The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

saturday night i sit by the open window
the banished poet at summers long end
lights of the city say twinkle twinkle
its quiet tonight
somewhere out there may rage wild festivities
but not up this street
the wind blows lonely
it whispers wickedly of winter
it implies some sad finality without saying a thing
doors rattle n bang in its wake
the curtains are blind
the windows see nothing
the palms nod out in the orange crescent moon
the clock becomes loud
oh god my pulse is racing away
i feel cold despite the balminess
my head feels heavy
anxiety and anger fuck with me
i have exacerbated my fieriness
i have energy yes
but sometimes it whips me on before it
today i sat for my portrait for the archibald prize
australias big portrait prize
andrew h is doing this 2 metres high painting of moi
i try to pick his brains about art
i ask him many complicated questions
i must have been distracting him
he is a truly lovely man
a gentleman in the real sense of the word
a proper artist who sells paintings in galleries
6 years of art school
but today he couldnt get me
he couldnt nail me in that painting
im going back next week
i believe in this man
i believe he will paint a marvellous picture of me
i know my face so well
because i have done so many self portraits
and because i’m a narcissistic fool
i can see where andrews going wrong
and then i do what i joked early i would never do
i offered suggestions
my nose isnt that long etc
i’m supposed to keep shut up
but i talked the whole fucking time
i realized today that picasso was the only major painter
who switched genres or created new genres all the time
i mean most guys from rembrandt down to rousseau
they get their trip n then spend their lives improving on it
but picasso was like the beatles
he invent a thing
play around with it for a little while
then get a new trip
leaving all the second tier guys to forever remain
in that one new thing he’d figured out
eg career cubists….
wow i really like andrew
softly spoken and humble to a tee
i ask him curly questions as hes trying to grok
the proportions of my face
dragging him out of the spatial n into the verbal
finally i say to him
do you ever think youre a genius ?
and he finally laughs n shakes his head
its a release for us both
i point out to him the idiosyncrasies of my face
he keeps saying
youre very chiselled
now that i’ve been a vegan
my face has become angular again
andrew said
is it that you look young
or are all the people your age looking old?
yes the latter it is
i do not look young
i have the wear n tear of 55 years on my old dial
but guess what
i finally feel happy with my face
i feel at home in it
what you see is what you get
you can have a look at me n see the kinda geezer i am
i’m quick
i ‘m sharp
i’m a bit proud n cruel
but i’m a bit sympathetic and naive too
i am an old boy
you see the discipline of yoga has somehow
done something to my face
time and drugs have fucked it up in one way
and yoga n veganism n swimming
have altered it another
sometimes i am surprised to see myself
sometimes i look so goddamn old
its ok fuck i’m coming on 56
i become old with a naive wonder
and if i continue to grow old like this well i dont mind
i put a lot into yoga and i reap the rewards of long hours
when other people are watching tv or sleeping in
or down the bloody pub
i’m on my balcony whether its hot or cold
i’m out there doing my practice
and if you did something as much as i do yoga
youd expect some results wouldnt you
its a fucking ongoing experiment to see where it could take me
its a miraculous process
it is a type of magic
the transformation of the regular old geezer
into something a bit more souped up
so now i really contain visual contradictions
someone wrote of one our shows
that i oscillate onstage between ancient and youthful
i reckon i got a bit of female mojo in me too
i aint no fucking clown drinking beer n watching tv
i’m the sensitive bloke
i got 5 daughters remember
so there you go
you paint me
you gotta get the young n the old
the masculine n the feminine
the genius n the fool
the rockstar n the nobody
the saint n the sinner
the ascetic n the hedonist
yeah i fucking fascinate myself dont i?
its understandable but its unforgivable
believe me i have more contempt than admiration
i been lucky
n most of my wounds have been self inflicted
if i ever suffered it was me who did it to me
i never been abused
i never been abandoned
i never been really sick
i been undeservedly lucky
especially in the last year
3 good men who are good at what they do
have stepped in n helped me out
i guess they like my music enough
to understand me n see
that i could certainly use some guidance
that when it comes to business n stuff
i am a bit hopeless
i want those gentlemen to know
i am very very grateful
and a fourth gentleman too
whose been helping the cause a long long time
i cant believe that our fans are often
doctors pilots scientists lawyers teachers professors
i’m glad that at the end of a long day
they can lose their brilliant minds in my work
i put a lot of secret compartments in my songs
and these guys enjoy finding them
i try my hardest to avoid cliche
i write songs for clever people
if you really like my music you must be pretty clever
otherwise you wouldnt dig it
thats why i can never be hugely popular
i yearn for great popularity n money
but in truth i knew that by doing what i do
by having my ridiculous ideals
by working with the other guys in the church
who can be scathing with criticism if i fuck up
so i….. yeah…. yeah….
more about kilbey by kilbey
nebulous flimsy
nonsense n whimsy
simultaneously important n utterly irrelevant
my songs will not change your life
they will enhance it
i have some good records waiting in the wings
i got an angular face
i’m getting some new teeth
i got some good friends
with whom i get by with a little help
i got a beautiful bass
i can speak a bit of swedish
i got tv appearances lined up
i get in the newspaper
i made over 50 records
i written a million songs
i did a million gigs
i been everywhere
i tried every drug
i been rich n poor
fuck it
i still aint happy though……
go n fuckin’ figure….

