i have to laugh again
at the things bandied around on these pages
the things i write n do
and some of my dear precious commenters stuff
i love to make music
i love to write songs
why songs fly into my mind almost unbidden
music is like in my blood in my genes in my jeans in my fingers
life has shaped me thus
no carpenter
no doctor
no candlestick maker
was i
or can i ever be
i must create
even if no one listens
i did before
i will again
so be it!
i have stood before you all
in all honesty
my blog has turned into a circus
where i try to tame myself
and i let the clowns n villains run free
being partially both of these things myself
yes i am a clown
a clown …did he make you scared
these songs i throw down on here…..
small gifts for you
simple things a master tosses off
(mr humphries!)
easy happy songs
short and sweet
no great shakes
except
oooh i know theyre good
theyre catchy and jesus
now marc bolans gone
who else is gonna write these songs
take em or fuckin’ leave em
theyre there for free
if you like em a real lot you can show your ‘preciation
…thats getting paid for what i do…thats not begging by the way
when you donate money
you subscribe to this journal n my life
and you all subsidize the long hours i put into it
the songs n vids took hours n hours n hours
i’m just exploring i-movie n garage band
and i offer you a chance to view my modest experiments
ive done big budget
ive done small budget
ive done the opening of the games
to being ignored in some empty dive in wollongong
ive given you mystery
ive given you glamour
ive given you all that noir stuff in spades
now at the ripe old age of 55 years
i sit at home n tinker with stuff
the church are beginning up soon
i have some respite now
i spend time with my little familiar s k
shes in on stuff i do
asking questions
she becomes part of the scene
imagine this
i am an old geezer
relaxing at home …a well earned rest
but i burn up with ideas
and i paint n compose n i write stuff n i make up jokes
and i love the new technology that allows me instant gratification
i hate explaining my creative plans to people
this way i just knock it out direct from the source
i am 55
beyond your map of cool n uncool
i wear my shorts cos i live at the beach
i am an eccentric 55 year old beachcomber
who happens to also be a good songwriter
n pretty good at a few other things
ive done my time in the frontline wherever that was
now if you dig what i do
i have many outlets
ranging from the church which aims at being professional i guess
down to my blog
which is my sketchbook if you will
if you want mystery here it is
aint it a mystery to you how i can continue to do it all..?
well
i got this fuckin’ fire burning on n urging me to keep going
you might see me in a tux singing dark cabaret
you might see me wielding my bass with my band
you might see me poncing about on my little vids…is he having a laugh?
is he having a laugh?
and now i’m so old
i’m five years off sixty
i’m old
I’M OLD!
dont you see….
the compensation of being old is
i reckon
i can do what i like
i just got five barrel loads of kudos for u#23
i had an exhibition in pittsburgh n i sold six paintings
i collaborated with him n him n them
and i did this n that
wineries
festivals
guest singing
blah blah blah
it is hilarious to me
to see people pontificating
if i should get a real job
a real job
worrying themselves on my behalf
and my financial stability (none!)
but i’m still here
and i aint retiring cos some small bunch of unnamed punters
rudely and stupidly start discussing this idea
no…i aint gonna stop
no…i aint gonna listen
no…..i am complete n completely mad
and i lay my songs on my fans out of love
as always
these songs can only be written by someone in love with music like me
understanding my terrain
i successfully negotiate minefields of resistance to bring you my offerings
naysayers n tiredness n deafness n blindness n oldness get me down
i create because i create because i create
a true journeyman
a man for all seasons ive shown you ice
now heres warmth
i showed you black….now heres white…
…whatever….

i cant be bound to any old bodys idea of who i am
otherwise i never wooda got started in the 1st place
it is not in my nature to “grow up”
i will twirl if i want to
(hope you can twirl at 55 too ha ha)
(i bet you cant!)
i cant get a job
and i cant go to school
the carping ninnies say
the killers a fool…
i have eight hundred readers a day
you can check the stats yerselves
count to eight hundred in yer head slowly
each time imagining a person somewhere in the world
reading or watching my blog
coming back day after day
because
i dunno
maybe i dunno what i’m doing
it doesnt matter
run off to your frosty idol
the years went past left me stranded here
old n having squandered many opportunities
still i have an unbridled passion for creating things
that only i can create
oh i wood love mainstream success
oh i would love money
oh i would love to live forever as well
however
i do what i like n unparadoxically
i like what i do
no one else can do it
youre seeing the intersection of age n experience
crossed with the raw brutal energy
with which i have attacked all art
against the zeigeist
against the times
against the odds
against the “straights”
against the man in the street
dig it you must
you must dig what i do or switch off
i get it wrong
but my wrong is most peoples right
your right to switch off
i dont ask any to stay if they had enough
enough is enough is enuff, right?
who needs more than enough?
if this is where our ways part
good luck
thanks for everything
so long amigo see you soon huh
to hang about now is churlish
surely
the snipers in the very act of sniping
have deemed themselves cowards
jealous envious bored cowards
sniping in the void
trying to wound me
i say it again
i suffer you in all humility
like i suffer thorns or i suffer from my deafness
things cant be all dancing on clouds
and i understand life needs its obstacles and hurdles
its pests n inconveniences
hence n thus
you have been delivered unto me
pretending to be friends
pretending to be strangers
pretending to be pretending
you are but shadows of mockery
no one will remember you
you arent moving any mountains
you are not seeing any visions
just an aphorism for every occasion
meanwhile
i master the english language and shape it to myself
i write a sentence n you can tell its me
i strum a chord
i pluck a bass
you hear my voice
i chuck on some paint
i write down the words
i edit up the film
i inject myself into it all
i push n push n push
can you even understand
how my idiot/savant-hood wracks me
on its ever burning churning fountain of raw ideas
it cannot be turned off until i die
and oh i will regret losing all this experience
the way only i can handle sound n colour n words
the last fucking renaissance man standing: go on have a laugh
will the real steve kilbey please contact me?
no
i will continue
i will improve
i will confuse myself with my genius and my idiot
i cant get em apart……can you?