The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

eternity
man he said
thats really something
yeah
showbiz gets us fooled
the hand is quicker than the eye
some old grunter canonized
the next old moaner shunned
who deals out the dead heads hands
fickle fate anointing yer feat
(what was his feet? …about 12 inches long)
what happens now?
the rest of time
here we are now living in the present
the past and future hover like shadows
one known and unchangeable
the other unknown and in flux
the coincidences come quicker n faster as it approaches
u#23 s appreciation due to warp in cozmic material
the zeitgeist travels in a smooth wave of intent
people are everything at once these days
like a story rewritten for hollywood
life is compressed into composite characters
and the plots speed up
the whirl is whirling pretty fast now
oh cant you feel it…..
the inexorable gravity of the ellipse…?
the earth is travelling through space unmanned
following an invisible course thru the stars
our sun itself is moving with us in relativity
the planets are all just sitting there
hurtling along in their place
as if as light as a feather
powered by some unending source
time …well it warps and it woofs
this is a dream i tell you it is a dream
and the dream is turning strange
as the dreamer starts to awake
and for a brief moment
it all comes together
or it all falls away
or it becomes crystalline rush clear
you perceive the perceiver
you wake up from your dream
cant remember a single thing
so too shall these moments seem
improbable snatches from someones story
an unpublished novel of marvels
an unsung song of immense beauty
and in that moment
all others will have their moments
all the moment you can deserve
in the future we will all be dead for fifteen minutes
live now
keep trying little steven
c’mon boy its only a few more yards
you cant win from here but ya gotta finish the human race
it wasnt supposed to be easy
and you went n made it a whole lot harder
you took on a lotta fights needlessly
you swung n you feinted
you moved aside and collided with fates fist
you tried to kick the sky in the eye
but you went arse over tip
and you hurt yer hip
there is something going on
and dont forget where you read it first
whatever happens from now on i claim to have predicted
i gotta premonition gonna neeed some ammunition
yeah some wise saint in the odd testament sang that
he rode into bethlehem , ma on the back of a ford transit
strumming a uke
snorting a nasal nuke
should be made a count or duke
saint who is no saint
the spy who came in for the cold drinks
a handy man in an aesthetic jam
as we all flow over the edge of the world
and out of history
and ride the falling times
let the real life begin therefor
gimme yer hands
coz yer wonderful
beyond all belief

one borrowed afternoon
i stumbled out
to find the watercolour world
had changed to acrylic
my imagination suddenly ran dry
terrified of the white paper/red tape scenery
i couldnt see anyway out
searched around but couldnt find it
the key i needed
i was landlocked shellshocked
surrounded by the nothing
stopping at nothing
nothing doing
pain returns
a weakness at the heart of everything
time had not waited for me
nor had 1988 come back
the strings are artificial
the light stabs my bad eye
the rainfalls in buckets
everywhere i turn
i weave groggily down the street
26 dollars in my hand
feeble lemon yellow sun cracks thru the gloom
a white haze surrounding the clouds fuzzy edges
a morbid piano lesson drifts from a house
some hopeless banger murdering mozart
i take in all the details
my mansuit is ripped and torn
and everything comes in
sound and light overpowers me
i have no space left
nowhere to put this glare and this whisper
windows like mirrors reflect themselves
blocks of flats light up with silver squares
the palm trees flop in the listless scene
the conversations go on in the corners
the music creeps under the doors from its dark place
its all overexposed and flaring into white and black
i see spots that look like moths swooping in on me from the sides
i always play my cards badly even tho i have good hands
good hands but bad fingers says the piano teacher
i hear myself breathing on tape
i hear a voice neither instrument or human
i hear the absent drummer weep
the sound leaks away
the rainbow seems to collapse
the colours that make it up
swirl into a crimson brown
and drown in the clouds
a pine tree says finally !
as it looks at the ominous sky
by now i’m rolling along the road
gliding on all four intentions
and guided by internal friction
i steer by the stars homes
i press my nose up to russell crowes hedge
i pet sydney melbas hyaena
i catch a distant ocean glimpse
i go in the drawer to win a million
i fix up my own future
i postpone my death by a few more songs
i sell off ideas i aint even had yet
i walk down in the museum gardens
where its sodden
theres my main man
mr big
the dealer of destiny
the pusher of puissance
the purveyor of sensual pleasure
the powerful one
steve?
he puts out his hand
as i shake it
a little spur goes into my palm
we shake hands for a minute
when he releases me
i stagger like a workload
i stumble like a bum
i’m all over the place at once on my knees
feel better now steve? says the mainman
i hand over my twenty six euros
he grins and gives me another small jolt
a free sample of next weeks …he says
as some enchanted evening is dragged through my head
i reach for it to savour its cosiness
but its gone…
uh uh says the mainman shaking his head
and smiling sadly
gotta wait till next week
i get the airbus home
i get off at the wrong stop
lemuria terminus says the sign
that cant be right says a voice in my ear
youve gone too far says another voice
youve done it this time…
a car pulls up
excuse me…..an old womans voice
excuse me …can you tell me where blah blah street is..?
i wade over to the car
what?
can you tell me where blah blah street is?
i look at the old duck blankly
yeah lady….this is it….youre driving in it
without saying a thanky dee
the old duck cruises off in her chrysler ghost
how fuckin’ rude…says one of them voices at my ear
then it all unravels
un ravel
meaninglessness impinges
nausea just like olde satre in mount martyr
no soundtrack
no credits
no audience
no takings
the plot may get rehashed
re hashed
re hashed for another couch potentate
or whatever
sweep up the mess
turn off the lights
take the keys back
and wait for next may

