The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

glass

sure i heard some song about brave ulysses

no i lived that life didnt i

down by the docks watching the sea all day for the black beaked ships

i must really be mad because i can see the rippling sea rushing towards me

i can hear the timbers groan and twitch in that red wine dark sea

i can hear the phantom shouts of the men

its a joke the world has stopped

the morning ruptures and the magic congeals

any enemy has long since looted its secrets

circe is there

the witch

which witch the wicked witch

turn all men into pigs but not me

why not me circe why not me

oh no not you not you my dear

what does she look like

who can tell

you seen one witch you seen em all

you seen one pig you seen em all

sometimes i see a sail sometimes i see a cloud

i climb the hills and i look out at the vast aegean age

at night the witch climbs into my bed

i can never remember the things she has said

her hands on me

her whispering ears

shuddering inside my skin

thud against the night

i’m so confused

what language are we speaking

oh yes be ever so  gentle

my resolve softens as my heart hardens

i fight the same battles over n over

i washed up on same islands

the morning finds me staggering on the strand

i cough up water and sand as i retch up the sea

i lie in the grass under a bong bong tree

warm day comes down all around me

a lagoon morning full of fish

circe fucking with her magic

the rhythmic tide

rockpools swell and empty

whitened columns from an earlier time where pan was exalted

whats it like to die i wonder as i expire in the sun

nice once youve given into it , i’m sure

i see a black sail on a white horizon

i call out to the sailors

at last i am free

haze 0-6 at 13.03

unreality truly sets in

some other geezer  not  kilbey wakes up

wakes up in the middle of my dream

its the morning he gets up tries to remember the names

outside its warm soft and fuzzy

glide down the street to the swimming pool

his legs seem springy and oh how he strides along

listen to some music on the headphones

listen to some jazzy piano thingy

listen to the echoes stretch into the distance

cotton wool world

arrive n dive into the cold pool

he hardly notices the shock of the green water full of seaweed and particulate matter

the limbs do the swim

the head outside of itself

he is baffled at what is happening

this vast show with cast and crew

here in this green pool numbed down n finally free

he who is/was me kicks lazily through the water

the sun shines warmly

the rain falls as the tiniest almost imperceptible shivery points

your arm tingles as it drifts down

the seaside suburb is in a dream

they are all asleep at their roles

they are all dreaming they are awake

sit in the blistering sauna after cold pool

i chat to the sweating people in there

i mean everybody knows me

he pretending to be me

talks in some laconic dopey way

as the sweat gushes in the incredible heat

but inside my head its icy cool no one really home

the geezer in the mirror some middle ages australian dial

christ whole days are wasted in weird follies

paranoia got me by the jollies

i slink thinkless shadowing somebody i feel a fool

i’m lost hiding in the doorway of a shop

i cant wake up from any of these dreams

i cry but its hard to cry

i reach out but its hard to reach out

i tell the truth but its hard to tell the truth

i live but its hard to live

i love but its hard to love

and i leave

but its hard to leave

starry knight

type type type

my fingers get busy

some words appear in my head outta knowhere

memories conundrums fleeting thoughts

long life leading up to this momento

a lotta good n a lotta bad

learn my lines

play my part

time drags n then suddenly gone

possibilities stretch out n collide

impossible dream run dont walk

multiple edits on fabric of reality

a pattern for some lovely final curtains

warm evening descends on my town

all the heroes n villains out there

the crims n the cops close in

the flowers wilt

the cactus sags

the bonsai exceeds its pot

the fruit is over ripe

a bunch of childrens books on the table

i drink cold jewish grape juice guaranteed kosher

made in the holy land it says but where is holier than right here…?

