The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

2009 ends in a sultry steamy day in bondi
i go up to bondi jnctn n buy some recording gear
so i can complete my new double album of solo songs
now its gonna be better than ever
i want to wrestle new music out of the universe for ya
it has be pulled out alive n screaming
i gotta get completely handson to to what i must do
no other person may come between me n the music
it will be pure time being
no traces of anyothers will be found with in it
i need to make every decision when i make my record
you have to understand its coming how nature intended it
but lookout honey coz i’m using technology
i always have
i always have utilized technology
i am no luddite
just lazy
i fell behind for a while
now i must step back up into total control over my own music
not the churchs but my own
willy paradise keeps goading me to make that perfect double album
yes i will try tho i will never succeed
but my failure will be gloriously executed ….one hopes..
after all this time…
my dear readers
the music i make from this point in will be extraordinary
an olde master now
in full possession of his faculties tho slightly delusional
my trials my tribulations my triumphs my trying
all have shaped me
it was necessary
i am a flower who will bloom in winter
in the white cold winter i guarantee an explosion
in my own winter
however long may it be
i hereby promise you some lovely music
thats all i can do
and now try to deliver on it
blah blah blur
yeah 2010 and ever since
i will lay my hands on guitars
with new understanding i will coax rather than force
but force it will be if necessary
i will force my bass to do things
i will force it into low and heavy places
and it will pump n writhe all it likes
and my bass guitar my familiar
charged with a million notes
drenched in sweat and tears and saliva and blister-water
baptized in smoke and booze
caressed lewdly
yet embraced like a child
so fucking heavy a load around my neck like a ton
eh whats that….?
i never felt a thing….
is mine the best bass in the whole world?
i do believe it is
i really do
and i really believe the wood has taken up my charge
and is like an energy battery
which discharges when the music starts to lift off
its been a fucking amazing decade for my b(r)and
we have released a number of very good records
like back with 2 beasts for christ sake
how good is that record?
only the church
could casually let such a pearl slip out there
to no reviews
limited to mail order
and yet
man thats a good record
as good as anything
better than most
of course
there is nothing left to be said about 23
its a classic its a classic its a classic
it scored 87% aggregate mark from all of its different reviews
but yes
vain as i am about our band…..
we should get that result
(although i think giving records scores is a bit schoolish isnt it
but i likey when i get top marks!)
unfortunately time is against us now
we are not spring soy chicken bits any longer
this week 2 aust legends pass away
its right on the cards
for you too not just me
so we gotta concentrate
make the most of the moments we have remaining in the game
maybe la church already in time-on…..
maybe we could kick on another 5 or 10
who knows?
we intend to keep going i guess
what else could we do now?
music is all we have
all we know
all we know we can trust
music at the beginning
music at the end
i wrote the soundtrack to my own life
and lo all my songs are always coming true
i threw em away carelessly but they took root n grew
all those songs
all those clues
all those arrangements
i thought it all through
i put myself into those songs
i caught em out there in the darkness where they were waiting
i was standing at the crack in the worlds
when my nightfriends would arrive bearing tunes
its true i have stolen songs from other places
songs buried deep in my memory but probably never mine
is this all too mystical for you?
where do these songs come from
well i’d like to know
because i written so many now
so many bad
so many good too
i created my own schtick
i mine my own mind now
but i sense occultish music all around
i am filled with song every time i….
an olde master
ha ha
its true
whooda thunk it
from snotty enfant miserable to ye olde master
good luck
bad luck
stupid choices
etc
read my book and weep gold coins
if youre rich shower me in money
if youre poor give me your blessings
if youre lonely
let my songs keep you company then
step into them
live them
love them as your own
there will be more to come
as i sit here
david neil weird frail ghostly wild shambolic pop
gb3 ; sleek ultraglide with a one micron edge
kk2 : this is turning out to be very good
(of course tho i would say that wouldnt i?)
down to the cardboard : ????????????????
new church album : someone tell me, i’m ready
and look for me on new one off internashional collaborations
and see me treading the boards in march with some showbiz stuff
what can i say
thanks for reading my thing
thanks for subscribing if you did
many hopes for a good year for all
some peace on earth
and more wine and gold…..