youve been sinking monster
youve let go and nothing in this world can stop you
fathom after fathom
fall after fall
so greedy for bruises
so loud in my cans
let me see that again… i ask one of the techs
look there it is….he points to shape amongst other shapes
thats it…? i ask
oh thats its beginning …he says
the techs all laugh grimly
let me get some focus here….
for a while all is silent save the ping of the sonar
we glide through darkness as always
little monster where are you…..?
little monster i will find you and….
the configuration of shapes suddenly changed
the techs crowded around one particular screen
a woman tech pointed out a increasing black undulation
thats its aftermath we’re seeing …she said
as she manipulated and interpreted the data on the screen
the screen fractured with a red pulse
what was that…? i asked stunned
that was the wave form of its breath translated into a sonic event
so you breathe do you, monster?…i asked
and some of them laughed softly hesitantly
as if they didnt know if i was joking or mad
and nor did i
i decide to go it alone
after some reluctant dissuasion
i am reissued with a mansuit
and i am escorted to an exit
see you on the otherside …i say to the woman tech
she doesnt answer or smile but waits patiently for me to leave
outside the abyss is jumping
little monster you smell my blood now
you turn your huge and perfect head in my direction
you groan in the depths
it reverberates around these vaulted watery halls
so you breathe monster……the words float up to my ears
yes i breathe ….i think….yes i breathe…
i feel like i’m getting too much oxygenetically modified air
fresh air…a thought from somewhere…no fresh air
all this air breathed over and over
no room to move in my mansuit
no air thats new
how is your mansuit, monster….?
who asks this question…
i cant tell
it seems to come from within a tiny voice
it seems to bounce around the whole world down here
so you can talk , little monster…? i finally ask
oh yes i can talk…. comes the reply
just as i thought it would
a huge sound that cant be heard
a terrible voice that remains invisible
ive come to find you this time little monster….!
oh have you…?.a sneered reply from the depths
how is your mansuit monster i asked you didnt i…?
the monster made the equivalent of a soft laugh
how is your monstersuit, man……?
who is the real monster….? i said
oh how could you even ask? it answered
and then it was on me
so fast
like white lightning
i felt its aftermath first
the way the tech had seen it on the screen
a white flash behind my mansuits eyes
a white shock thats white hot
a white shot fired point blank deep inside
youre only hurting yourself !i screamed as i thrashed
no i’m hurting you …the monster whispered
my mask was leaking
my suit was torn
say goodbye to that tired old air… says the little monster
my apparatus detaches and floats away
how do you like that….? i say to myself
now i will die
no you wont die …says that voice
who me.?..i ask…who’s out there…?
oh no one …says the voice
the monster…i say
yes…?.says the voice
there was no monster
there was no ending