well i was tired
and some other things going on
we were more evenhanded than canberra
but canberra had the oomph!
sydney i was just too spaced out to focus
it had been a long day
sometimes everything else gets in the way
the other guys thought it was good
i was just a bit underwhelmed with myself
i expected a secret cache of energy to fill me when i hit stage
but it never arrived
nevertheless
thats it
its over for a while
enmore theatre on 20, 21 march for rockwiz
a tour of perth/wa with ricky in early march
recording for down to cardboard n deadmans hand ep next week
getting teeth started on next week
trying to get everything else done before usa april
boy
today i am one drained tired worn out old rocker
in spades!!

back to canberra
back to lyneham
where it all began
tilley devines a great venue
sold out in 2 hours
i arrive a little early
walk round my old schools
primary n high
my friend nelg has filmed me waxing rhapsodic
on the ill kept lawns
cant find any real nostalgia
its all dried up n moved on
we go into venue
a creature with a long blonde wig approaches me
the face of a man
breasts of a lady
voice not too ladylike
steve do you remember me?
uh ,…err no…oh god…no
you knew me before i was a girl says the person
i think: a girl is one thing you are not
the person twirls around in front of me
showing off the new bits
turns out i did know this geezer
oh god i say
the person was a musician who once played with peter k
nice to meet you again man i say
whoops i mean i dont mean man i mean….err… um….
how confusing!
we botch our soundcheck
technical issues etc
they let the crowd in n we slink off
nice tofu dinner on sidewalk cafe
eventually do gig
very small stage
hey we rocked
it was acoustic too
the crowd really erupts during 1st song
and stays a great audience all night long for us
we play well
i get carried away start jumping about
wow it was a good gig
afterwards i meet some old pals of mine
shouldnt have had that coffee for 3 hour drive home
get back home at 3 something n cannot sleep
tired like a donkey but cant sleep
well i got my second wind now
hope i dont sag tonite in sydney
notes in enmore
please come
this is a kinda one off show tonite
or stay home see if i care…
ok gonna try for some rest now
lotsa love etc
sk