pink fluffy clouds with mauve tinges
they look like elephants let loose across my sky
a warm silence appears
something primitive about the light
we lay in our room touching
a lovely little breeze makes the blinds move
baby take off your clothes
the last days of 2009
soon pleasure will come
unlimited undying unendurable
its a lovely afternoon just like its brother
the day before
people inspect an empty flat
little lizards scuttle about in the sun
the ocean is warm and gentle
the palms nod only faintly
people drinking cold beer
2 more nights to new years eve
we hurtle headlong into a future
life speeds up n up n up
the past creates jagged fragments
the present offers up intriguing clues
but the future
ah none may know it truly
or else life would become unbearable
and we’d remember tomorrow as well as yesterday

in the big mixup
in the great jumble sail
in the whirling whorl of pixilated cosmos
in the secret displeasure
in the vulgar words of the flightless birds
in the starshine shone here but there gone
in the alien tampering like farmers seeding a crop
in the melting ice
in the extinguishment of flame at the core
in the airport at pompeii
in the garden in new south babylon
i’m dressed as a mortal
none would suspect my true nature
a poor man, yer honour
dressed in a poor soldiers clothes
i find meself wand’ring up this poem at a quarter to 3
you wouldnt believe this weather
whoever ever you are out there
this weather is too theatrical
this weather provided by special effects
this grey ocean a beautiful backdrop
painted by mikey angelo or carry vaggio
the droplets of rain are too tiny to really fall
they hang suspended in the matthew mark n luke warm air
yes jesus returns to the streets of capri
to the streets of key largo
to the streets of surfers paradise
to the streets of port au prince
to the mean streets of bondi beach
where the parrots n boys n cockroaches n dogs
n chicks n shops n sunburn n rich n pubs n
palms n sands n rain n rain n rain rain rain
yeah jesus is a surfer man
see him balance on that spade
see him ride his watery trail
see him effervescent in the streaming surf
see him hang ten n ten again
see him carve up the sea of galilee
him n judas smoke a joint n sharing thickshakes
they drive a falcon panel van painted blue void grey
oh him n judas man
they thick as thieves
dont get me wrong man
they surf the beaches up n down the phoenician coast
the beach of miracles
the shining sea of joy
christ what a golden boy
with their yellow hair like cotton wool and their ruddy skin
they look like blond red indians in black wet suits
yeah jesus is back in australia
where he belongs
he disappears at christmas to his weekender
someone captured it on super 8
we project it on the wall for free at this time of year
and for one night
all the old people are released from their age
and until midnight
they return to youth
they return to perfect health
and they grow up in some enchanting evened
never notice how the time slip by
never notice how the minutes grow short
more like brief seconds really
well thats it thanks n good night you say
pulling on a coat that feels like a hundred years
the palms sway in the tropics but not for you
the breeze dances down marine parade but not for you
the traffic hums n the lights change but not for you
in the sauna you all sit there sweating
when jesus walks in
you nudge and point rudely
but he sits obliviously meditating on the eternal lord vishnu
the preserver of all worlds
someone chucks some water mixed with eucalyptus oil on the sauna
even tho its against the rules
theres a big gush of hot steam it almost peels off our faces
jesus glances up from his deep meditation
thats against the rules he says
and closes his perfect eyes which are every colour n none
i watch his six pack move as he breathes in deep pranayama
i watch his lovely biceps flex as he inadvertently moves a little
outside the pool is turbid
with my pink glassed goggles i swam thru the coldish rainy seawater
i only managed nine laps
a terrible weakening hunger overtook me
a sudden boredom or lassitude of inexplicable nature
i saw a crab struggling on the bottom of the pool
i reached out to save it
why i thought my lungs would burst
i swim down down down
now this crab will bite you
i say to myself 2 fathoms down
as my ears start to hurt n my eyes start to bulge
this crab will bite you says my voice in my head
i dont care i says i will save it
i reach down n the crab nips my pink soft finger
fuck you i says you can drown then
i swim up hastily to the surface
fearing rapture of the deep overtaking me
and lest i walk neptunes halls with my mermaid bride
a miserable skellington in davy jones locker
but i pop up in bondi alright
its some other bondi perhaps or maybe
the grey sky has changed little
its a good copy of australia
but some details are missing
jesus looks up at me
i know what youre thinking he says
jehovah never made australia himself
he nicked the idea from some other god
jesus smiles and gestures to the cafes all quiet cos of the rain
he gestures to the rainy horizon n the white new guinea like clouds
he gestures to the dreaming spired penthouses with the rooftop pools
he gestures to the mr whippy van parked on the pavement
he gestures to the dogs fouling the boardwalk
he gestures to the starfish goofing off in the rockpools
he gestures to that vicious old crab now sadly drowning in the pool
he gestures to the shags drying their wings on a sign
he gestures to the australian flag hanging listlessly in the cloud
he gestures to the parking officers dishing out their lil tix of sorrow
he gestures to the second hand furniture place
he gestures to the fruit shops n all their divers melons
he gestures to the swiss grande and its overpriced rooms
he gestures to the 28th of december with its holiday torpor
he gestures to the queue at the ribs place in the square there
hey man says jesus the son of man
all of this bondi is yours n mine man
no one can ever take it away from you
even if your accountant tells you:
you cannot afford to live here
thou shalt dwell by the beach all of thy days
seagulls and sunscreen shall follow thee
and the pines and the palms and the lifesavers and ice creams
and summer will be merciful with its seabreezes
and winter shall find you warm
wrapped in a comforting fog
like today
and yes
we looked out at this miraculous version of bondi
one hour from the airport in bad traffic
only two main roads in
bondi jnctn mall is biggest in southern hemis fear
north bondi
south bondi
old bondi
nouveau bondi
bondi a la carte
mondo bondi
i come back to my silent room suddenly
a lonely birdie calls out in the distance
i must have been daydreaming
but there in my hand
a swimming cap with tiny tiny thorns
wow
so it wasnt just a dream after all

maybe all you are is your memories
said kilbey
to himselves
somewhere in the gold futures
somewhere in the silver pasts
because thats all you think about
he/they/you laugh
ha ha ha
and life is then unbearably random
and we all have to die
and life then is randomly unbearable
and all we have to do is die
youre in australia now son
have you ever been here before ?