the dead here
the dead see
dead calm
dead of winter
out of the pink sky
in a better universe
nectarine by gb3 is number one
lovers all over the double globe
the very sound of something coming on
something strong
something washing you away
something taking you with it
that lovely reverb drenched chorus of female ahs
we come to the climactic chord
we anticipate its orgasmic thrust
a slight ostinato klunk a micro second
and then all heaven breaks loose
oh it hurts…..nectarine….sings the gb3
and the guitars fizzle n crackle n sparkle and burn out
and the music is so simple
and it hurts…nectarine
the drums pound like your runaway heart
your heart as you lash out blindly at the fruity world
you struggle in a barrel full of peaches
you swim thru a sea of honey still breathing it in
youre a big fat worm boring into the teachers apple
youre a love child of the high priestess and the gardener
electric guitars
howcome only glenn bennie can play like that
what does he do to supercharge this simple stuff with such love
gooey teenage heartbreaking love you all
now youre crushed…baby whats the rush sings the voice
and you just wanna hear that song
and they say adam sang that song to eve
and the cherubim burned and hovered
and the fruit was heavy on the vine
and phil spector appeared
shooting at his wall of sound
be my be my baby
be my little baby
as it hits the inevitable minor chord
a million superstars finger their guitars
overdosing live on stage
tripping out on that lingering distorted blast
the drums fucking pound on regardless
the bass is a regulated squirt of speed
it remains behind mopping up stragglers
the bass niggles away insistently rubbery and black
and it hurts ….nectarine…..
the song plays for the 3rd time
the parallel universe with the best taste in classic pop is vibratin’
you never close your eyes anymore when i kiss your lips
the sun aint gonna shine anymore
and it hurts….nectarine…
i hope that jehovah got my uh telegram
and ronnie spectre appears on yer tiny blacknwhite astor screen
dont worry baby everything will turn out alright
on the porch the songs have brought summer
and the kids make out in the darkness
will the wall of sound / crashes all around
heavenly shades of night are falling
i saw her standing there on blackberry way
with the leader of the pack
(down down down)
and let me be yer shelter
and the guitars travel in yer bloodstream if you really love her
and if you could only get yer hands on a guitar
youd show her
youd show everyone
voice in another song : youve forgotten the xylophone
oh yes the xylophone is always twinkling above the song
indicating the fickle incandescent nature of the lyrics crush
twinkling like dumb little stars
reminding you
somewhat obliquely of naked 1950s women in bnw mags
and some new york traffic jam
and times square in the snow in 1954
and phil in-spectre drowns george in reverb
and the drums pound away silently like may even
and the teenage moon blushes pink in the candyland sky
and the cymbals tongue kiss the vu meters into the red
and glenn bennies got all these backwards loops
and snippets of guitar all working against each other
like thoughts that go round in round in yer head
like your underground, lover
like its left you blind
and you rush rush rush rush on by
and you think
wow!
the music all turned up in brightness so thats its going into white
and adelita singing hes a thief thief thief thief
and glenns guitar burns up in our atmosphere
and its the way he plays
this man is a pop guitar genius
a creator of dazzling arty-facts
the guy from the sydney morning herald today said
the underground lovers yeah..they never did one bad track!
and everyone nods in agreement
and it hurts….nectarine
and the acoustic guitars strum away like spanish romeo
climbing up the rose bush
and the song shudders to a halt
but i just want to hear it again
its contagious
its addictive
and it hurts…..