we will never understand everything
every question opening a hundred doors
you adore the opening therefore
wherein time slows suspended in viscous nights
and i come marauding your hamlets
i lay waste your virgin meadows
i put your question to the sword
something has turned me red again
something has burned me dead again
but a brute dumb force makes me jerk around
and we both watch your face as you go under the hammer
going
going
but
never truly gone
not gone like time
not gone like sick sweet love
not gone like the forests of antarctica
not gone like atlantis who went down to the bed
with a crystal melodious keening groan
we both come back
we all come back
or maybe not
if some do not
then someone somewhere will understand that
if not you or i then someone must
there must be a reason for what happens
it is the only outcome
a servant to my old nemesis’ opposite
dawn finds me on my side
my vitality and my will hold me together just
my will to go on
to be more
to see more
to explore
my face has sheered off into angles
i was some pretty prints but that was ages ago
in the red light of the naked bulb
i appear even redder than red and ready too
i see it all better through my blurry eye
the colours dilate in some plasmatic schema
white flesh with soft plummy bruises
turning purple and violet blue green
like a snowball gathering speed and size
your white waist flares into white hips
and the white clouds are absorbed in the white sky
i wonder which part of everything
all this will help me to understand
naturally there will always be loose ends to be tied up
the details irritate me however
bring out the things that i like
make it really good or really bad
the years are disappearing underwheel
mind and body need investigation
we are surely capable of more
the seer and the seersucker
the mother and the motherload
the farther off the fatherland
dont go back
stay right now on this very word until it is gone
not gone like the wind
not gone flake
not gone bad
not gone cheap
not gone forever
forever baby
they say in the songs thats a long long time
but nowdays forever is only ever a few minutes away
you can see it if you but have the eyes
the future parading around with its lovely ass hanging out
and forever is sitting there watching
watching watching
making small growling sounds perhaps
whats the time mr wolfe?
the big bad old wolf
christian wolf
whoever wolf
wolfgang amadeus wolf
yeah so forever is like mr wolf
and the future appearing as little red riding hood
and mr wolf is licking at little rrh
his big forever tongue
can you understand this part of everything my dear…?
he has eaten the childs milfish granny already
(who was the past, of course)
and now that slightly handsome angular wolf
with his snaggle teeth and nasty nips
with his lupine lope
with his devouring hope
mr wolf dressed in his mansuit
look his paws are really hands
and little rrh says where wolf?
she does not realize mr wolf is a real wolf
she thinks hes an actor auditioning for a part
what kind of film is this she says sitting up blinking
several men stand around handling the technical details
they laugh and smoke cigarettes and ignore her
the wolf forever however
he opens his jaws ready to swallow
when
the present as the axeman suddenly bursts in upon us
he cuts open forever to reveal the past
little rrh pulls on her pants sadly
the boys pack up n go home
and the cleaners come in
then we leave
though
still not understanding everything

i rehearsed
it was ok
i dont like rehearsal much
a necessary evil
i guess
see you round the traps
sk

suddenly its sunday
the sabbath day
the day they say
that olde jehovah rested after creating heaven n earth
i got this book “genesis” illustrated by r.crumb
wow!
i say it again
wow!
the illustrations are fucking superb
but
the story of creation n noah n abraham and all that crowd
how the hell they call this the good book…?1
i know i said it before
but wheres the goodness?
take old abraham for example
he wandered round the middle east
saying his wife was his sister
tricking his hosts
who may or may not have had their way with her
and then getting goats gold and slaves
when embarrassed pharaoh or whoever
realizes hes been doing abes wife
not only that
but him n his wife are already over 100 by this stage
and a load of other petty silly trickery
and daughters “knowing” their fathers
and all the blokes marry their frickin’ cousins
and talking snakeys of course
dim references to the nephilim
(who the fuck are they actually?)
and a supreme deity who prefers to sniff burning lambs
than a nice dish of organic veggies
oh my socks
the western world which invents supersonic jets
is pretending to believe this stuff
this incredible allegoric mish mash of old stories
i mean why the fuck am i supposed to be on abrahams side
whats so good about him?
god keeps telling him he’ll have millions of descendants…
why would that motivate you…?
god :here steve run around the middle east, pimp out your wife
knock up your slave girl, almost sacrifice your little sonny
and get involved in a load of malarkey!
me : but god ….i dont wanna….please…
god : dont you wanna have millions of descendants…?
me : NO!!!
god : well what were ya thinking of…..
me : ok…well…psychic powers, a few gallons of nepenthe
a nice tent with oasis glimpses in upper samaria etc….
aw
its just so hard to reconcile
the clumsy seemingly self-contradicting actions of jehovah
with the glorious universe itself which he supposedly created
he is all the worst aspects of a tyrant
narcissistic nepotistic arbitrary spiteful sadistic
no wonder with religions like this we have run amok
promised lands n chosen people
what about the rest of us?
why does a god who designed n created gazelles n cheetahs
care about grumpy old abe n his fleabitten camels?
it doesnt add up
every child feels the panic
on meeting this impossible old character for the 1st time
what are we supposed to learn from jehovah?
he sure doesnt take any responsibility for the mess he created
does he?
anyway
the rain is holding off for a while out there
its st valentines day 14 th of february
didnt this cat die a grisly death in some christian scenario?
now hes the saint of greeting cards (i just made me own!)
and roses (bought a bunch from ye olde corner shoppe)
shoppe owner to sk : theyre selling like hotcakes…
i normally charge 30 a bunch but for you 20…
today i’m judging a vegan bake-off in newtown
must remain hungry for that
the rain is threatening but not falling
leaving the world in an unsatisfied state
an expectation of fulfillment just hanging there
the humidity is hard to bear
everything is sticky and damp
at ten to nine in the morning
the fridge hums
the tinnitus rings
the clocks ticks
never tocks
the world feeling apparently still solid
they say we rush through space
our sun travels alongside unfixed
each and everyone of us pure stardust
as much as the trees on the stars
we have a right to be here