yes i have but i remain in a tiny little part
called new south wales
well its very very beautiful in new south wales
this is the backdrop for all those adventures
all those beaches
all those trees
all those nights
all those conversations
all those arguments
all those drugs
all those orgasms and organisms
all those shots and shoots
all those songs and wrongs
my blog must be a form of self analysis
i’m glad its christmas n theres no one reading
i can pretend i’m on my own
and i can say the things to myselves
these things that churn through my minds
the way obsessions focus my thought till it burns thru black paper
and my callous and unforgiving virgo sides
and now i discover
as previously reported
my memories are all ……….um………
gee i forgot what i was trying to say
my pest n nuisance must not have access to computer this xmas
because no insults for a few days
if youve never been to australia
you would just love sydney
younger than new york
cleaner than london
sexier than atlantis
more flesh n drugs than babylon
more wicked than nineveh
sydney raped me shaped me escaped me
i sit here in the town of n. bondi
a stones throw from the great cliffs and the heads
the tourists are up the other end
the swedes
the poms
the irish
the israelis
that would be my reckoning
i can fuckin pick a swede a mile off
its their body language and their posture
ditto poms n irish esp. the backpacker types
sorry
but some of the backpacker types are quite…..
a bit cro-magnon or something
only cro-magnon didnt consume gallons of beer
and walk down hall street bashing on garbage bins
the israeli guys always got these black curly mops
held back by these kinda girly headbands
they often are very darkly handsome n have an air of arrogance
a lot of our american visitors are the ancient couple
with the cameras and the loud voices
ditto the japanese only more cameras
and more intrusive with them
theres people searching your bags for alcohol
and a very amusing sign warning no booze on beach
so fuck it
the b-packers get sloshed then go down the beach
where they need rescuing
when they figure out
this aint fucking brighton
and the waves are a lot bigger up close
than from the shore
and some geezer got bitten by a shark up the coast
and even when its overcast the sun still burns
i see poms n irish frying every year
its an awful sight
of course the israelis n swedes seem to magically have suntans
rich italians too sometimes appear on our beach
our great australian icon
people in the steamy city dream of it
bondi beach
fishnchips?
need a surfboard?
need a fucking cold beer?