note
not available in this universe for some time

giving off heat
my eye blurred
crash in your street
like a baby bird
yeah like a starling
like a cowling
like a white wolfe howling
a thousand little pins on that angels head
a thousand little pricks that puncture her thread
weighed down like a rock and rolling
falling out of eden
falling out of braintree lane
a white thing moves across a screen
the phone rings
a hand answers
a mouth holds on far away
a voice comes on the line
a scratching sound like rats in a ceiling
a voice from the past wheezes into life
i cant stop it from starting up
the telegraph wire stretching in the sun
the voice appears to be coming from somewhere else
a city by a sea in a faraway time
when honest bold men sailed great ships full of treasure
and women sang in the fields and
dance in the bedrooms
and the prince scaled his beloveds wall
and they sat by a tranquil pool
and the moon came along singing that song
yes it was like the sound of the tides
and the king appeared
the king of brazil
and he walked down the mountain
in a cloud of cocaine
and his feathered slaves screamed in union
and feats were performed
and time was perforated along the edge
and jesus still in the amazon with his panther
and iggy pop in his silver pants sings
soul radiation in the dead of night….
and paris judges between power intelligence and love
and no one thinks to take all three
did the goddess of love really have to bribe him?
i mean
how goodlooking do you imagine helena troy to be?
and after the war
she justa went home
like nothing happened
but it wasnt her fault
she had just been a mortal bribe
a blushing bribe
she sings to paris
you made me love you
i didnt wanna do it
i didnt wanna do it
paris sings to her
your eyes
who sees
lies ahead
your mouth
who knows
eyes ahead
and then she sings
i love paris in the moonlite
i love paris in the fall
and he sings
i know this will end in tears…
the audience are the departed
and now even they have departed
steve kilbey has left the billows
the seapool is frothy like white wine
the morning pumps like an orgone accumulator
the raindrops pitter patter thinner fatter
we test drive an old bomb and it runs outta gas
we walk miles thru the rain in anycity
the grey and smoky blackbricked walls
the hopeless noise and dust
we all look up to the sky
the king of high brazil is a golden man
he is every race combined
he gracefully waves his sceptre
and the waves stop rolling
i am the new christ …he says in esperanto
so all can clearly understand
this is the new jerusalem/babylon
indicating a gated suburb of brasilia
a brief chariot ride
we watch the beheading of a sacrifice
we climb the one thousand steps to meet
the feather legged god of death
the king of high brazil says
lets get high
and he rolls up a one million euro note
and produces a small mirror
as i snort up eternity
i catch sight of myself
my tired old beak
my long droopy ears
my poisonous fangs
my bedraggled old wings
my blunt claws
my glaring third eye
am i such a monster ? i ask
only in certain lights…says the high king
and he slaps me on the back
do you know why you called that music the blurred crusade?
he asks me as we stand on a bridge between our two worlds
no …i say shrugging my shoulders…
he continues
because what we’re fighting for not even we understand…
i see all of high brazil stretched before me
go …he says
you have always been high brazilian
i walk off into the jungle
why its….lemuria…
i turn to look at the high king
hes high by now
very very high
drunk upon his throne of love
and beautiful naked angels too
doing a neo classical dance routine
yes my son
he says
avalon
high brazil
lemuria
atlantis
lyonesse
welcome
all for the price of one
the jungle opened and admitted me
snakes purred at my feet
monkeys followed me on twitter
jesus and his mangy panther
wow!
just like they always said it would be
when i was a childe

