has to ah..imagine..uh..
the 2 argentinians frown at me
the twin sister smirks…yeah you know that smirk…
the argentinians start to do me like a tennis table team
firing questions at me
and giving each other the answers
before i can even muster a wrong mutter
my status as renaissance man is revoked
we put on my latest record im working on
everyone sits there bored for a while
then they start to talk through it
in the middle of my new opus
fucking esteban gets up n puts something else on
astrid gilberto or something
fuck it
why cant things go the way i want
even in my own story
my own sister
my own flesh n bloody blood
kathy serves up some coffee
dont eat all the biscuits you pig! she hisses in my ear
i dont even like them ! i whisper back
then why have you eaten 4 already?
it wasnt 4…or…(a quick mental calculation) or sorry
she smirks again
she shakes her head
you see
kathy is just an old smart ass housewife
living it up in buenos aires
dabbling in whatever shes dabbling in
the kids are ok
the nice patient me doesnt mind em
the youngest is sixteen
the old horrible me doesnt like em
bloody horrible music he bitches all thru dinner
esteban rolls another perfect spliff
mind if i add little of this? he says
he taps something into it from a small bottle
whatever i shrug
the next day at the studio
thats today!
wow you look awful! laughs our mr ricky
musta been good right?
its kinda soft n rainy outside
its real kathy weather
she must love it here
i write a little instrumental piece
im gonna call it kathys cloud i say to her later
ugh! she says
and pours out more sangria

our stupid blog no one ever groks
our stupid blog with its thousands of names
our stupid blog justifying nothing
our stupid blog signifying whatever
hey listen you
why are you reading me?
howcome i aint reading you?
hey im the slipperiest one
hey i hold 4 kings plus me makes five
what are you holding?
one shabby queen three sixes and a 9
or ?
see!
i dunno
i make anything mean anything on here
i juggle time
i wriggle out of death
i suckle vipers at my bosom
my sacred calves propel me forward to my doom
everybody trying to bring me down
trying to break my fucking crown
steven..does it mean loyal or royal…i forgot…
yeah i was a kid once
you shoulda seen me
cruel n horrible…oh things aint changed much
i get so much conflicting advice
i get so much disinformation
they all chatter chatter chatter
like the birdies in the trees
suddenly my children tumble out of bed
voluptuous nine year old spirits
aurora like some northern italian goddess
and beltane eve like an oldtime princess from connaught
they come in and kiss me
oh god i am real…after all
in bondi its dark cold and rainy
the kinda day a mad olde hippy idiot
could slip into some dope induced reverie
how hes this n that
some ancient whatsis come to life
the only renaissance man still kicking tiny goals
some lancelot du lack
some christian wolf
slavering after his rosy crucifixion
and snarling at the bastard moon
but really
i’m as gentle as a little kitten
with a big rat in its mouth
and i’m as gentle as that fluffy cloud( which is full of hail)
and really
wont some great patron step forward
and provide me some Great Comfort
i cant afford the air that i breathe
both my kidneys will be repossessed friday if i dont pay up
and jesus
cocaines gone up to a thousand bucks a pinch
i have no car i have no engine
i have no washing machine
i have no antelopes with gilded horns
i have life certainly
maybe too much or too many
but c’mon
life is a temporary thing
and ive moved into my time-on period
and fuck
the rats ARE running faster this year
and i cant even remember
that i am a man in a mansuit
being dreamt up by maha vishnu the preserver
while his rather attractive wife the goddess of fortune
soothes his sleeping brow
so
i digress
i know it doesnt matter what i really say here
you read in whatever you like
as you rush down yer corn flakes
and hurry thru some blizzard
or real casual in some franchised cafe
knocking back yer long black n yer short white
ooh pay yer mortgage
ooh pay yer palimony
ooh pay yer taxes
ooh pay for yer kids hap kiddo lessons
(but wheres my subscription then?)
oh my oh my
me?
i knock out 3 thousand word articles on songwriting
i paint a gallery of past lives
i imagine buddha down in the city on miracle street
i swim in the cold icy ice bergs
an olde olde digger
(to whom i am a bit of a kid)
says
hey steve-o
howcome the fuckin water temp is 16 degrees
in the middle of summer?