need some bikinis n board shorts
need a fancy hairdresser or three
need a convenience shop or four
need the nirvana beach liquor store
need sunday markets n evening markets
need a million pizzas n ice creams
need a million cafes serving up loathsome eggsnbacon
need doof doof doof
need the quiet back streets of n bondi suburbia heaven
need the frangipanis
need the bottlebrush
need the parrots
need the near silence on days like these
on days like these
amazing parties you n i will never get invited to
amazing gracious hostesses greet you
with fishbowls full of white sugar powder
and dressed as spirits as a theme
and you must be in vaucluse
but the clouds swing down reminding the reader of new guinea
in the amazing party
where you meet amazing people
people who do the most cool things
and the music gently emits
tick tick tick
the guitars agitate gently in a swampy sea of synths
tiny bells
a wah wah chuck a chuck a chuck
the sun finally pops out at the end of the stormy day
like a surprise ending to movie you fell asleep watching
the blue australian summer sky appears
just before it has to go to bed
the mozzies are in the wings itching to bite
and the backpackers are back in the hostels
with their back packs n lager n cigarettes
and their brief furtive summer romances
sean from dublin
meet
shazza from birmingham
and the swedes stay at some boutique hotel
and the israelis stay with their cousins n uncles
and they all come back out into the bondi night
suddenly as a plague of tablewaiters appears on campbell parade
and the rich n the poor mingle freely
the suntanned n pale n burnt livid celtics
and the moslems n christians n ones like most of em
who dont believe in nuthin’
and the handsome youths with their swaggering gait
and the ugly old coots with their staggering stumble
and botox meat that looks like trout
and the local russians with their bear tatoos
and the chemists that sell australias thinnest condom
and the sunglasses stalls
and its warm baby its warm
we got no cultchure but we got warm weather
by the bucket load
imagine no shirt no shoes no cloves if you want
we smoke dope
we drink bubble teas
we body surf
we goof off
we lug slabs up the street
we throw amazing n not so amazing parties
we get out of it
we get into it
we having a fucking relaxed old time
down here in this tourist mecca
this lovely little beach enclosed by two cliffs
with its pavillion where youll be swatting at the flies
and theyre got holiday doof doof doof
like always
listen says evie from a kilometre away
its the black eyed peas daddy
yeah
see ya round then

december along the trail
christmas day comes on n then goes
it rains
a solemn grey sky is painted over the beach
the recorded sounds of gentle rain
the feeling of coldish wet water
the plants luxuriate out in it
the pink flowers drink it down n get tipsy
the thirsty earth
the sand all yellow
the pavement and the nature strips befouled by dogs
in the weekenders where the week is already ending weakly
people sit around glumly staring at their scrabble letters
mum makes toast and its fifty years ago
the children in the driveway
they chatter and squeal and bicker
raucous little birds brave the drizzle
the santa hats hang down sadly
christmas is this christmas is that christmas
55 christmases pick a christmas any christmas
wearing my green grandpa t shirt i snake through the
colonnaded light under the boardwalks
i park my cars in grassy lots and palmy nights
wandering in this vague fog where objects softly collide
ginger beer and christmas pudding with much rum
and jewish girls in surfers paradise
from rich families in the rag trade in melbourne
they stand on balconies dimly flickering
in scenes torn from my childhoods
in gardens of poor mechanics that have no lawn
ants marching in the cracked concrete
i realize my memories are corroded
faded
rusting into orangey blurs
my precious memories all empty and damaged
falling apart melting inside my minds
lets go down to the river she said
so we drove and drove and drove
under starry banks of cloud
caravan parks and mosquitoes
the magic far away trees
and discotheques held in the school
and in the laundry the cupboard that held the detergent powders
and on top of the wardrobe where mum hid the present
and under the bed where somebody kept the future
theres no one home said your girlfriends
as you padded down a hundred halls
you pulled back a shower curtain and a paisley chameleon stared back
you pulled off along the track and followed a path
leading directly to a secluded beach where a small fire was burning
yes sir it was australia
you were deep in the australian night
bats and cicadas
the insistent but gentle rain
the path takes you through the graveyard
yeah you shiver and shudder feeling that sandy soil underfoot
seals sit on the rocks
you can see know how they could mistake them for mermaids
as the rainwater mingles with the tears in your eyes
your one thousand grey blue eyes
your one thousand island nights swimming in tepid lagoons
and staying in those self appointed rooms
you are staying in the hyacinth lodge
you are staying in the palm court
you are staying in the tiki village
you are staying at stella and ralphs place at kirra beach
anyway dad will know where to go
you turn around looking for one of your dads
theres no one in the drivers seat
theres no one out in the shed
theres no one lost in the confusing streets of moorabin
theres no one watering the plants or smoking a cig
the reel suddenly stops with a jerk
a real little jerk
the stuff the memories are woven from and stored on
is all burnt
its all wet its all used up
the locations reveal a shadowless blank
you stumble around on boxing day
renting small canoes or ordering a thickshake at the kiosk
