sam sejavka has a blog
sailsofoblivion.blogger.com
it promises to be weird n wonderful
but youd expect that from him, wouldnt you?
this fried-day i hit melnibone
playing with david birdie
who ive never met or spoken to
wonder what we’ll do?
a genius should be prepared to think on his feet
so im ready for all contingencies
please feel free to drop in and watch me happen
db will probably blow me off the stage
(dont take that the wrong way, mr humphries)
(mr humphries!)
im flying down early so we can figure things out
simone polinski is doing our mix
im talking to e graham lee from triffids re january shows in syd
the logistics of getting a band back together w/ guest singers
whos doing which song and why…
you also know about kev carmody in early jan at state
your humble hero doing his kc song images of london
be nice to see kev after all these years
never met him when i was “clean”
struggling with commish but will nail it
feel confident i can take on anything n
do it some rough justice
plus i got excelsior on 27 oct
hope i can be as good there as i ended up being in auckland
but i may serve up a christchurch
who knows
not me
i ring my olde mate in can-berra
paul c
to tell him of twillies n minna in particulars fascination
for david bowie circa hunky dory
can she ever get sick of the bewlay brothers?
i listened to that song a bit in rehab
when i was in the one cobain escaped from
the aching painful hours went by like years
i’d lay on my bed listening to bewlay brothers
and reading the gita
i was right there in the moment
with no casing
with no protection
every note n word meant something to my screaming brain
ohhhh and we were gone!
how i longed to be gone
i hadnt quite managed to kill myself
i read that some chick rockstar o.d.ed in the bath
that seemed ok to my ravaged sensibility
i envied her
i envied her her oblivion
i envied her not having chronic insomnia
i wanted to rest in peace like that
in the bath…..just slipping away
i watched the oj fiasco live on tv
if he didnt kill that woman
i aint the mangey panther!
i saw people in the rehab pair up
even tho it was against the rules
i saw em smuggle in drugs but i abstained
i listened to their stories
and they listened to mine
hi im steve n im an addict
i loved telling my story
whatta story
i used to add lots of bits
cmon
im an artiste, i embellish the truth
i tell lies to tell the truth
i told em whoppers too
yeah i been on the gear my whole life
yeah im a big rockstar n im real tough
yeah i cant be happy without it
meanwhile
i was in a room with a guy from porno for pyros
martyne, a blonde guy
i played my 12 string in the dusty courtyard
this place was no 5 star motel
“mommy why you staying at this motel again ?”
asked a little black girl who hadnt understood
mommy was a cocaine fiend
towards the end of my stay there
we got buses n went to gyms where i swam
we went to aa n na meetings
where we saw the occaisional famous druggie
joe walsh from the eagles visited me in my room
(this is true)
he used to visit any musicians staying at exodus
(and there were plenty)
i asked him how he liked the other guys in the eagles
who had recently reformed
he spun round n looked at me
“well, i hate the bastards but i aint drinkin'”
dallas from csn and y, the drummer
he was there all the time talking to the junk sick musos
i got his autobiography off him
boy thats a sobering read in rehab
he gave me crosbys book long time gone
jesus ,crosby ended up in a metal cell wanted by the fbi
thank you lord that i didnt go as far down the path as he did
a nurse there told me she knew kurt wasnt gonna make it
“he had that look, ya know
like the baby antelope that gets singled out by the lions
you knew he was lost”
i tried to bust out one day
but my junky contacts in l.a. had all been warned
not to take my calls
besides i had no money
eventually i was driven to airport
where i boarded a plane to sweden
where i spent 6 weeks living in the country
singing my sweet lord n hare krishna to the swedish cows
(they loved it but the farmers told me to piss off!)
i swam in the lake n ate good food
gradually my ability to sleep returned minute by minute
i took the twillies then aged 3 for walks thru the hushed forests
i did the dishes outdoors n washed in the lake
i lay on black basalt rocks alone
in the gentle warm scandic summer sun
and i convalesced
i watched the white swans building their nest in the reeds
i rowed a leaky boat with twillies over to a small church
where karins grandparents were buried
and we put flowers on their graves
minna was confused that they were in the ground
and yet
simultaneously in heaven
i swung in a hammock n was eaten alive by mosquitoes
i saw a sick fox wander into a clearing
i wrote poetry
at night i would take the long path to the lake
looking for sleep in its chilly waters
i cried alone in these lovely but alien nights
i talked to vishnu
i stubbed my toe in the dark
and walked into things
i thought about heroin all the time though
and eventually when i returned to aust
i succumbed again
i was not fixed
i was not finished with it
i still thought i could get back in the ring
with that monster
and have another swing
that monster no one can beat
that bitch whos fucked everyone (up)
that nassty substance hiding in my cortex
whispering its seductive propaganda
“take me back, baby
itll be just like the olde days
you know
when we first started
and i wont hurt you again
i promise
oh baby
you know i’m the only one
can make you feel the way you want
please baby, let me back in”
and as soon as you do
the honeytongued beauty turns into a hideous fury
and she got ya by the balls
and she says
“get down on yer knees boy
im back to stay
and its gonna be real hard to ever git rid of me again”
anyway
gee
i been in a famous rehab
but it was real nasty there
i saw a lotta sad things
when peoples families n wives n hubbies
came n visited on the weekend
i saw a guy discover that his fiancee
was with some other coke fiend in a room up the hall
it all happened before my eyes
this most private thing
at a family meeting there one weekend
i saw fathers who refused to acknowledge their kids
n mothers who blamed emselves
“oh little frankie never woulda smoked crack
if i wasnt such a bad mother!!”
“yes, my mother made me a crack addict!”
“oh, if i give her enough wool
will she make me one, too?”
(bitta levity folks
cos i know you find this drug stuff
heavy going
unless you been thru it yerself
but
sorry
i guess it was reading sss blogge
or just cos its part of what made me who i am)
i met lots of characters in these places
junky vetenarians of 60
hookers n whores
pill popping doctors n nurses
coked out lawyers n businessmen
gangsters
(yep
i was in a room with a black guy
who was asking me about sydney
with a view to taking over
this “candy-ass” town)
other stupid musos
like me
maids n models
groupies n group-captains
italians n americans n africans n jews
old
young
idiot
genius
all hooked on this n that
all trying to get off the hook
there was a poster of john wayne
dressed up as a soldier
and hes saying
if you think lifes tough…try being a speedfreak!
i hated the chemical smell of the place
i hated my injections against the chronic nausea
i was throwin up buckets of green bile
which seared my throat on the way up n out
anyway
thats enough of that
it does me good to remember it occaisionally
if you didnt like it
i’ll be back with the candy-ass stuff
tomorrow