The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

the killer awoke before dawn
put his boots on
and he walked on down the hall
and he came to the room
where his cheap n dirty laptop computer was
and he sat down in the dark hours to write
mortality pressing in from all sides
pressure exerted subtly
the roar of the crowd
the clacking of the mynah birds
the braying of the law
a good friend of mine
chucked in jail for growing dope in his garden
good work officers
we all sleeping safe
now this menace is in jail with NO visitors
a bloke who writes lovely things n
wouldnt harm a fly
etc
pay lipservice to an olde and evil law
do your job thats what youre paid for
lock em all up n let some corrupt judge sort em out
the law is a complicated n tricky thing
the govt must know what there doing, right?
the truth is
no one really knows what theyre doing
or why did we have 8 years of bush
and why all these wars
and why do everyone of us make a hundred mistakes a day
i know i do
i know i’m wrong about nearly everything
an i think of what david bowie said
we’re just older children thats all
an think about it for a minute
with all the fear and uncertainty of the child
scarlet kilbey for example
working at cross purposes to herself all day
making it harder for herself with her jealousy and fears
its alright shes 3 and a half
she will bury all this within herself
but it will all still be there her whole life
her rages when shes being condescended to
her capriciousness
her fickle moods and savage swings
her decisions based on whims
her ugly retaliations
her demanding attention
all this will be re absorbed into her adult persona
all just below the surface threatening to boil over
im pushing bloody sixty
but my emotions are still very much those of a kid
i often suspect that this childish font of malarkey
also could be the source of my creativity n energy
theyre almost inseparable
like you gotta respect your inner child tyrant
if you wanna get things done
thats why genius goes off the rails all the time
trying to obey yet not obey that 3 year old ego
the thing you like about my work
is the thing you’ll hate about me in person…
you love that song the disillusionist
but you dont wanna be personally disillusioned by me
but thats my tragedy and thats my specialty
and thats just the way it probably is
i cant keep my inner 3 n a half year in check
and hes running around like a fool
and ruining my ability to get organized
yet the 3 year is writing the goddamned poetry
n doing the paintings
the 3 year old gets me outta bed
n promises me we gonna do something really good
yeah whatever eh fiendss…?
more self analysis from the killer
trying to explain something unexplainable
or is it inexplicable…?
anyway i bristle to think of my gentle friend
in fucking jail…with NO visitors
for growing a bit of weed
this is not what we wanted
this is so bloody stupid
but all the inner 3 and a half year olds
who control the “law”
cant see how completely uncivilized it is
to lock up geezers like this for what is
essentially a thought crime
ie the dope transforms yer thoughts
and the “law” dont want ya thinking those thoughts
cos the “law” wants you to be just like them
and take the system very seriously
here the “law” is working counter to itself
by persecuting an otherwise law abiding chap
but aint that just like a 3 n a half year old…?
dont look for logic in this world
there is none
we’re all pretending
anyone can lose it at any moment
people go mad
people wise up
people get fucked n fucked over
people come good
people go bad
people get bought n sold
people change their minds n hearts
people are anything they wanna be
girls just wanna have fun
boys will be boys
women they will come n they will go
mortal man doomed to die
my god youre dealing with a lot of variables here
watch out
beware
emptor cave
dont trust yer senses
danger within n without
its like a jungle
ha!

yesterday we found a little room here
we didnt know previously existed
i thought it was a wardrobe or something
but down at the end of a little corridor
was a little meditation room
with a hushed silence
while esoteric books lined the shelves
one felt almost like an intruder on the rooms solemn quiet
an incense stick lay waiting to be lit
between a white carved dragons jaws
heavy sackcloth kept out the dazzling outside sunlight
nice room!
we walked around newport and avalon
we drove up to palm n whale beach
(nice going , iva!)
we had some indian food
which was good but i couldnt eat that much
which is good too
i remember living in america n taking ephedra stacks
to curb my appetite
but then i’d go to dennys n eat cheese sandwiches n chips
now i cant handle eating that much
leave while youre still hungry
dont fill up
its justa lotta strain on yer system
filling your belly to the max
you’ll always need more n more
so we left the restaurant still slightly hungry
we had palak paneer n dal n naan
natalie likes missions dark ghana chocolate
the sand up here is coarser n more yellow
they have some nice seapools
there are lots of long haired blond kids on skateboards
we went to cafe
it took 45 minutes to deliver some banana bread n porridge
it was ludicrous
i read the paper waiting
wow
some celebrity dating some celebrity
some war somewhere
some murder
some plane crash
some market folds
some dollars burn
some footy player scores a goal
some politician is a useless lying worm
some people go to a party
some people go to the races
some people stay home n eat pizza n watch crime shows
soon we must depart the hidden nook of mission h.q.
wend our weary way back home
for the hourlong drive
plus everyone’ll be squeezing into bondi today
its a glorious sunday morning
i pull on my mansuit
more grey hairs
more wrinkles
more years a’showing
have some of missions nice muesli for brekky
type this rubbish out
pretending to work
while nk packs up our stuff
remember
if any one out there has a chalet
a cottage in a forest
a villa
a castle
a romantic parisienne garret
a caravan by a forest
or some other nice holiday destination
we are available to stay there
free of charge!
get your place written up here too
if i got enuff places together
we can move out of our bondi joint
and just travel about staying here n there
the gypsy freeloaders