sks 2013th reverie
inside my mind now
you have just entered my mind
these are my thoughts
this is where i keep all my memories
behind that door there are forgotten things
thats the spot i wrote disappear? twenty seven odd years ago
a still and sunny afternoon in north bondi
waiting for my glenn bennie cd to show up in afternoon mail
all those songs i’d forgotten
i will be able to appraise them with new ears
i need to sneak up on my self some times
i need to surprise myself
but i always see myself coming
(ooooooh!)
never mind
in my mind
within my mind
within my mind which is sensitive n nervous like a red setter
which is cunning and hungry like a jackal
which is cold and detached like a snake
voice in another doctors waiting room : or a retina
my mind is dark like a wolfes
my mind is deep like a swedish lake and as black near the bottom
my mind so tiny and laughably small
yet still able to contain a whole universe
my mind of which i use 10 per cent
what the fuck is that other 90 per cent doing?
how can i get in touch with that?
i feel like i’m in the bit most people DONT use
and the bit they use
is the bit i cant get at
theres something wrong with me
i dont fit in
i regret it
i relish it
but i cant relinquish it
i am a fucking freak you better believe it!
why cant i leave it all in fronta me..uh..i dunno
all my latest records…i cant listen to em anymore
someone rings up
steve….
yeah…
steve…your latest record is a frickin’ masterpiece my man
oh yeah
yeah man its like oh wow i dunno i mean fuck
yeah…
you fuckin’ done it steve-o
yeah
seriously man….
yeah
i really fuckin’ mean it man
yeah yeah sure sure
anyway youre the best man the best…
yeah thanks see ya
i rush to listen to record
i put it on
by the third bar my ears n mind have switched right off
refusing to process it
nope my mind says
next?
we dont want to hear ourselves says my creative voice
i wanna fucken hear this record screams my ego voice
i wanna unnerstand again howcome we’re so great..
no says my creative voice
youre not great…youre the problem!
anyway these 2 go on at it hammer n tack
my id wades in and gets smacked in the eye
my various personae duke it out
oh who fucking cares who you really are ? asks the hedonist voice
lets get some fuckin’ pleasure on board…
my wife goes strolling thru my mind…
the responsible voice whos trying to write this blog emerges
a door clangs closed
the curtains are drawn back
onstage its….some crazy old geezer
hes on thyroxin hes eaten too much chocolate
he s all doped up on goofballs
he staggers about with his black/red eye
his white beard
his golden tan
his red nose
his brown freckles
his yellow teef
hes like a rainbow
the film suddenly comes to an abrupt end
the lights come on in the theatre
the guy next to you is steve kilbey
c’mon he says
you can gimme a lift home
inside your new hovercraft
you zoom along the monotrack
after dropping him off at his hive
hes given me a brand new cd called damaged/controlled
which is basically him singing
and glenn bennie doing the music
and a very nice prince of pop music called tim doing sound
and ms p nihill singing on some tracks too
i will now give you my honest first impressions
track one : sunday
like euphoria coming on
swirling victorian shoegazing melodic and lazy n trippy
angel face sleep the lonely hours creep sings kilbey
why?
track 2 : i dont wanna know
one of those nasty songs where kilbey spits out a load
of smart-arse one liners
eg believing whatever i told myself n crawling all the shots
fast n furious
a bennie rocker!
track 3 :how do you glow?
i’ll never understand how a king goes down with empty hands
sings old kilbey alluding to alex the great, elvis the king
and king odysseus strugglin to get home to neo-ithaca
meanwhile glenn bennie summons up the musical equivalent
of 2 eckies and two glasses of white fizzy wine
gorgeous stuff!
track 4 : im the one
direct and straight ahead
like a rocket sled
it just travels along on its track
the futures like butter sings kilbey (not to vegan-ly)
bennie summons up velocity with his ubiquitous guitars
track 5 : damaged/controlled
a bent outta shape pop song
damaged indeed
like sigue sigue sputnik meets crimson n clover
track 6 : nectarine
amazing
incandescent
explosive
a number one in a fair universe
sung by pn but words by sk
bennies music is the sound of
a glorious aching love gone wrong
track 7 ; underneath
like a euro rocker whatever that is
track 8 : in innocence
pn sings
a frozen wintery song
a cold afternoon song
track 9 : deranged/controlled
an instrumental
all spiky fractured n electronic
yet sad n sweet too
n wordlessly poignant
track 10 : uncertainty
album goes out on a rocker!

where was i?
oh never mind!

the washed out glare of a bondi winter sky
as the last days of may truly came
my eye throbbed like a bitch
the light stabbed me and i flinched in its rays
my ears both gone
one of my eyes going going…
i jump on a bus to the eye specialist
the regular quack took one look n said
get thee to the i-specialist
my eye is flashing and furry and fuzzy
it looks real weird like a lemurian shamans eye
the eye doctors preps to measures n prods my eye (ouch)
i get my pupils opened right up
i read a terrible story in waiting room
how we fucked the murray valley
cut down 16 billion trees
nice work
seems trees attract rainfall
well whattya know
yet
one still feels so sorry for the farmers left
stranded by the lands sudden frigidity
the great murray river has been diverted to a standstill
its stagnant and toxic and all because…..
because theres too many of us
and we’re greedy
and we’re humans
and we’re human
and we really think the earths resources are infinite
that the murray river could never run dry
no matter how much was taken out
finally
its all fucked up
for everybody
rare red gum trees suddenly dying out
wow
a sobering tale and close to home
did you know the sahara was once a rainforest?
trees attract rain…..dont cut another one down please
not in the amazon….ah but theyll keep going
till theyre all gone
just like the indians said we would
till the last fish
till the last tree
till the last buffalo
……..
mr kilbey
the i-doc summons me in
peers into my fucked eye
seems my ocular jelly took a bit o compressing
or whatever
gotta go back next week
see if i have torn my retina
you dont wanna go blind on yer tour says i-quack
come back next week..maybe ya need a laser….
and if you feel a grey shadow coming on
then call me immediately……!
ok?
i walk back from the junction
my eyes sensitive to all the lights
photophobia
jesus the onstage lights would be murder
hope this goes away before tour!
my eyelid a lovely scarlet purple
sk