i say
i do not know o olde n venerable swimming digger
perhaps verily
yonder continent antarctica
is really melting down
hence all this cold water…
he says yes
yes youre right
this world is saying
ive fucken hadda nuff of youse cuntz!
and the good digger
with the rude vocabulary sauntered off to do his thing
i swim in the cold almost deserted n violent pool
(a description of yer humble hero perhaps?)
i have found borrowed stolen a new pair of gogs
with yellow lenses
and i feel like i swim thru a giant freezing berocca wee
the waves pound down
seaweed sand n jelly fish
decorate your scribe
i retire to la baby pool
where i do my breaststroke (ooh errr)
and practice my crawl
in the sauna
i speak of many things
whether pigs have wings
why the sea is boiling cold
but mostly cabbages n kings
unfortunately
there was no one in there listening
i am i said
to no one there
and no one heard
not even
my towel
then i said
i am i am i am i am i am
the great god pan is dead!
a man looked up from his newspaper n said
oh do shut up!
i walked home listening to all my new records
the church
k/k
gb3
davey neil
and a few records of nineveh bops n boogies
i channeled during a thracian bonging session
(we bonged nepenthe cones with ambrosia sprinkles)
so i listened to myself
singing all these new songs
chortling with delight
because i couldnt focus in on one word or note
so wrapt up in the misty dark day
that swirled around me
like the underworld
and i thought
gee
i wonder how my dad wooda liked my new songs
n i wonder what kathy’ll think
when she hears em all say i gone mad
probably jus’ laugh
and i wonder why
why my sister married that south american magic realist
and i wonder if he ever read my story
i sent him
about a reincarnated king priapus
who comes back to this sci fi world
of computers n simulation packages
and boo-teak hotels
and bottles of water that cost ten dollars
and scarlet kilbeys
and west virginian women
and scars n xrays n credit cards n hollywood endings
and recriminations
n regrets
n oh sorry i got carried away with myself
and i keep on writing songs
a guy says yesterday he could write twenty songs a month
are you kidding?
i could write twenty months a song
i could sing the body electric during a power cut
i am i am iam
voice in another room : there he goes again
i am almost outta time
therefore i have too much time on my hands
you can see it
tick tick tick but never tock
i remain
i am the eternal
we all are
we all are me
we are
we are
we are
OUTBOUND
baybee can ya frickin’ believe it?
we are we are we are
ok you had yer fun
now donate some money
and go back to whatever it was
you were doing
before you red
this loada olde tripe

none of you know me
nobody
none of you
i am king liar
n my nature is to type type type
in my mind i am so free
i roam around n i do what i like
i pick any fruit i want
and i make up these stupid stories
sometimes i put them to music
sometimes i paint em
sometimes i tell you about the imaginary life
of fictitious people
like david neil
like steve kilbey
like whoever else
sometimes oh my oh my
i embroider and embellish
and i tell myself so many things
that i start to believe i really am neil or kilbey
and i make imaginary records
and i do imaginary gigs
for imaginary audiences
all over my imaginary world
in reality
just like the wizard of oz
i am a decrepit phantom
hiding behind a series of shallow personae
manipulating my fantasies
with dodgy sleight of hand
and some clumsy verbal prestidigitation
i put myself thru some bad times
just so i can play the martyr
i reach for my trusty guitar
and i moan on
about how hard my cushy life is
and how i paid my dues
(when was that?)
and i reinvent my nebulous self
as some kinda romantic crusader
or some kinda ancient king
good just and wise
but oh my god
aint it all just showbiz?
sometimes i paint myself as an artist
sometimes i act like an actor
sometimes i imitate real singers with my crafty throat
sometimes i rail against something
that i’d jump at any chance to do
i am sour grapes
i am prejudice
i am envy
i am jealousy n scorn
i am a stab in the back
i am me me ME!
othertimes
i am not me
i am not myself
and i hit some vein
and im rushed and on my run
and the lights all come on
and i walk in the sun
and i find a door back to fucking ithaca
or wherever the fuck
i dunno
maybe its just more of the great lie
a lady says to me
are all your songs true or do you just make em up?