aha
i am not at home today
me n nk are up at capt missions groovy beach shack
on the northern beaches of sydney
he even lent us his car to get here….
its a real proper hippy beach pad too
full of plants and cactii
and books n cds n dvds all on esoteric things
its surrounded by trees n lovely lawns
and i really must say
that me n the lovely nk are having a great time
its a whole other vibe up here
in avalon n newport
the trees n everything is different
missions got posters of david bowie
and a little balcony with a hammock
hes got recording equip n guitars
hes got big colourful cushions
and nice furniture
the sun streams in the kitchen window
the birds sing outside
a different tune to be sure from bondi
there are no children
its so quiet
our bedroom is painted crimson
missions kitchen is an explosion of stuff
this morning is so very soft
mission has candles n lanterns
mission has some lovely incense
mission
you lucky bastard
living here all alone with your loyal hound
you dabble in this n that
searching for your huge calm truth
yeah you guys remember mission from my night on the vine
hes the guy who collapsed in wonder
at how beautiful the vegetal kingdom was
after he stepped outside in the morning
the wonder of it all
the love swept him off his feet
now you dont want that every day i guess
but imagine
just once
you suddenly see this world thru the eyes of a stranger
you see the flowers
you see the leaves
you see the trees
you see the bees
and for the 1st time
you suss the huge intelligence n love behind it all
no we are not random splodges of flesh
we are creatures
created by our creator
who is bold enough to name him?
lord vishnu has 1000 names
he has 1000 magnificent attributes each needing a name
vishnu who holds the spheres in their orbit
vishnu who dreams up worlds as he sleeps
universes pour out of his pores
and everything is created and in its place
to perform this dance of maya
and every now n then
you meet some guys
you know their dancing days are nearly done
by their gentle grace and demeanour
softly spoken men with no ego agenda
note : this iS NOT ME
but real gentlemen
with the emphasis on gentle
the kind of man who can dig a buncha fleurs so heavily
that his fucken knees give out
he was paralysed with the enormous cosmick plan
and it fucken floored him
well
facing yourself on some exotic powerful manifestation of nature
eg the vine or the bark or the mushroom or the cactus
is just about the bravest thing you can do
you never know what ya gonna find
and shifty ambitious geezers like moi
sometimes get a blast from outta their past hearts
that withers them in its onslaught n fury
but our capt mission
is not your ordinary guy
hes done time playing the game
now hes moved into some free space
a generous and warm hearted geezer
this is a marvellous little break for us
its so quiet up here
you could move in n never leave…
people living in some wintery north east american town
or people living in leeds or in rinkeby
or people living in the western subs of sydney
or people in amsterdam
would be amazed
by the lush tree-i-ness
the bushes and the shrubs
the pacific crashes not five minutes walk away
its saturday morning
i’m on a little holiday
ooh me n nk are having such a good time
thank you mission
you sir
are a DIAMOND GEEZER!!!!!