my light has blown so i sit in the darkening dark

a green vase with fake plastic flowers sits against the night

the medicine has expired in the packet

the temperature has exceeded 20 degrees celsius

the music drifts in from next door but its very faint

the cars seem to fade away in the distance

i sit in my kitchen an empty vessel communicating

the zeitgeist lingers heavy

i sit in my kitchen

and i think

e

purple patch

rhapsodic evening

gentle rain n everything

words flow into my mind like lava sliding down a hill

in crowded rooms i have lost myself

in this midnight mist i exist in any direction

sometimes life goes easy like honey

music blossoms on the minds hills

people warm up to you

sitting in huge palatial suites

or in the exquisite gardens

you photographed around a pool hugging someone

no i must be getting confused because i’m sleepy

the light in here is warm purpled and dim flickering 1950s

i follow my thoughts through the arcadian fields and the e mysteries

i jump out of bed and stride around giving orders

i can be a bit of a bastard you know

my childhood was uneventful however

so i filled it with the grimms and the hymns

i sit on a bus to rozelle in 1990 balmain schoolgirls going home

i’m composing a song in my head and anything could have gotten in

you can do anything you like with poetry cant you?

its like a lie, isnt it

you given me licence to lie

so i imagine i’m this old singer on this planet called terra nausea

look i got a white beard n everything

the planet travels its sickening ellipse

we’re hurtling outta control through space cake and velocity v

we have co-ordinates but they are rumours hearsay and abstract chatter

down at the bar the geniuses are all getting drunk

the universe shudders and somewhere a light goes out

suddenly alone within my mind i wander its labyrinthian chambers

rotten hollows full of bad memories

some mental treatment plant grinds the black sludge of old pain

i stand knocking at some door early one morning

bang bang bang i dont know why nobody answers

opportunity is elusive do you know what i mean

and life is dreamy on a few mondays  sometimes some places

a morning comes finds me exhausted

instead i am summoned past lives and lives

you go where the good memories are dont you

you go stumbling through me chucking stuff this way n that

a mortal man a portable spirit

spirit take me now

i remember the various memories naturally

how could it be otherwise

well except that some memories are anticipated

that gives them some negative weight or wait i suppose

or boggled down in reminiscences two a penny

i rented a chalet for a while in my beloved alps

i drove a silent car along an alpine drive

i had a suit it was perfectly black

my hair was blond you know as i sped through a mountain

my skin it was tanned in that nordic way

i changed gears and accelerated away

that night i paid 500 euros for some phoney hook

who cares because i was loaded at this point

my hands trembled as i flew through my dreamtime being

a human ocelot tore my arms apart i thought you were my pet

my music soothes only some beasts i’m afraid

i cant placate your monsters and mirages

the new time heralds another limbo

memory once memory twice

hey whos making up all this cool poetry it isnt me

my car is parked outside a cafe in the gloomy hinterlands

my head is heavy like in an underwater stone on summer night

never mind all this what do you want to say ? i ask no one in charge

bondi beach is black as black at night

the air ravishes you as you sleep on the sand

the lights blur on the edges of some tears

in my mind i’m already shivering

i pull on my swiss german overcoat

the snow is finally falling and i promised austria

i was a suave count at your court

now i am this hermit in my tower

concocting fleeting marvels on the anvil n crucible

forked tongued lightning aiding my strike

in a gloomy passage on a cold crisp night

or lolling on my banana bed in hawaii

sleepier and sleepier

i return unto bed

headshots

in the whirling dark

the created world hewn from nothingness

planet from the rib of star

sun a spark of god

the seeming fertile within the fire

the jumpabout metallurgy  of  law of attractions

that was true but it isnt anymore

yes the truth has been bent its been sent to perplex us

doesnt seem to be just one thing

i mean what would i know what i mean

falling backwards out of a dream

immunity wishes granted

the earth is a great idea actualised

oh yes well done

the steppes the plains the wild antelopes and mountain lions

the rivers the banks the clouds the golden carp

it all came out of nowhere apparently

god out of the machine

a series of parallels

in this world we’re happy

in that world we come apart

stress screams in machine language

the bridges groan