a guy says to me
why do people lie?
a childe says to me
daddy is this real or make believe?
now its funny to ask me, aint it?
seeing as how i am the unverifier
i am the most fictional character you ever saw evaporate
i have no substance
i have no real meaning
i learn to reorganize language at a meta level
simple words i use in combinations i have planned
continue to impress n affect you
but as i sit here
i wonder if i do truly exist
outside this page
if i have any other being
outside time being
as you read me i live
as you switch off i fade
as you forget me i die
whatever you think of me
i assure you
i am not even its opposite
but some diametric negation
of all your expectations
i am i am i am

hanging out with david neil yesterday
yeah yeah
hes a ghost
well i aint holding it against him
david tells me what to sing
he tells me what to write
oh we write some beautiful songs together
david whispers the words in my ears
as fast as i can write them down
some of them are different to what i had thought
sometimes i stand there singing
i open up my throat and davids voice comes out
sometimes its just my same olde voice
sometimes david tells me how sing
sometimes i imagine i’m david
and i picture his lonesome death
when he was shot
and he o.d.ed
and the plane crash at the same time
mr ricky is there
playing up several storms
i guess david had some words with him too
cos hes got all that wah wah going
and ricky already knew a lot of davids tricks
davids girlfriend lois comes in looking for him
they go off for a coffee
and when david comes back he looks real taken aback
so he bids me write a “so long, i’m a gonna ramble off” song
i can hear david ad-libbing in the corners of my headphones
a dead romance comes to life
flowers briefly
and withers under the weight of the terrible past
lois is looking for david
but hes gone
he vanished back into my fucking head
and he pulled in this whole universe with him
the kids are outside crying
davids kids
my kids
lois kid
new kids on the blonde
unborn kids reach to david
but he aint ever gonna be anyones father
david says steve write me something sweet
so that damned woman will cry for me
and write me something bitter
to put in my bloodstream
to replace all that heroin
and all that love
and all that white alberta snow
and david opens a beer
and he slumps down on the floor
saying
jesus fuck
fuck jesus
he sucks in his breath
and he moans
ricky takes me aside
davids losing it man he says
i get angry with all of em
nick the engine ear ducks outside for a smoke
ricky fiddles with an a.r.p. sequencer
david tries to roll a smoke
his pale spirit hands all a tremble
we both break out in a sweat
fuck it david
i’m going through your withdrawals now….i say
david grins grimly
you channeled me, brother!
i feel his puny little body inside my skin
all the coffee all the cigarettes
i feel his aching love for lois
and i feel all the weight of his heartbreak
and i feel all them punches someone landed on his face
and i feel the bad hits and i feel the sloshes of jungle juice
and i feel the blow jobs and i feel the rattle of an aeroplane
and i feel sick
and i feel nervous
and i feel different
and i feel davids hands strumming my guitar
his fingers pick the strings
his fingers undo the locks
his fingers scratch my head
his fingers point the way
his high reedy voice
all smoked out
his hot tears
now all shed
david steps up to the plate
and he is the master of all he surveys
a couple of amps
their standby lights glowing red in the semi-darkness
a piano still sitting in the corner expectantly
a load of guitar pedals all willy nilly
some baffles
some lyrics i wrote out for us before
david tells nick to switch on the music
which song do ya want? nick asks the ghost
lets sing cockpit now david

i gently suggest
david says ok
nick fiddles about for a few seconds
getting the song up n ready to go
a piano starts up tentatively
some acoustic strums
some slide guitar moaning away
the drums stutter into life
the song lurches away
a hesitant and unsure song
david leans in to the microphone
and his ghostly voice comes out
filling the room with its weak keening sound
baby i’m all confused
see me landing
i’m landing on sea
please come up to the cockpit
and rescue me
and tonight we gonna soar
and tonight we gonna get some more
and tonight we gonna really live
and tonight we gonna try to forgive…
david breaks down
and the music stops
i find i’m actually crying myself
and i say
jesus
fuck
fuck
jesus
oh jesus…..

david neil “the wilderness years”
restored remixed remastered
coming soon on karmic hit records!