naivete is no excuse
bawled a policeman in my ear
i was cuffed
printed
and processed
any drugs ?
yes please ! i said
oh we got us a wise guy…..hey larry we got us a wise guy..!
a big nasty new york style copper appeared
he grabbed me by the cravat
whaddya fink yer diff’rent ? he yelled in my face
no sir no sir ..i squawked
thats better ! he said
pushing me in the dankest dungeon downtown
alone with my thoughts
i began writing poems on the wall
scratching them in the solid rock with my fingernails
and filling them with fresh blood
to tell the truth they were hard to read in the complete blackness
and i never finished them properly
or using much shorter words than i woulda liked
time passed past
2034 came around
my eightieth birthday
i was released
i couldnt believe how the world had changed
everyone wearing protective clothing
what we are being protected against ? i asked
everything grandad ! said the guy fitting me
the sun
the air
the water
each other
the noise
the disease
the argy bargy of life, old man!
i staggered outside the prison gates
no trees
no birds
no flowers
the sky was grey and dry
the earth was all used up
a silver car sped by silently
something like a bus pulled up
and i hopped on
i got off at bondi junction
the zeitgeist mall had been knocked down
where it stood was a noxious pit of green water
the high rises were now a dark jungle of twisted metal
it was hard to breathe in my suit
i kept trying to get the nitrogen oxygen mix right
but i was feeling dizzy and out of breath
i walked down bondi road
it was now called mal turnbull blvde
but the shops were all closed or burnt out
a few other people wandered in their suits
but it was impossible to tell
who they might be
i was rip van wrinkle
staggering in the remnants of my olde life
eventually i found my way to ninny street
my olde address
my olde house still stood there
i banged on the door
a youngish woman in her late twenties early thirties
brown curly hair with a blonde aureole
scarlet? i asked
she nodded behind the perspex safe-t door
dad?
yes sweetheart, its me..
go away dad …! she motioned moaning
i’m not allowed to let you in…..
i wandered down to the sea shore
lonely as a cloud full of fumes
bondi beach was nearly gone
the grey empty sea nearly lapped the pavilion
yeah
the fish were all gone
anything still living in that sea…..the mind boggled
nobody swimming or surfing..it would be a slow death
still a bus-thing full of jap tourists pulled up
out they jumped in their colourful sun-suits
posing against the wreckage of our civilization
the pavilion was now some kinda factory or something
a big pump shuddered underground
above us the dry grey sky
i walked into the pavilion
there were all these little booths
i pushed my credit -thing in a slot
a door opened and i stepped in
you may now remove your helmut said a sign
i hunched over a console
products were advertised on a screen
menus for weird things i didnt understand
transparent schema and instructions in strange hybrid languages
different logos and emblems
i saw sony flash up more than once
but the others were unrecognized
what do you want? asked the machine eventually
in a neutered machine voice with a slight australian accent
what can i have? i asked amazed to hear my olde rheumy voice
how much have you got? asked the machine in its flat way
i stuffed my credit-things into its slot to be read
you have 13 hours remaining …the machine replied disinterestedly
food?
a menu appeared
hot chocolate
various biscuits
rehydrolized water
fruit when in season
i ordered a hot chocolate and a various biscuit
the hot chocolate was scalding hot runny and tasteless
the biscuit was damp and crumbly and sickly sweet
great …i remarked
the machine made some quiet sound
what else?
what else do you require? asked the machine
i want the hole proof troof i said
the machine hummed expectantly for a while
i’m sorry sir could you be more specific?
i just wanna know what happened …i said
oh…said the machine (oh!?)
then you need history ….
ancient or modern?
gimme modern…last thirty years ..i said
ok said the machine
begin replay now
i was suddenly enveloped in the past
it was like i was really back there
out the back of some club doing yoga
while jets jetted overhead
and a dog barked somewhere
it was a hot night
and lightning lit up the sky
it was sydney allright
sydney back in the olde days
when you could still breathe it in
wow!
here it was
virtually perfect!

tomorrow
i lose interest in this story n start something new

little steven lived in his naive world
at the end of ninny street
he liked to count his lute
he like to dabble with his paintbox
he liked to go to the park
and feed the dux
he was happy with a tomato sandwich
all he asked for was a sip of water
all he ever needed he squeezed in a little bag
and he roamed around
through the foaming gloaming
threw the cartoon woods
where his strange painted bird lived
in n out of hollow trees
his daughters were dryads
aurora was the spirit of an ash
eve the spirit of an oak
and little scarlet was the spirit of a tiny red gum sapling
the sun wasnt shining that day
so he painted an acrylic yellow glow up in the corner
of the archangel sky
and wind gods who blew jasmine and spice
and all on a little flat piece of wood
and his two elder daughters appear
of the eldar race they were
twin spirits of the two rivers
anna miranda was the tigris
elektra june was the euphrates
and the moon swung down low all pink n confidential
and oh
i strolled through my world
thinking music to a computer who recorded my thoughts
i pumped out all the symphonies and songs i would never have time
to actually write
this way my constant creativity was drained away from me and cooled
because it drives you mad sometimes
when you dont want it
i sat down to answer my letters
dear steven
can we have more gazelles in the garden?
signed
herbert and jenny frobish