the engines whine

the concrete whispers

the steel works

ying yawns

yang bangs

the great aegyptian age begins shortly

the ritual sacrifice the virtual artifice

ra in lambent glory

baby can you dig this crazy cosmology

pyramid amid the valley of the kings

nefertiti into confetti as she wed sun and sat

a serpent cracks this globe

we probe the extremes of thebes and capri

imagine nero stabbed and arrowed

the empress murdered in her dreams

the barges sail up the tigris

the sailboats up the euphrates

the blue crane wheels overhead like some angel

the reeds rub together in the wind creating music

the strings vibrate in harmony the coincidence not unnoticed

the orbits are effortless

the creatures all rise and fall

the moon pulls upon the sea

the sea laps the lands limbs

the land has landed in a field

the field has fielded the following flowers

foxglove forget me not  mandrake root n angelfruit

the residue is almost undetectable

the denial

the

colonel o'truth : the officers mess

fad hacker what a fuckin’ little cracker

the blacker i feel the more real my fake little cake spoutin’ blake

yeah i cant awake

i shop n i stroll in my dolls house role

i flee this flea pitted tom titted nit witted plane

im half insane the other half is shattered

it never mattered

i mean, i’m really flattered

n everything

wild thing you make my heartstrings

where the wild thing is

not in showbiz not in another tizz

that fizzed miserably

baby you just been borne aloft

i mean i’m hard n i’m soft

i mean i sneezed n i coughed

i mean i shoulda fucked off

i mean fuck

wheres my lucky brake

wheres my con stricter snake

on the take

on the make

the awful ache

not the blower, rake!

oh yeah freeze it honey

oh no now gimme my money

oh yeah listen to that thing with its bawls

oh now listen to me sing in these halls

build yer house make her a mouse

sooner or later you feted to suffer you mother

you violent crumble amidst yer bathetic rumble

the babblin’ rabble brook no river of blood

suddenly i sank to my knees

your words stabbed my seizure of your seas

i lay down flat a supine man a superlative percolatin’

i drifted at deaths dour door

my heart had double guessed its hole of the law

your resume dismays me , mae

your quals blow in squalls cross my hols

my hull is scraping the sky

the deep sky in your indian eye

i own eons blues

seven long years i been hearing my own ears

look here comes mercury to set me free

dont send me off unwillingly

i’m wine dark…..see…?

gracefully gracious your space is spacious your mood capricious

your smirk is murky and facetious

on the beach looking at all the preachers

i dont believe in bondage to an adage

im not a cabbage or a king

i just some thing

some thing she wave gravely about as i shout stop

the cop was a fan the fan was a cop the faun with one horn

you may kill me with your sawn off storm so be fair dont stare there there

double truth double dare

everyone ask where where where?

i pointlessly point to the  one you anoint  in your tears

a disjointed  joiner in the joint

5 years stuck on yer eyes

5 years whatta surprise

my song just ends

thats it my friends

goodwishes sk sends

the age of reason

aurora what you doing here…..?

washed up on a faraway beach

lady, is this illyria?

the random nature of our thoughts

clusters of ideas occur

i lived thru biblical times

the procession of kings

a heralding of hollywood trumpets

keep on rocking me ptolemy

when i first heard some of my music

reminds me of my hometown

the deserts the oases the pounding headaches

night

stars burn cold beneath the glass

3 kings of orient R

prophets seers and sages

dont forget mages

sons of amazing queens

the sons of enchantresses

the scion of intellectual privelege

following yonder star

in the tent of a remarkable man

by the shores of the deadest sea

under a pink pink pink moon

love speaks again in winged words like little birds

the women approach

the men in prayer

the crew set up the gear

fender scimitar

i am a dark face in a sandstorm

the kings favourite concubine is tall and white

with rings on her fingers with bells on her toes

yeah we smoke opiated hashish as the evening cools

i drift on the currents of vivid brittle dreams

the plains are flooded by the sound of sweet feedback

the tribes exodus to the sound of rock operas

daniel in the lions den of iniquity

man the angel wants to free

the seraphic music those strange otherworldly sounds

the angel appears in a burst of silver gloria

nebuchanezzar  walks to work

imagine his spring day in babylonia

imagine the ziggurats the gardens

those temple whores n priestesses

imagine his fancy coiled beard

imagine the women he’s fucking dating

imagine his alien imagination

bad dreams though

what does it all mean?

