The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

i would like to know how many people cannot
for whatever reason
watch these videos
sk

how to get in
how to begin
how to unravel and travel beyond
how to penetrate to the heart of the start
where it all comes bubbling out like some geyser
the story
the one hundred years war
the guns to the left of em
the shields and the javelins
the net and the fork
the shot the strike the hit the vein
the rush of black death flying up to meet you
as you fall out of life
i been born
i been killed
i been you
i been me
i feel the quiet movement of this island
this prison colony
this settlement somewhat east of eden
in the short day of man
in the west of the darkening sky
clouds lit up like red gold dragon
the psalms black in shadowed outlining
crash the staggered margins of night
the dying sun shrieks out in a final scarlet orange burst
black breaks thru the purple
out pop the starry stars
like beacons in the nightie night
as the birds shut their traps
and the spiders fold their legs
and the swirling motes of dust suddenly vanish
the orange fire gone from the skies
twinkly twinkly lights come on
in cosy warm places all up in down the hills
groovy people kick back looking at glossy coffee table shots
i inhabit every room briefly
my antennae fix on each place splitting seconds
sydney flits through my mind
i drag sydney into my head
and i pull the individuals into my memory
i erase some memories to fit in the new ones
and accidentally find my childhood inaccessible
i open the page
but it is blank
in its place is nothing
let it go
nothing really you could know
i rapidly roll into my childhoods void
i reconstruct myself from a biography i red
i reconstitute august and everything after
(but ask davem not to be counting any more crows)
these are my familiars
the black crow in the mourning sky
the mangy panther with south american jesus
white hippy moses
the reluctant powerful vain confused old unprofitable prophet
struggling to lead his people to the promised blogge
given from on a high
written in pixels
transmitted all over this world instantly
as if by magic
blah blah blah blah blah
i zoom out the airport in a car
groovy music blasts from the darkness
in a little room david bowie neukoln plays
a heater pumps out hot air
all the wars i fought in
the blood pumping
straining up a ladder into an arrow through me eye
my brain babbles on even as i’m kicking the bucket
accumulation of images
sudden longing for ….ah…fleeting sensations….
a finger comes down on a symbol
type out my life in the english language
oh england neverfar
never far from my mind
like in hastings on a sunny sunday morning
and that smell of toast and eggs that hotel smell
and we just won the blimmin’ war didnt we
and our dads come home
and mums got her bloody hair done
and we go down to hastings
and we play cards at night and eat lyons family brick and…
the phone rings!
dvd burns and high quality transfer intrudes
england vanishes into the david bowie night
the tower flashes red on black blankness now the sky
this is australia mate
get over it
get into it
get downunder for stealing a loafers bread
yeah i’m a lime eating limey sublime in the limelight
yeah i’m a pomegranate eating pommy pow wallop snap
i got products coming down the pipeline
oh my black boxed set of prints and my voice
19 virgins of me and my little reveries
my so called reveries
i paint quaint in saintly pane
i speak squeak creak peak antique
i play my lay my day lay au fait le faye so frayed yet unafraid
au soy lait
perhaps i am really totally ok
and it is all of you who are
contagiously insane…..!

we adjourn to some white room
life flashes past lightspeed
(note to performers : should be done fast)
a child in mine own image
electronic symphonia
the elegaic sweep of sand n strings
the drums sombre rattle
the mournful echoes of the french horn
the women sing of fire
the men sing of ash
the world cant listen anymore
winter sunlight bleaches everything dazzling titanium
the old snake in eden would have loved the sun today
he coils around liliths black waist
he probes the air with his forked quickened tongue
he sizzles in the lovely light
in his dreams where he strangles the world
in his scales complex patterns
in his liquid eyes of evil
winter mr winter old man winter
the lion in winter
mangy moses in white hippy winter
father what is that thou holdeth?
ah childe, surely it bee the mirror of winter….
then the music stops
the ears ring on n on
listening to something from twenty years ago
now a constant electrick whine
all i have is that sunshine for now
a late burst on some winters day
falling straight into spring soon
the apple blossom in eden is lovely this time of year
maybe i am one spell away from real magic
maybe i am one asana away from real yoga
maybe i am one mile away
barque up the wrong tree
like alfred the great in the olden days
c’mon wessex !
england all ways on my mind
can we still be reconciled…?
the moors
the restaurants
the rainy streets of cambridge and sheffield
the leylines and stoned henge
how distant they seem in the colonies
in these antipodes like the south icy pole
in these obvious ends of the earth
some bizarre outpost i got exiled in
pretend and temporary cities in some old lords imagination
complete with freakish animals and hidden monsters
we look into the mirror of winter
scarlet kilbey her life all before her
me…..
maybe im one life away from you
maybe im sitting here in the sun
like in the ice of the pool
my mind goes pleasantly blank
the winter of mirror
the fleeting sun
as darkness gathers on one side
the clouds like little flocks of wandering sheepies
the moon appears like a white hole in the sky
what do you see in the winter mirror, old man?
i see that everything is how its s’posed to be
and that at the heart of everything
is something
called
nothing

the crowd in their seats
i see them all
i take them in
a voice emits from speakers
the music is loud up here
the electric piano is real loud
what am i thinking about
i see the places in the song
i think about london
as an outsider
a necessary point in the arc of this show
everybody putting their different things in
interpreting kevs great songs
over two hours of great songs
now its over again
for a while
cmon its gotta do the rounds, right?
it truly is the feel good summer smash hit blokkbuster musical
its an amazing show from beginning to end
tender country
to shattering rock
good show!
me…..somehow i surrendered to the moment
sk shut down a bit
and let the other guy out
it was a relief….
feeling much more rested today
after early night
no partying n drinking for me this time (if ever)
back home in the early afternoon
in time for…..

steve steve
a worried stagehand is looking for me
its ok
here i am….can i go on this way?
mate you can go on anyway you like now ive found ya…
sit on the sofa if you like
i sit there waiting to go on
i hear my music start up
and i stride on
i pray to the god of show biz for good luck
but i dont forget the words
but i dont forget to move and groove
you know what
i was ok
ok
thats good enough
i felt like it was you know kinda good kinda ok
i can never really tell
i felt it all flow thru and around me
im glad i didnt forget the words
or trip over
or anything weird or strangely embarrassing
i acquitted myself…did my thing
several of the others congratulate me…thats nice…
and yes
i had some conversations today
i could talk again
the bad magnets lost their pull for a while
oh i wanna get home now
too much going on
see old school friend bronny
whos now a professor up here
she enjoyed it anyway
ditto graham nunn
was the prime minister there…?
the weather was excellent
the other players n singers a marvel….
the show a huge success
i happy at last
to be a cog in a mechanism
amen