sometimes
i dont know what to say
the words rush into my mind
and get jammed as they fall onto the page
beauty still staggers me
lovely music moves me to the other place
dylan or bolans words move through me like ‘lectricty
gods grace…..oh pray for it unceasingly
i ride the rollercoaster and i go up
kilbey down is a deep sordid horror
but kilbey up…..ah …i wonder have you ever been this high, childe?
when someone shuts up that nagglng voice in my head
when someone in the next room says
steven you are cleared for liftoff
oh to have this head without all those voices
i spent twenty years in an asylum in france
just to escape these voices….
nevertheless
and notwithstanding
i start to ascend the great arc of a mood swing
its the paint you see
the cobalt blue
inhaling its deadly vapours all day longer
i have gone quite quite strange…oooh rather!
and now
i lick the cobalt straight from the tube
and guess what?
MY FUCKING TONGUE NOW GLOWS IRIDESCENT BLUE!
aside from making me completely crazed
i feel much myself at home
you think i only got this one mansuit?
yeah
well youre right actually
but
god i’d change it if i could
change it for something more a la mode
you see before you the ravings of a ghost
a ghost in a suit
a ghost of a chance
wholly 100% ghost
spirit come and take me now
in some other un-universe
k/k is finally done
a thing of gentle love and beauty
a thing of subtlety and wonder
a thing of such exquisite charm
2 of the best doing what they do best
mk with his panoramic vistas
his attention to detail
his many simple things which imply a cosmic complexity
his honesty and integrity
his own original one-off take on music
even the simplest things sound like him
of course i always mention glenn bennie
another melbourne guitar wizard
these 2 guys whatever they do
and completely different to each other
IT SOUNDS LIKE THEM N NO OTHER!
no thats no easy feat
to sound like no other
in this world of imitation
originality is number one in my book
out of all those geezers n gals
who pick up that guitar for the first fucken time
to those who persevere and learn to play C
to those who go on to play in bands
finally culminating n people like mk n gb
who let the universe speak through them
when they play n compose
they are great artists manipulating the palette of rock
they cant help being themselves
both serve up scrumptious backing tracks
fit for me
yes me
and i dont sing on any olde thing
but when i hear mk n gbs music
the words go winging into my heart
saying sing me you crazy olde hippy sing me
and my voice wraps around those words
and in my mind i see it all unfolding
i walk through mks muted world of fogs and sighs
stripped of any great racket
the walls are transparent
you can see n hear n smell the great ocean
oh such clean songs
oh such simple inevitable songs
oh why hasnt someone written them before?
mk works at music like a watchmaker
fitting tiny parts together
or like a fresco painter preparing a wall for a master
a man who appreciates great music MUST contain distance
to these intriguing pieces
i do my thing
you know by now what that is
ambiguity
dislocation
melancholy
allusion
my voice croons intimately in your ear
i’m in the room
with you
so close
i am so close yet that music is so distant
and what i’m saying is kinda sad
but yet you feel so happy
and…
oh
being pulled in all directions here
the artists are stacking up juxtapositions
you strive for reconciliation with these various mixed emotions
you are elevated as the emotions tighten pulling you up
you reach the end of a song floating in yer disbelief
there may have been better lyricists before me
i do not deny
and to them i am truly indebted
but i do here n now
declare myself
the best in the world at what i do
no other has my depth my subtlety my vocabulary
nor my deep humilty (HA !)
no one exploring my field of melancholia
all to bring you that strange happiness
only an olde master like MOI can dream up
unpopular i maybe
but on my own excruciatingly high expectations
i am getting better n better
i mean its hard when youre as GOOD as MOI
its hard to get much better but….oh…gotta push that envelope
gotta try to….
gotta hold on to my tradition
gotta use all my tricks
gotta use all my voices
voila
in the least amount i will imply more
i am an implier
i imply this n that
you infer this n that
you do all the work
you imagine it all
i aint telling you much
you gotta lotta room to move
mks givin’ya even more
go ahead
buy all my new records n weep
cos i hit the mark everytime
and baby
aint that what you expect from an old master bastard like
me?