you knock on someones door too early
you knock on someone elses door too late
sit on a verandah
sit on a bench
sit on a prop
sit on a chair out the back while the roadies set up
smoke weed drink booze talk bullshit
too many mirrors make light work
you apply your stupid makeup
you apply your decals on your ww1 planes
you use cotton to tie tiny flags to the h.m.s. hood
you play at wineries
you play at factories
you play at distant cities having no real name
still your memory has congealed and all else is but to mask that fact
the things you write about in your books and blogs never ever happened
there was no summer
no christmas
no rain
there was no music
there was no wand’ring stars
still and you realize it doesnt matter
what you did n never did
where you were n where you never was
the beaches are all deserted
the deserts are all beached
theres barbed wired keeping us off the dunes
theres luna keeping us off the moons
theres your mum n dad who’ll be here soon
i dont think fast enough
i jump the gunned pedal and drop it into second
i reach out to the radio
its christmas aint it
decorations n auld lang signs
the glow of the neon santas hypnotizes the dopey youth
they gulp tequila and vomit up the drains
you kiss a dozen drunken lips
you hold a hundred sweaty hands
you leave in a fleet of ford falcons
you tear up roads all the way up n down the eastern coasts
in hamlets with one hamburger joint
in villages with loads of idiots
in casinos where you roll big
and in milkbars where you buy a tin of tomato soup
in a limo arguing with the boys and getting all angry
zooming down that new stretch of road out beyond the limits
on the outskirts doing nearly 130
the blasted earth yields highway 10101
cruise by in the mirror
a car full of noisy women on their way to some private hell
they look for husbands among the flotsam of new years eaves
they lift up rotten logs looking for one good man
the biological clock has tick tick tick tocked
so they dress up in gladbags and handrags
and go dancing thru the rats
but its christmas in their minds
and the trees have not yet been tossed out to rot
and the boys maybe are still hot to trot
in the bars and in the cars of some summer
i swing in my hammocks
i stand in a field in pyrmont
i’m under some house in brisbane
hey i met grant mclennan walking down memory lane
and he said listen steven ive written this beautiful song
so we sat in his flat in bondi junction
where he had his one book and his two guitars
and he had his twenty peter stuyvesants and his two bottles of vino
and his 2 pair of jeans
and his secret hobby he kept in his top drawer
and i sit myselves down on all those beds
in all those flats
in all all those apartments and caravans
and astral travelodges
and motor inns that had gone out
and grant began to sing a song
a song about australia
about rain and kissing some person in some room
and about his missing father and about the traffic on the bridge
and he mentioned christmas
he mentioned mrs morgan
he mentioned the mornings after love had fled
he mentioned the views n the vistas and the paw paws and the sun
and the way my life had curled around itself
until i became quite sleepy
and i passed blissfully
out of memory

there are good people in this world
like the fambley in buffalo who brought me sox n absinthe
(bands love sox n absinthe….you cant go wrong!)
like all the subscribers who pay me to right this stuff
look i thank you all for your contributions large n small
you didnt have to but you did
and everytime a sub rolls in i feel a little validated
like all the people who came along n donated some jazz
from homer in perth
to my whacky friend up in maine
and all the people in between
i thank you
i thank again and always klk who is there for us
and without whom there would be no U@23
no fy
no aent
no no no
klk merry xmas
of course my friend in ohio who spoils me hopelessly
in everyway
merry xmas know it all bitch goddess of antenna
and my friend in nsws second biggest city
who is a “boho” in “straights” clothing
merry xmas dave
and of course again and especially
a rather dapper chap in so-cal
who has verily kept the wolf from ttbs door
the wolf was about to keep on gnawing on my intellectual copyright
when suddenly
this guy appeared n immediately turned the tables on the fookers
and kicked their bum
(they only have one bum between em)
i could not have done it without ‘im
knowledge is power anyway yes it is
now appointed the sk minister of justice
merry x-mas john
jesus man…..merry merry xmas
i’d like to thank the people who commissioned pictures
i agonize over these things
i know i dont always get em perfect
i know it takes much much longer than i promised
but i really do try for you
to people still waiting…they will come!
people who are thinking of getting one…go on…
i’d like to wish my mother joycie a merry xmas
her book is back on sale at karmic hit
its a bloody good read
and something every true sk compleatist should own
plus i get a 20 cents spotters fee if you mention my name
careful my mothers book contains strong language
and violence
(when she gives me the bloody wooden spoon)
merry christmas to my brothers too
merri christmas to people like
sue c who works as an autominous body
keeping our vibe permanently up!
arise dame campbell…!
thanks to kate away aka iseult
for filming and suggestions
now countess kate of the archives
merry chrimbo kip in tx
merry chrimbo hoffmen
merry chrimbo mr ricky n f’licity n mr o
merry chrimbo the english crowd
merry chrimbo the yanks
merry chrimbo the swedes n germans
merry chrimbo kurt n matt in nz
merry chrimbo annaki may-hem
merry chrimbo mal turnbull (HE’LL BE BACK)
merry chrimbo in darwin rb
merry chrimbo bon bon n hellbound heart
merry chrimbo johnny beyond in l.a.