dear herbert and jenny
consider it done!
yours truly
little steven k

dear l. steven
i like the colour of the flamingoes
dont change it!
love mopsy and ted

dear mopsy n teddy
i wont!
love
steven

i was proceeding in this manner
when i noticed men working in my woods
no no no you cant work in here! i yelled yet
there they were
hammering stuff up
knocking stuff down
crushing robins and squirrels underfoot
smudging all the colours in my world
my sister kathy came running out
oh dear brother stop this madness!
a big space had been cleared in my wood
a horrible circus appeared complete with clowns n animals
i was most distressed to see a mangy old black panther
prowling around in a dark cage
and growling feebly and laying back down with a groan
immediately clowns appeared and prodded n mocked the great cat
an ugly old stripper twirled her dirty jugs and winked at me
i hid my eyes and blocked my ears to the distant trumpeting
of a distressed elephant
steven do something ! kathy screamed fighting off a bat
the newspapers had arrived
the gutter press
the gossip rags
no this is my naive world ! i shouted
as a new caffeine franchise was executed
as a suave doctor in a nice suit listened to my naive heart
here take this he said
tossing me a pack of amiodarone
now my heart beat is de- regulated
now tariffs appeared on my borders
now i filled in a questionaire about their performance
no i was most unhappy
violently ticking off the boxes
the bees were killed by their wasps
their dogs ate my bunnies
their cats clawed my baby birds
their money had bought me up
their contracts had tricked me forever
their traps had tripped me over
they built a school and filled it with fools
they taught us how to learn their words
they guided us in their paths
they muscled in on my silences
they sniggered at my sensitivities
they guffawed at my little sword
kathy fought off a hyaena-man
dad was fighting off angina pectoris
my woods
my cartoon woods
my softly emerald green dripping woods
home to cute lil beasties and woodland folk
i run around trying to stop it
but i achieve nothing
except getting exhausted
losing my breath
firing out words
grasping at strauss
going down slow
this is the zeitgeist mall
this is the underground car park ten miles deep
this is the black widow funeral parlour
this is the fucknuckle brothers giant wearhouse
this is country piggie fast food drive thru
this is mega drug store rx plus smokes
this is dark satanic milk
this is fried chicken bits dipped in grease
this is lonely boy
this is actually that
this is really happening….
now
stay tuned!

tomorrow:
the hole truth!

now its 7.33
i sit in my cluttered spare oom
the one fulla paints n pastels n bits of paper
i am behind on so many things
unanswered e-messages
i cant keep up
i dont wanna keep up
i’m being bombarded with info
spread sheets
call sheets
scripts
plans
introductions
instructions
contracts
files
articles
photos
videos
songs
how could i possibly keep up with it all
one guy writes to me
says he wants to have a correspondence with me..
who does he think i am….robert browning?
marty rings up
can you answer some questions for zillo magazine in germany
oh god if i have to….
i still havent written my article on songwriting
(you think itd be easy but not with punctuation
and bloody capitals
i write how i think
my brain hands down my thoughts
unpunctuated)