after a wild and tumultuous night
after the last lightning has bolted across the purple sky
and the thunder claps and exits quietly
and the men n women cease their ministrations
when the kissing ends and the dreaming begins
hands still touching
going where the other can never follow
we sleep together but alone we dream
the neon and the empathy still judder thru my system
in my dreams i soldier on through my mind
but whatever i do i never remember
when i wake up
its saturday morning very quiet
gently oh so gently drizzling
the odd car zings thru the wet streets
a cool rain has come
the city crouches beneath the clouds
docile and tamed
its hour gone at last
the clubs close up
the spades are spent
the hearts are all broken
and the diamonds are paste
the cold light of the warmish day
the clocks all ticking in the silence
the hum of the fridge
the rustling of blinds n curtains
this is my territory
as much as the nights confusions
the grim grey light
pale mirror
the creeping cumuli
i listen to my ears ringing on
trying to tune into a station they can never get
those yesterdays when i wasnt me
who were you then?
no i dont know
someone else somewhere else
luck ran out
as it does
life as they told you is brief
what stands on either side but rest
and the cold morning drizzle
the small stones and pieces of brick
holes in the mortar where lizards live
the tiny bits of glass and drifts of sand
and weeds scraggly raggedy ugly skinny things
strangling the daylight for their fix
emitting dull buds that flower dimly
things become unbearably still
i’m left here with my past n my future
on either side the deep gulf of unconsciousness
lit up by short dreams
in a series of lives

another day
4 p.m. circa february early 2010
dive down thru layers of personalities
another day
another storm
another time being
another point in the distance
on an afternoon when all stories merge
on an afternoon when all probabilities surge
on an afternoon before the urgent wind came
on an afternoon after no one
on a hundred degree day straight out of the futures
or straight out of the arabian nightclubs
the sky glowers
the skin cowers
embalmed in hours
thunder threatens to the north
weird little tree cover in milky pink flowers
towels hang agitating against the new storm
for god sake thunderer bring on the dark clouds
wash this fair city clean of all its sin
though that might take awhile
thunderclaps roll out towards the heads
the ants panic in long jittery columns
on an afternoon like this
just as you would imagine me
on the balcony surrounded by my little gang of shrubs
i jazz up the afternoon with my puffing, billy
some new thoughts enter my skull
some old ones fade away
old memories not what they were
new memories folded up
to be looked at on another afternoon
this afternoon which is almost over in its own midst
i invoke indra god of weather to pour down upon my city
and flash flood away the things that keep us bound
a fresh wind flies out of the mouth of the heat
like the cool tongue of a lover in virtual re-creation
the clouds are thick and woolly
and they hover ponderously on the sky
dogs bark far away
howling against the coming storm as if it could stop it
like men rage against their oncoming fate
which does not listen
youth does not need heed me
folly cannot comprehend the sublime nature of things
the ground still burns my feat
yes i say yes
there is always more than 2 choices
but thats all they give ya n thats all they got
the time being gives you multiple choices
its however you wanted it to be because thats it
right?
the storm seems to lose velocity
it seems to lose its intent
its terrible sitting here
waiting for that cleansing rain which may never come
a man of simple taste n origin
i eat almonds and sip tepid rice milk
i need to vibrate faster
i need to feel lighter
i need to be able to fly in to the sun
but the barometric pressures me to the floor
i eat some deeply purpled cherries
spit out their stones
maybe a cherry tree will grow in one of my empty pots
i remember other days and afternoons of course
the swirling currents of luck
the rise n fall n rise n fall
rags to ditches
ashes to ashes
hags n witches
look where the stitch is
the sun is so strong
i go down to hades to find some shade
the dead call out my names
hold out their fading hands to me
i see them all
rank upon rank
file upon mile
row on row on row
in the hall of the black mountain king
he says if you want those shades back sing!
and sing of the storm and its coming
i crave something salty
i crave something sweet
the heat has unravelled my plans
i must give in
i will sit in some cool spot and unconcentrate
unconcentrate on nothing