merry chrimbo freddie…..you can call me lord..the black
merry chrimbo stephen judge a good guy at our u.s. label
merry chrimbo to perry whos got a damn good sk painting collection
merry chrimbo pablo
merry chrimbo to nigel the banker wherever you roam
merry chrimbo to queen h
merry chrimbo to veleska
merry chrimbo to cazziem
merry chrimbo to jazz-perina
merry chrimbo to bigsmiles kate
merry chrimbo to my pest n nuisance
merry chrimbo belfy in boston
merry chrimbo the crunch
merry chrimbo j cain n mister slay
merry chrimbo k/k…long may you run
merry chrimbo princey n mary n tim p
merry chrimbo gb3….new album coming soon
merry chrimbo david neil…..ditto
merry chrimbo richard lane…gee richard youre a cool guy
merry chrimbo drofstaw nelg….whos coming for xmas dinner
merry chrimbo…karin in sweden…a nice job you did with the twills
merry chrimbo mimi n marlon n logan…a nice bunch of kilbeys
merry chrimbo jon f n john c in the states
merry chrimbo cst coach
merry chrimbo everybody else
i’ll be embarrassed when i realize i forget to say yer name
thats it
now bleat drink n be mary
sk n bondi xmas 2009

i called out to the mrs
i said duckling i guarantee this is the worst thing you ever saw
what do you mean says the mrs
i mean the worst rocknroll thing imaginable
the mrs chuckles
its a tall order
we both think of all the shockingly AWFUL things we ever saw
i think of all the hair n metal bands
i think of all the schmaltzy boy band tripe
i think of all the “sexy” girl band tripe
all the tedious macho rap
still this is the grande cahuna of awful
not awesome but awful
my wife thinks of air supply….yes theyre pretty awful
but not as awful as this..
she says poison
but thats not as awful as this.

anyway i have to say
i assure you this is the worst
the most awkward silly thing
look i know a silly thing
ive been in plenty of em
you can see em on youtube i’m sure
tacky hopeless tuneless rubbish featuring moi
still this is beyond my many glaring faux pas
now look
i have no axe to grind with this artist
i have felt neutral
never begrudged their huge success
i dont understand heavy metal or whatever it is
i of course sound reactionary when i say its all been done before
and much better
modern heavy metal bands or whatever it is
go through the motions that sabbath, purple n zep et al invented
therefore they can never compete with the originals
because the originals were…errr…original
n theyre not
the modern ones got all the accoutrements
why not
rock is theatre
why expect authenticity?
so there you go
i stumbled across this on tv in perth a few weeks back
i was watching with mr ricky
we both immediately agreed this was the absolute nadir
the most out of tune
inappropriate
buttock clenchingly embarrassing thing ever in rock
by a big band anyway
i will be delighted if my readers can point me in the direction
of something else as bad
i do not say everything else this artist has done is awful
i saw him on telly one night on the quiz show
and he was pretty ok i thought within this genre i guess
so i was surprised to see this
check it out on youtube
wolfmother doing wuthering heights by kate bush
it doesnt matter that i am a huge kate bush fan
or that i recently had the audacity to cover hounds of love
with my olde n gruesome band the crunch
nope
i’ll let you be the judge
i felt like i was at someones birthday party
and suddenly the host had talked his son into playing a number
a curly haired young aussie geezer
sandwiched between 2 bearded blokes
who strum away miserably on their guitars
murdering the songs subtlety
and looking downcast
presumably in embarrassment
looking like they wish the fuck they were somewhere else
or at least that they coulda talked him outta doing it
and there is mr wolfmother himself
earnestly singing these words” its me i’m kathy”
in some key known only to himself
warbling straining struggling
oh gosh
i guess i go on about containing contradictions and
reconciling opposites
so is that what he’s doing?
go check it out on youtube
theres a few to pick from
lemme know if you think this is the worst moment in rock
or if not
what is?