still the modern man is under attack from the outside world
everyone can contact ya these days
and then ya fall behind and feel permanently rude
while i was in hospital n after
a week of emails congealed somewhere in the past
i try to get at em
but todays demand my attention
with their exclamation marks in red
and their throbbing attachments
bursting with new bytes of info n disinfo n misinfo
that my groaning brain has to deal with
some of its really important stuff too
important to me to try n remain in this rat race
but i know the rats are all running little faster this year
as i get older n older
some people viewing me like a heritage building
and thats amusing to the eternal outsider like me
i’m happy to be a heritage building
as long as you pay when you enter
but i aint being a heritage building for free
i didnt want a legacy
i wanted to rock, you know
i still do
and standing somewhere solemnly singing utmw
bores the tight black pants off me
i’m into the present you understand
i like what i’m doing now
but i gotta keep moving on
i cant stop n ponder some olde thing
unless i choose to do so here
in the safe warm nostalgia of my own
when i’ll uncover my past gently for you
look
a memory here
a memory there
an anecdote about ploogy
of course
its all part of the service here at TTB
you’ll get all of that n more
when you subscribe for one year
(you’ll probably get it if you dont)
but i resent the constant implication
“your best work is behind you”
in this age of nonentity
cant the hoi polloi grok a driven man like me
and understand that i dont give a flying fig
about utmw and its spot in a poll
yeah…whats that gotta do with the act of creation
or as marco boleyn asks on beltane walk
“but could it gimme love gimme love
gimme little love from gods heart?”
and if the answer is ever no
then one should
as far as possible
decline
so
ok
i got all this work to do
why dont i do it?
laziness
becoming distracted
procrastination
lacking any backbone
lacking any application or structure
i prefer painting to all else
i feel like i’m working but its pleasant
unlike the computer which is unpleasant n unnatural
unlike the tap tap tap to write this rant
yesterday we found some rollerblades someone had left out
they fit the doodles perfectly
and auroras been clomping around in em all morning
must sound like hell down below
she paints a picture
of a plane flying over a rainbow
and the planes saying
save our world!
autumn is in the air
my exhibition in pittsburgh looms n looms
youd be mad not to go
youd be madder not to buy a painting
youd be so happy if you did
and so would i
very happy
indeed
i feel like ive yet to give you yer moneys worth today
but at least you got the warm cosy feeling, right
not necessarily the same thing
the time being is the great differentiator
sorting thru things so you dont have to
writing songs that explain your life somehow
in some lovely way only you can understand
yes im a heritage building
yes i’m a panther on tv
yes i’m a flesh n blood geezer struggling to keep up
yes i’m the reincarnation of your favourite olden daze king
yes i play a mean bass in my mofu mansuit
yes i paint n i sing n i compose n i conspire
yes mister i do it all while you watch
and marvel at such a fine fine mind…its one of a kind
chuck a fucken ducat in my e-hat then
buy my latest output
i gotta loada new songs n paintings waiting in the wings
i would like to salute mr jt n mr dr
who soldier on for me regardless
offering their inestimable services to the t. being
to enable me to cope with a mechanistic outside
that threatens to devour an aspie-like naive ninny like me
i am humbled by their help
i am deeply appreciative to my contributors/subscribers
other long haul geezers like klk and kn
to all of you i owe the best i can manage
and so i strive
a lady named hj
also has enabled my visual art to survive
and inspired me with her across the board dedication
and the constant supply of truly groovy art supplies
yes all my contributors
some solidly donating small amounts
some occasionally contributing large amounts
the very generous and the slightly stingy
the ones who cant contribute at all
the ones who enjoy it with their coffee
sometimes
sometimes
its overwhelming
without this internet thing
where would i be…?
i wouldnt know anything about any of you
and i’m sure
i would have fallen into despair