i sit on the wall with my baby
whose just dressed in her faded knickers
her wild locks doth blow and bobbing in the ionized winds
we look out to the distant horizons
as the storm comes in upon us
oh storm come unto me
the old milky sun reduced to a joke
struggling to be heard over the rising tumult of the storm
my succulence and my heliotropes move by natures unseen hand
words flow to me in non mechanistic streams
words in other languages pour into english
my deep self reads it all
i let it sort it all out
up in the speed of thought
which is 666 times quicker than light
the words appear to me on old fashioned reels
in my head pyramids revolve flashing symbols and numbers
and glyphs and hieroglyphs
and pictures of nude blonde american women in b/w
baby runs inside to get away from the frowning sky
but i remain savouring the coolness
rejoicing in the miracle of holy life
and convinced more than ever
of some supreme fucking genius
who is behind everything
the marrow in our bones
the electricity that animates our flesh
our place within the big picture
the regulation of the heavenly bodies
the songwriter for the birds
the architect of mountains
the painter of skies
so huge and benevolent he is not seen
lord
call him zeus call him deus
call him vishnu
call him the unnamed
well this world
know well this world
this world which seems so ordinary
this world which seems so tame
oh baby baby its a wild world
full of yoga and magic
everybody contradicting everybody else
the experts disagree on EVERYTHING
each age disagrees with the last and the next
youth mocks age
age scorns youth
man and woman fucking each other over n up
everybody so convinced as they preach their left wing right wing
i cant tell the real from the unreal
i keep on swallowing more misinformation more disinformation
i cant tell
who can tell
so i feel it
i feel the storm
the real storm coming out of nowhere
across the sky and for a moment it seems it will blow over
my tiny fig tree grooving in the zephs
baby comes back out with her stormy eyes
little baby frowning like the february skies
late summer child careless in disarray
sitar music n incense
old white hippy drippy moses inculcating an atmosphere
of faux spirituality in his bondi pad/ dump/ shack/place
w.h.m. leading you back to the promise of land
the promise of rock n roll…thou shall be released
my box set of solo records will get you started
ignore the drum machine and watch the time just being
burn my music burn my eye
order me from eye tunes
order me to go on a quest
baby comes in and eats some grapes
she like some old time film star
with her improbable lip
curvy hip
and her eyes reflecting the stormy vault overhead
her teeth are big and white
and she moves like puck or ariel would
we are alone here together
on this unlikely afternoon
i am the impressionist poet
who writes the first thing that comes into his head
from his deepest self
to his shallowest manifestation
a voice guides me
baby herself is not to be guided at all
she plays with the shrubs n her little creatures
and bounces her head from side to side
she kisses my back as she goes inside
just once
just ever so lightly
come back out here i command in a gruff voice
no she says
no
i dont want to