the sky turns swiftly grey
from the sea a lovely soothing breeze emits sultry good times
the palms begin their sway in the wind
like inebriated women
so many things go through your minds
and i feel like rimbaud becalmed in africa
selling guns and coffee when the poetry dried up
and i feel like paul g who went to tahiti
where he painted those half naked belles in the sun
and in the tropical afternoons when the real lovers
tangled inside their world of mists and mysteries
and humphrey christmas on the christmas islands
and long nights stretched out around tables and chinese lanterns
and how christmas has amplified all our lonelinesses
it has not placated the gulf between us
it has not located the deepest emptiness
into which this warm afternoon will soon rush
i live my life like a fool in the mode of passion
aye there are 3 modes of conduct
3 modes of food
3 modes of everything concerning humans
mode of ignorance
mode of passion
mode of goodness
every everything is but an admixture of these 3
you can see it in us all saint all beast all fool
i succumb to passion
i fight and i yell
i become infuriated my fiery nature scorches me…only me
i lay wasted in the ruins of my angers
my lusts fill me with a lustre of dripping sweat
i attack music i attack sex i attack love i attack the words
i swell up in an unbearable flame
typically bursting and then slumbering like a mountain
for years and years
when i drift in some narcotic state and i should know
i have mastered all drugs and they have mastered me
the search for aphrodesia the search for unquenchable desire
the search for the deepest knowledge
in the most sacred and profane places and events
blasted idiots and loyal crew
on my long voyage they fall by the wayside
obviously i have offended some god
fate plays with me in the most obvious manner
stupid things get stupider
i rage and curse n i bluster n i fume
i let it all get to me
luckily my strict observance of yogas rituals
keep my vital humours balanced
else my spleen and bile overpower me
at othertimes
i am zen calm
in the gentle afternoons of summer this year
this year so come n gone
this year over scarcely had it begun
the breeze comes through my window now
it whispers of tahiti it whispers of hawaii
it whispers of other days and other times
when i was young
before my mother n father ever met
and before their mothers n fathers
before i was focussed through a thousand years of englishness
popping out the end of it all some spoilt little brat
never fought in a war
never joined the bloody army
well its true i wouldnt be like this
i might be a bit bloody tougher
i always wish i was tougher
tougher than discipline tougher than hardness….
the gardens around here in jerusalem on the sea are gorgeous
the flowers are every hue that could be made from the sandy soil
they bob in this marvellous breeze now
this is not life writing this
this is a hiatus
real life beckons beyond the threshold
grey warm windy weather
the balcony and the mats call out
my bonzai plant is flourishing because i loved it
the aliens fucked with me n gave me a homing implant
sometime tomorrow you will hear or see the proof of this
it will cross your mind…eh ?… its just like he said…
the city is silent
the vicissitudes of 2009 swirl in undercurrents
a solitary bus heaves n struggles in the distance and is gone
the olde n weary poet
sits shirtless in his untidy dirty seaside shack
he writes as the breeze kisses his back
he writes as the children ebb n flow around him
he writes in the long silences of christmas
that meanlingless hopeless stupid thing christmas
not jeshuas birthday at all
some winter solstice thing
get thee behind me santa
i dont understand it
i have not met one merry person today
ah the red roofs of bondi
ah the green leaves and bobbing flowerheads
ah summer
ah
and ah indeed

another day
another being
sweet childe in time
i am a long haired youth on a motor scooter in newcastle 1970
i am a lover waiting in a garden
i am a crippled prince in a tower
i am the goat girl from the caucasian mountains
i am a fisherman in siam
i am a witch
i am a cardinal
i am an artist
i am a grave digger
i been so old and so young
so ugly n so beautiful
i had the most lovely voice…like velvet people said it was..
and i had an ‘orrible voice when i was a bawling centurion
oh baby i had n been had
i died i wuz born i was nailed up i was carried in a litter
i delivered babies i delivered the deadmans hand
i know it
i can feel it
over n over n over n over
worlds without end
you dont know the half of it
the truth is wonderful n weird
and oh baby love is strange
i’m getting closer
i’m breaking through
i’m banging my head on this theoretical brick wall
i remember i forget
i’m repulsively magnetic
i’m kindly cruel
i’m cleanly dirty
i’m a stupid poet
i speak for every no one
i speak for the rioting plants
i speak for the tree i love
i speak for all the spokesmen
i speak for only my selves
i am wild i am inchoate
i’m as tame as a little kitten
i break your heart with happiness
i make you smile coz i’m so sad
kilbey kilbey kilbey
a meaningless mantra my man
ego id ego id
give me money
give me love
give me privacy
give me anonymity
give me advice i wanna hear
help me to understand all this nonsense
america shocks me……can i come n live there?
swedens winter worst….but summer best
my england doesnt understand me….nor does my australia
the fuckin’ french dont buy my records
nor do the berbers or turks
the japs dont grok my groovy trip
the jehovahs witnesses didnt see a thing
that leaves just you
leaves you with the one million mes
which one did i deal out to ya?
i like yoga n vegan food tick
i like to strum my olde fendah bass tick
i like to take all (ALL) the drugz tick
i like them pretty daughters tick
i like a lazy life tick
i like nay love to talk about myself tick
i dont know much about anything mister cept rock tick
i started painting too late…i coulda been a contender tick
i know a bit about the ancients n their olde carryon tick
i like that blue god mr vishnu krishna shiva rama lama ding dong tick
i like l’amour physique tick
my clock goes tick tock but never tock tick
i like mangos and banana and date n strawberry smoothie tick
with rice and soy milk tick
i dont like ww1 tick
i dont like heavy metal or country or trad jazz tick
i like to make long meaningless random lists tick
i like it now my band coming back into vogue tick
but i dont really give a toss tick
but still it’d be nice tick
imagine if england were to finally embrace me….tick
tick tick tick
yep
none of the above
yep thats right
i’m just being me
i dig jaime r n his devotion
i dig big smiles kate n her determination
i dig andy n the dudes n i dig em NOW!