i sit before my screen
like jehovah sitting before the void
on the day He created the world
so many possibilities
so much potential
i chase elusive memories in my mind
surely i havent told you everything…?
no
surely not in 3 and a half years….
so often i think of a story
oh i’ll have to tell ’em i think
bout now i sit here empty handed
i see my biography is coming out soon
gee i feel important
then he took this
then he wrote that
then he got poor
i could have given it a better ending
“in 2003 some idiot covered one of his songs
and kilbey made zillions n moved into a mansion
in vaucluse just opposite nielsens park
he spends most of his time
painting n doing yoga in his
“crystal japan ” gardens”
but no
it hadda be one of them
he blew it but hes at least not such a bad bloke now endings
oh ho
ha ha
someone in another room : its not over yet…..
yeah at least i can say
“have you read my biography?” as an icebreaker at gatherings
of more important immediate interest
my art exhibition at pittsburgh institute of washed up genii
man art n technology baybee
every pic got its own tale to tell plus music
you gonna wanna gotta get to pittsburgh p a
cos thats where its gonna manifest
soon soon oh so soon
for god sake re-stimulate my economy
and buy them all up
they will look so nice hanging in your living rooms
they will be worth a fortune in twenty thousand years time
when an antiquarian will find my self portrait
and say
they did have kings in those days
yes
i imagine richard lionheart looked a little like me
with the beard and the searching pained grey eyes
and with the compassion and great wisdom of ye olde time monarch
and the charisma to draw a blurred crusade around him
of all the things to aim for
i never thought of kingly
but i look around
and i DO indeed see the occasional king amongst us
ah what is that regal quality
that faux-imperial graciousness
i imagine olde wenceslas
looking out at that deep crisp n even snow
fuck…the snow was deep crisp AND even..
how often do you see that…?
i know ive gone on about this before
but it was the feast of steven
the king
the snow
steven
wow
its all adding up to me
or am i just another crazy eccentric poet-fool
mixed up in some pseudo rex malarkey?
oh how often do we ask that question?
i note some of you
sit there with your morning cuppa n morning biccie or cookie
and you read my strained natterings
and you feel like
oh ah oh ah
a nice gentle warm feeling of familiarity
oh the beings having one of his raves
not at all offended
that i have the gall to compare myself to good king wenceslas
you are, au contraire, mildly amused
like watching any old day to day thing
and yes
cant you see
i’m deeply woven into the fabric of peoples lives
(and dont tell anyone but i’m inching back up the charts)
i have become that other strange thing
ive become all cozy
cozy corner
i should rename this blog
kick off yer shoes
get comfy
switch off all that rubbish on yer computer
on comes that familiar black screen with the white letters
(course it dont let me write it like that)
there i am fiddling with a booze-ooki or whatever it is
and hey presto
my most arrogant arcane and acute baloney awaits
you sip yer cawfee
you nibble yer biccie
if youre in the u.s. or can. you nibble yer cookie
and you say
oh how nice
the killer thinks he looks like a kingly dude from the olden days
and everything seems normal in your world
have i lost my power to amaze you
to shock you
to make you choke on that bloody cookie
and splutter on yer earl grey
(earl grey…dontcha see…its talking about me)
you are thoroughly used to my shenanigans
you smile absent mindedly at my sordid ups n downs
you chuckle at my tawdry admissions
you giggle when i admit to a murder
you sigh when i explode over a shaved fish
ah ha
tell me
what do you want from your time being?
more helpful hints on home economics
topography maps
articles about led zepplin
my social round-up
agonizing self analysis
numbers games
card tricks
poetic reminiscing about the golden days when i was fab
cautionary tales from stockholms smack underbelly
free spirited renditions of campfire songs
cops n robbers
mr weird
kathy kilbey and twin time
paintings of my infirmities
or none of the above
remember then
my exhibition in pittsburgh
my biography
buy 2 …cos youll wanna read it twice
and
thank you for your donations to the cause
just a dollar a week
cmon
aint that cheap?
dont ya wanna feel all cozy inside?
ah…..go on
nice, isnt it?

existing on so many levels
my systems are integrated yet they remain discrete
my interfaces apprehend and interpret data
my electrics firing out the rhythm
my mechanicals obeying the beat
i eat music and spit out art
i wrestle the unknown for its secrets
i glide through the hoi polloi smoothly
like an eel cruising through ducklings
i listen to sigur ros (again!)
as i weave through the bondi crowds
behind me eve n aurora march with grim determination
with their eye-pods pumping
(getting an early start on tinnitus?)
they are very grown up for 9 years old
they half run to keep up with my manly strides
they listen to abba n hanna montana
n spice girls n sometimes even …..me…..
the sun is out
the sea is blue
the sea is green
the sand is soft and powdery n yellow
believe me
if youre some poor sap
lives in some bleak northern place
youre gonna think bondi beach came outta your dreams
sandwiched between 2 headland its just right
about a mile long
banners tents surfboards juice-sellers bikinis towels
balls frisbees eskies hats sun tan oil sunglasses goggles
and that holiday feeling with all them tourists
come down to see one of the best city beaches in the world
wow
they got all brands of humanity
big n small
black n white
young n olde
geezers on the latest type of rollerskates
geezers with stupid big dogs
geezers wiv the fam who just bought everyone an icecream
geezers with other geezers
geezers on their own
geezers with saucy wives
geezers with non-saucy wives
geezers who been keeping in good shape
geezers who let em self go
geezers still green and dopey
geezers venerable n wise
geezers from italy n spain
geezers who look rich even in their undies
geezers whove copped too much sun
geezers who just wanna eat some fishnchips
geezers dragging their moth-in-law along
geezers ‘aving an argument with the non-saucy missus
geezers dressed in black jeans n leather jackets
geezers in g-strings that make them look a right ass
geezers who are tycoons with lovely watches
geezers who are the common man puffing n bawling n sipping beer
never thought i needed so many geezers
i search for a light in their eyes
sometimes you see it
someone looking back
and their eyes are saying
this is all just a show isnt it?
this aint fer real, is it?
but mostly the people
are pleasantly lost in their roles
the way that damned kilbey never could be
hes gotta question every thing in heaven n hell
i look at my daughters
eve is lost in her role
aurora looks back though
she looks back and shes there in the crowd
but shes detached as well
whereas eve is in there 100 per cent
shes marching along behind her father
shes pumping her music
shes hot n sweaty but shes enjoying herself
auroras computers have already started analyzing other things
she takes in non-important details of information
and becomes lost in her analysis
going off into day dreams about vague matters that tantalize….
the people flock to bondi
they arent out in the water as far as before the shark attack
but they are all up to their waists
a nice smorgasbord for some lazy great white pointer
(the lady next door had an red pointer once……hhmmmm)
the people the people the people
youll see everyone you know
if you stand here long enough
people fighting for a car park
people filling up on unhealthy rubbish
people hiring lockers
people renting surfboards
people buying a bondi t-shirt
the imported mexican palms sway in the delightful sea breezes
the cafes bustle over
the waiters hop about with big things of pepper
the punters guzzle booze
the skaters crack along the pavements
the rich with their fancy prams
the poor with their worn out shoes
the medium with their medium stuff
everyone has come to bondi today
i push on thru the crowds
my 2 speed walking apprentices behind me
cross over (sue) campbell parade
we make a kill bee line for home
poached pears with tahini
and an oat milk smoothie
now thats a real breakfast……