nk pops out to a bar for some drinks with friends
she comes home with a bottle of bubbly
(plus)
would you like some darling i ask
yes please she says
i pull off the wrapper on the cork
you know
the aluminium white wrapper
then the cork has this bit of wire
i undo the wire and i walk to the back door
the last cork went sailing over the back fences
i love to hear it land in the dark out there
and i dont wanna wake up the sleeping kids
suddenly
BANG!
THE FUCKING CORK EXPLODES UP OUTTA THE BOTTLE
AND STRAIGHT INTO MY RIGHT EYE!!
i see a white explosion behind my eye
and i reel from the pain n shock
it got me in the eye i keep saying to nk
i sag down in the sofa
why? i keep asking
why? why?
n my eye is a swollen bloody closed up thing
gee i look real rough
i look real nasty
just when you think you have things going so smoothly
the missus the booze (the plus)
then
things blow up in yer face
literally
if it had been one of those corks with the metal tops
i’d be doing the tour as fucking long john silver with an eye patch
and this eye was already swollen from my bike accident in 1967
and now its gonna look real weird
oooh i hope it changes colour like bowies did
imagine me
one greyblue eye
one hazel alien eye
anyway
did me nearly blowing my eyeball out
stop our celebrations of saturday night?
nope

first of all
let me thank our own loolabillions
who has forked out some hard won cash
and bought 4….yes 4 ..of my paintings
and i must congratulate her for her choices
the golden dragon….oh yes…..
but be careful…hes a nasty olde rep-tyle that one
he loves treasure and…well, you,ll see loola
and the ice-mare
which is a very female painting
(all my girls loved that one esp. eve who named it!)
self portrait with gold floral
that really looks like me
if i was more regal royal loyal n ‘andsome
(noticing new lines in my face everyday)
and an older self portrait called shore points
which is me standing at dawn
on a beach somewhere up near my little mummys house
which coincidentally
(i notice from loolas paypal receipt)
is not far from the billions household itself..
so maybe loola…you recognize that spot
i always thought it was a good painting
i believe its all pastel no gouache
and it has a soft sad melancholy to it
nice choice!
yesterday i got steve kilbey and martin kennedy present
unseen music unheard words
which comes in such a beautiful little package
so slim
so futuristic
even the cellophane round them is immaculate
on the front martin has painted some vermillion atmosphere
some mercurian alien in front of a white hot sea
still like us earthlings
so lonely
on the back a semi -portrait of aurora kilbey
the angel of the dawn
all in crimson n gold
boy
me and martin …you get 2 renaissance men
for the price of one
anyway heres my mini review
please note all this is my own opinion
it should not detract at all
from any interpretations
you may favour
(and dont spell space savioUr without the U!)
ok
the record kicks off with
eyes ahead
smoothly introducing the disc
how prescient my opening words:
distance aint a joke
when yer wheeless n broke….
a fragile lush simple complex song
much mention must be made of jlks b.vox
and simon polinskis mixing throughout this record
superb!
the second song is my will be yours
david sylvian materializes at times
and that little talking trumpet thingy
this is a sad wee small hours tired n emotional song
i will lose everything that i will find
again…..the words are very telling
file under nightclubby/melancholia
number 3 is stretch into the stars
a theatrical number
a ponderous number
when you embraced that creature i deplore..i sing
the song is bitter slow burning and castigating
the next one is maybe soon
light gossamer stuff
advice from a father to a childe
pretty but slightly sad
simple but alluring
a lot of peoples fave
thats my daughter miranda singing on there…
after that we have uh i dunno
the usual mix up of my life
the record turns a bit heavier here
the beat is more insistent
the song actually rocks
its a furtive dark secretive song
full of revenge and spite
6 is thought of leaving
another dark number
very melodic
jazzy trumpet too
7 is another place
this is a hard one to define
it swells up eventually into a big thing
plus i use the word nepenthe
surely a first for a rock song
number 8 is all is one
a spiritual song
a lovely song
lovely music
the music is always so just right
never too much
no fancy doo dahs
no overwrought solos
no pomp n ceremony
at 9 is love increased
with a little bit of a pome at the end
n biblical imagery
10 is the other place
a sad n whimsical piece
i almost never see your face… i sing/sigh
i know you from the other place
(as opposed to another place)
at 11 is naked as a star
which is the “sexiest” track i guess
and finishing up
is friends are gone
as desolate as a stroll round a dawn beach
or an empty cafe when youre on yer own

this is a smooth soothing mellifluous record
it is painkillers opposite
it is the warm interior
it is lush and romantic
you wont have to work hard to understand it
its easy
it goes down easy
its melodic
it pays attention to tiny details
the music is so elegantly simple
yet
yet
well martin has a knack of….
uh…i dunno…
his music contains magic
his music brought forth these words
the music is unseen
and the words
could have
remained
unheard
i think you guys are gonna love this one!