what do all these kings dream of symbolism?

christ comes forth with aphrodite on his arm

he is such a handsome cat what a heartthrob

in his robes of love

with his les paul miracle

with his resurrection shuffle

on the sea of galilee

his own private junk from china

languid in a decked out cabin

his i-box is pumping bolan n beethoven

the bass throbs through my keel

my sail fills

my anchor away

my english fields like a gentle sea

john paul george and judas

the gig in joppa

jesus he sure can sing

a choir begins in the sky

a churning swirling organ grinds under the voices

the disc on tent

lose consciousness

i dissipate in the ether

music from the sinking titanic lingers in the icy air

herod nods beneath the palms holds poor baby in his arms

the monarch is all out of it

sleepiness sets in

a haze fills the far east

sacrifice in the wilderness

a fork in the knives

thigh will be done as art in heaven

hands slide down your stomach

a ram caught in a thicket the stupid thing

we were supposed to be on ten minutes ago

we wander instead for centuries

stress n strain

god created this magnificent world

he needed someone to tell him what he had done so he created us

we reflect back in myriad ways

we explain to him why this creation is so special

just what is so bloody good about it

why we dig it thusly

i mean he already sorta knows he did a good job i’m sure

but still its nice to be appreciated even if youre (a) god

so when we figure it out n marvel he is well chuffed…….

in a very tiny tiny way  this is similar to why

i really enjoy reading the bells n drums site reviews

some real church experts deliberating over their fave band

trying to come to grips with

to articulate

what it is that they love about the church so much

and it makes wonderful reading for me

because these guys make me re-appreciate this old stuff

i actually listened to seance today with a fresh pair of ears

and it aint too fucking bad really

some nice things there

the boys on drums n bells tell me what to look out for

theyve explained why these songs are so good

why a few not so good too

it isnt all just gushing splather

but a real knowledgeable dissection of  how its done

how the effect is achieved

but even so

they continue to dig the trip

i’m glad i got fans who care so much to do this

it is a songwriters dream to have these lovely things written

to have some indepth n loving analysis of your work

i really enjoy it

some of em arent even writing in their 1st language

they get different takes on whats going on

its all valid

its all great to read

i hope they can truly finish their gargantuan task

then put out a definitive book on ALL the churches songs

and i will write the foreword of course

cos these guys really do understand what i’ve been trying to get at

and their interpretations are a must for any real church fan

wholeheartedly given my stamp of approval

and as one of em says

the church arent always the best judges of the churches work

and thats true

and you know what

maybe this bunch of different characters are

like the council of nicae

they are the keepers of the true flame

and you know what?