i dig davem cos he understands me
i dig dr n jt for expertise
i dig hj for making it happen
i dig nk for good good lovin’…the best ever actually
i dig as who is a lovely sister in law
i dig love
i dig luxury
i dig a hot n cold shower n i dig crisp sheets
i dig warm balmy evenings
i dig having all this energy
i dig a singer called iota
he sang at tims party and he blew my socks off my ears
WOW! iota…..what a singer……
i dig mwp n pk cause they can fucking play guitar like all get out
i dig tee pee because he is the thinking mans drummer
and we work well together
i dig rm cause he is like a son to me n i am oms godfather
so what do you ask?
nothing i answer
i just spout off a loada stuff whenever i want
hey i had over a million reads off this stuff
a million n a quarter reads….wow
if only if only if only
maybe its just a few people reading it over n over again
maybe the stats are wrong
maybe i just cant add up straight
or lie in bed crooked
or why cant i go gently into that good night
because i got apart to play in yer lives
i wont let ya down no no no never again
its all gonna be sweet sweet sweet
yeah uh uh huh in spades
for sure

i like to h

englands too blah…….why dont they like me?

wake up its a windy day
i got wall to wall indian sea
yachts and ships and sea gulls tossed in the air
the traffic q’s up along the coast strip
gotta get into the office
move figures from one column to the next
the pool man is down there working on the pool
that damn ph balance….
and hes got a uniform he wears each day
as he performs his minor chemical miracles
i wonder if ‘is wife says grrrr i love ya in yer uniform, daddy
and the surf instructors teaching people to surf
and the construction starts up
but im up on the 18th floor baby
i sky high
and i type type type
i got nothin’ better to do except yoga
and when i do yoga gonna play something soothing on my computer
and i’m gonna lean into that yoga hard
like it was wind n i’m on a sailing boat
i’m gonna put all my weight into yoga
because yoga gives back what you put in
and yoga you can depend on
so what else have you got but yerself n yoga
yoke thyself ninny
yoke thyself to thyself or to yer god or to yer universe
i dont care if the void swallows my blogs
i am a perpetual type type type
i am a eternal frame putting yer world into perspective for ya!
hey merry xmas big smiles kate who fights and fights and fights
oh you are a true heroine
and i feel like screaming angrily why why why
oh if i could right every wrong
if i could underwrite every wrong
if i could bring back your loved ones
restore your precious health
lay a fortune on ya
my dearest ones around the world
these words are all i have
yes i am a fake and a fraud
but i am also me
and he cares about you all
all i have are my songs and my stuff
all of it yours*
*conditions apply
its eight o clock in perth
is it the 18th?
its 11 in sydney
elli n minna are 18
gee my daughters sure are fine
eve n aurora rocket up
scarlet kilbey gets into character
a cross between queen elizabeth the first and queen elizabeth the taylor
i mean my mum went to school with jean simmons
and she says scarlets a jean genie
and scarlets got a forehead bulging with brains
i think the aliens got the universe reclining in her hair
why so hard to count our blessings i wonder
i drink gatorade now to prevent dehydration
hardly anyone in the sea
in the indian sea
can you believe it….india?
my india where the hindu gods walking in beautiful jungles
and krishna waits in the forest of vrindavan waiting for radha
oh boy the sound of his flute will drop you in ecstasy
i look out again at the indian sea glittering in western southern summer
remember i am an ENGLISHMAN
so all this is essentially foreign to me
to all you pommies back in blighty
suffering in the grey december void
oh my dears then this is where you limeys wanna be
unless the sweet snow falls for ya
youre sitting in trains in the premature dusk
youre heading up the m13 to knightswater
im a half english/australian mongrel
good for neither
ostracized by both
not one thing or another
a half breed
like scarlet kilbey
she doesnt know how to talk
shes got the old michael hutchence transatlantic/pacific twang
shes got 3 types of pronunciation to choose from
so she does…chooses from em all
she gonna end up talking like keith richards or patti smith..

it just did it again
i tried to publish
it drops the connection
but for some reason half of it has disappeared
this stupid server at this hotel
nice going guys
fuck!