everybody looking for a way in
everybody looking for that gap
fate moves us round like prawns in a game
you gotta jam with what you got
you gotta look at what you got
you gotta allow it be and luxuriate
you gotta put that time in
put that time in a slot and mail it to a future
little steven reading the greek myths
oh he loved those crazy olympian knuckleheads
i learned latin cos it was an old dead language
and i wanted remember all those beautiful words again
its raining
scarlet sits in my room drawing quietly
the rain pitter patter
the wind goes shoooosh
america sits out there across the sea
its the 21st sentry and im a old washed up rocker
but wait……!
some strange thing has happened
a glimmer of a little winged hope
nah!
and yet…
i chew bubble gum
i am addicted to sweets
i love sugar
i have a sweet truth
scarlet plays with her toys
her characters mutter to each other
dad! she calls out
i turn around
not you dad ! she says
oh it was one of her characters calling out dad…i see
she doesnt want me to watch her game
she has a little bag full of things
she takes the things out and handles them with gentle wonder
shes deep in some childish reverie and it must be lovely there
i myself have been in a childish reverie for 54 years
and i have moved with the tao
and i have fallen foul of fate
and i have derailed my own train
and i opened my mouth n shot off my foot
and i counted my soy chicken pieces
before they were cooked
and how green was my veggie burger
and my pitts burger and my jolie frappe
and in australia some footballers did some naughty things
with a lady
and a bushfire flooded through another town
a man bit a sharks hand off
and i landed on my feet
and hit the course running
someone says what about p=a?
i say what about it ?
they say the theme
i say the theme on which level?
they say the level of hypnogogic doo dah
i say post doo dah or naive doo dah
they say genuine naive old school doo dah
i say which old school?
they say
why lyneham high, steven john kilbey
there you are my son
and brendan prout riding your bikes home from the pool
talking about girls
on an endless summer evening that ended five minutes later
now its a late autumn afternoon
you hop in a car on northbourne ave
and its stefan strom
his car has no seats it has…deck chairs…!
strom is under age and driving a car with no seats but…deck chairs
the chairs slide all over the place as we go round corners
and as we pull up i keep banging my head
strom seems to have the knack of it
strom is fifteen n hes driving this car
and hes “rooted” a girl
i press him for the gory details
we went to her place at lunchtime he said
as our deck chairs slid around on the cars metal floor
and she lay on a bed
and she opened her legs
and i rooted her he said
and….i said
and what…? he said
was it any good ? i asked
he seemed dismayed by the whole thing
no …i dunno …it was alright…he said
the car stops
i get out
in a record shop on a cold rainy canberra afternoon
i meet some svelte little sweetie
she says im half italian
as we look at the cover of umma gumma together
we stand in the listening booth together
listening to astronomy domine
the half italian touches my hair
and i feel the whole universe
and the whole history of love
compressed into that listening booth
in that long gone record shop
in that long gone afternoon
but aint that what afternoons do….they go…dont they ?
the half italian is wearing mauve cord lee cooper jeans
we kiss for a minute
her tongue is truly mediterranean
and it invades my mouth like the empress of rome
theres a knocking at the glass door of the booth
the girls older sister
they have words
she shrugs and smiles
the sister
turning round once to glare at me
leads her away into the distance
im certain we’ll meet again but we never do
i float outside in the rain
where civic is beginning to get dark
i stand stupidly in the drizzle
the kiss has bewildered me
like my first snort of smack
like my first hit single
like my first car crash
like my first time up on a big stage
years later
in the fullness of time
i remembered
that i bought a record that day
i paid for it
they put it in a bag
and i walked out empty handed
and i never got to hear it
and the name of the record
which was a double vinyl album
was untitled #23