ive gone on a painting spree
i cant stop painting
i listen to loud music and i paint n paint
the kids ask to go down the beach
all the way the images assault my eyes
the sky bends down n whispers to me
i listen to sound
i see music
my kids yabber away to me
the music pounds in my headphones
cars pull up and drive on
oh lovely march days
i march along with my 3 gals
aurora kilbey
eve kilbey
scarlet kilbey
3 of the perkiest girls you ever met
down the beach theyre straight in that sharkey sea
theres quite a few still in the flat pacific at 6 oh clock
i’m knocking out paintings at home
i’m on a roll
feel like i can do no wrong
i do eve as a dryad
i do myself as a hollow cheeked king from the old days
i do a giant bird turning to gaze at ya
i splash on the gold paint
ah i am an instant klimpt…ha ha
whatever
something supernaturally guides my hand
something outside me whispers suggestions
i access a library of human unconscious
my fingers move in new subtle ways
i thought age was a process of decline
yet here i am getting better
or am i going mad
or is it that
i simply cant tell
and ive drowned in my own egotistick wallowings
and a few accol-lites spur me on
what i do i’m doing better
but what the fuck is actually happening ?
at this incredibly late late stage of the game
almost impossible to get back in
ive rallied
ive sussed
i actually became GOOD!
yeah yeah
oh no
oh here he goes again….
but if you were me
you’d write about me,
wouldnt you?
me me me me me
what else do i know about?
you?
itd just be fiction
you got up
and you did this
and you did that
how the fuck would i know what you did?
so i am left with me
and my chiron trip
and with my kingly visage
which is hard to pull off
and my hands n voices
which pull stuff outta thin air
a strange energy drives me unrelentingly
at the very edge of raving madness
i walk the hinterlands collecting souvenirs
its ok …i’m a poet….i know what i’m doing
still i ask
when i was just another podgy washed up ninny
what happened……?
which things
if faithfully adhered to
could turn a life around like that?
must be yoga
must be vegism
must be swimming
must be luck
you gotta do yoga every day
put that hour in
get a new life back
youll start to flourish n bloom
boom boom boom
oh you ones who hate it are the ones who need it most
sooner or later
when yer natural youth runs out
you better be riding that yoga train baby
you better be swimming in the holy sea everyday hot or cold
you better leave that meat
you better ditch those eggs
you better switch off that tv
you better get creating
you better get moving
you better get walking around
you better get cracking
dont stay still
dont eat pizza
dont drink beer or smoke fags
dont loll about like a ninny
fucking up n at em
take a swing
have a shot
or whatever
see if i care or even know if ya dont….
but i wish you could feel this energy driving me
hey you dont have to feel old and tired just yet
dont give in to lethargy pal
strive hard mister…..and do a painting or something
just dont sit around
its boring
and if you aint donated
today is a good day
if you have
the time being thanks you
very much!