you can write a review on there too

but it better be as thorough as theirs

cos theirs are good

and whatsmore

i had a real pleasure in reading what they wrote

it made me quite happy

yes indeed

make love and war

turn up in a taxi at the studio

go inside the usual assortment of characters ‘anging about

long hair joints drinks some girls record company geezas

i bought my lunch on the way here

its a veggie burger n chips

i get introduced to some people

the band is all arguing with each other

not like this

not like that

no i played it this way

yes but now i play it that way

in a small courtyard i eat my v burger n chips

yeah good its warm n peaceful out here

i’m working on another record

everyone asks me for my opinion

but no one can follow it

my understanding of music cannot be understood

my explanation cannot be explained

i got a different in n take on music to all of these lot

they all need my songs but they dont respect the process behind them

and i’m always too tired to put up a fight i cant win

and i cant win coz theres no right or wrong

i got my way of doing things that works for me

others ‘ve got theirs n never sometimes the twain will mark

i go inside n tinkle round on the piano

a C chord i start to arpeggiate it

modulating a little out

i start trying out different bass notes

ooh that works

i get a little bass pattern going against that C

when the bass goes to a certain note

the arpeggio needs to change to a slightly different set of notes

i take care of that n begin getting my chord progression sorted out

no ones taking much notice of what i’m doing …good…

no pressure when yer actually composing stuff

it takes only five minutes and i gotta great bunch of chords together

i just keep clunking about n till i find what i want

yeah thats a good chord progression

it has to be unusual it has to be poignant

it has to be at least a little bit strange

the bass notes work against the chords nicely

its quite poppy but in a sad sad way

but then it ends on a triumphant kinda feeling

so its confusing what you feel

and in that confusion lies pleasure

the emotions pulled this way n that

put thru their paces in a  procession of chords

its unusual to feel so many feelings

but thats what it does

good music i mean

the kinda music i myself like

like you cant decide what its made you feel

and in that decision is the magic

so i go on playing the piano

it gets miked up

i record my chord prog against a click track

this is harder than it looks

it takes a while to figure out the real tempo the song should be

and what kinda click i want

even when its sorted the song feels like it wants to race here

and lag there

but the click rightly or wrongly forces the whole thing to be even

eventually i get it all down

my hands like arthritis

my brain is smoking after nailing all that (for me) tricky stuff

i sit back n listen

wow the steinway sounds grande

piano is such a complete instrument in itself

after dinner i pick up the bass

and the part comes naturally to me as expected

my fingers figure it out

i sit there waiting for my fingers to get it

to nail it

the fingers slur n slide about semi-autonomously

the bass riff just appears outta nowhere too

it fits nicely against the piano

as if it was “meant” to be like that….

dear readers

ran out of steam on this one

will put up a new post soon

sk

so what

hello friend my old darkness

unable to apply myself properly

i sit here at this glass table in seaside suburbia

a full moon on the highway

listening to lisa gerrard

the closest thing we got to some ancient music i guess

sometimes she sounds like a mad prophetess from delphi

othertimes she sounds like a widow mourning her man

solemn n sombre wordless n wonderful

the light in my kitchen has blown

like my mind

outrageous fucking fortune and all that stuff

i’m a sleepwalker in a real dream

chuck me my axe chuck me my groupie

chuck me my cheque

speeding down phantom americas 13 lane highways

cruising up to a gig

its snowing its summer its sold out its empty

what does it matter

i thought you were there

yeah i’m dressed in faded black tat

my bass is all sunburst red n yellow

my skin is kinda tanned n freckly brown

my new crowns are white

my old eyes are grey

are ya nervous? you ask and i laugh

in reality i dont even know if i am or not

i am severed from my true feelings somehow

i been on tour for a million years and i love/hate it

wanna stop cant stop never stop

a plane here

a bus there

a taxi to the east village squire

a lift back to my hotel yeah thanks

amsterdam seattle tim buck two

chuck some stuff in a suitcase

message for me at front desk

god that man in the mirror looks so old

my throat is sore and my voice is hoarse

poor pity me living this stupid dream

champagne in the fridge

chocolates on the bed

drugs en route

music in my blood

i take out my book n scribble down some words

i fiddle round with my sequencer

i fuck about with the envelope of some cellos

but as i said i cant apply myself

some people turn up for a party in next doors room

noisy bastards i bang on the bleeding wall

muse : what year is this?

chick : are you nervous?

captain : the  fasten seatbelts sign is now switched off

hostess : tea or coffee

person at door : hey steve open up !

roadie : should i change your strings tonight?

manager : dont fucking keep complaining….

agent : sorry man it wasnt my fault…

bloke : would you mind signing this ….?

i toss n turn under the sheets

its freezing its boiling theres a mozzie biting me

theres a wild storm outside

im all alone i’m having an orgy

i dive into the warm blue rooftop pool

donnette sits on a deckchair

i watch her from under the water

she has on a one piece black swim suit

shes reading a newspaper n occasionally chuckling at stuff

shes drinking a beer n smoking a cloves cigarette

we’re in bangkok on holiday i guess

we got a real luxury room in some place

we go out riding around in tuk-tuks

no i must be in australie its new years eve at the surf air hotel

ploogy bashing on the kit yet to turn twenty

we share an apartment on the 23rd floor

we chuck silverware into the pool

and we stay up all night listening to pet sounds

we play these gigs to the holidaymakers

who fucking cares…..its 1981 aint it

aeons ago in some innocent past

we have a meeting and i fall asleep

yeah yeah whatever i say

do whatever you bloody like

someone gives me a book to read

its not too bad i read a bit on the plane

we hit the runway and i roll over in bed

i tune up my bass between songs

some girl in the front row is making eye contact with me n smiling

she chucks a note up on the stage

a roadie runs up n grabs it n reads it n smirks

he hands it over and the song starts up

i’m caught short and i miss the intro

the others frown at me

but the audience dont care or notice

i’m feeling wild and loose and devious and nauseous

i feel like having a fucking argument with some bastard

my dinner was a shambles

always some new tedious irksome problem

some oversight i underestimated

i juggle all my compartmentalised components

i am everything to everyone in my own stupid head

but on the outside i am a deeply floored human being

some boor cornering me as the prize gets ready to leave

the phone rings by my bed

steven?

its australia on the line

oh australia, i’d forgotten all about it

yeah i had faded into this tour

i had no future no past

i was on this plane in this hotel bed at this gig

i stand in a line at customs

outside the smoky haze of an italian sky

i got an italian girlfriend for a week

we dont really know what the other ones on about

but boy she can laugh and drink vino and smoke hashhish

she rides around on a white vespa too

me sitting on the back as we whizz round roma

i met her outside the tv station

steeeev steeeeeev she was calling to me

she said she was a student

but i couldnt understand what she was supposed to be studying

she was like a cartoon to me

someone thrown together for my dream

ok bring on the italian girl

i was staying at the fucking hilton too

the rome hilton it was 1986

the lap of luxury

anything you wanted

interviews lunches

a long afternoon sleep

some gig at night

this ones called myrrh

how can you be so invisible

gimme the nerves to see

marty whips up a storm with his e-bow

back at the hotel the italian girl does a dance for me

as we listen to a cassette of the byrds in my room

i just stretch back in my green suede boots like an emperor

the eleven year old canberra boy is gawking out

but i think i look like terence stamp in some 60s film

i’m jaded urbane and out of it

banga pearson is in the room next door our tour manager

i can hear laughter and loud voices

five minutes later he rings up

kilbey come in here we got a party  he says

i got my own party i say n hang up

the next day my head is aching

we fly somewhere bloody else

our rooms arent ready when we arrive

and i throw a wobbler cos i’m so fucking unbelievably tired

i just need to got to get some sleep

i strap on my axe backstage and drink some champers

my hair looks kinda stupid today

and i forgot to have a shave

my throat is extra sore and i cant even remember where we are

i met an airline hostess and invited her here and i wonder if she came

i’m waiting on some weed to arrive from somewhere

i just had an argument with some local tosser

my axe feels like it weighs fifty tons around my scrawny shoulders

my ears are starting to permanently ring

i didnt get any sleep cos the phone kept ringing

then they were doing construction next door

then i was too angry to sleep

the gig is a bit of a fiasco

but i can see the airline hostess smiling at me up on a balcony

i ponce about on stage a bit for her benefit

but after the gig shes disappeared

i berate banga pearson for letting her go

mate he says

i cant stop people leaving a gig…..!

i must have nodded off again

we’re driving down a street in queenslands gold coast

in a ford ltd

bangas driving

how much longer now someone asks

banga drives along smoking a spliff

another hour i reckon he says

we all groan

my throat is sore

are you at all nervous says some goodlooking woman as i go on

nope i say to myself

i’m in bed

i’m still on a plane

i got lost in the snow

i’m wasted in the heat

i sit at my glass table in bondi

are you nervous says one of the children

my throat is so sore

my fingers all callused

what? i say

and i carry on typing in the semi darkness