The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

beautiful summer morning here in terra australis
a sky including many blues
soft clouds seem to graze up there
from my window i see the palms n pines moving
i see the red roofs light up as the sun reaches them
eve kilbey silently slides out of bed and begins some homework
aurora kilbey the human bunny sleeps on
scarlet kilbey is also out for the count
looking like shes been king hit
and her mum sleeps next to her
gently breathing in a deep rhythm
on the drawing board is elektra
whom im doing a painting of
yes
i certainly have 5 gorgeous daughters
the sort of girls i always was hoping to meet myself
kind intelligent n pretty
but fatherhood is fraught with little traps
not too much one way or the other
or you’ll lose it
you gotta take the middle path
just like old buddha used to say
an even keel
eve comes in looking for a lead pencil
i got red white black metallic n pastel pencils
but no lead….
aurora gets outta bed wearing a cartoon expression of dismay
aurora….what you looking like that for?
eve answers for her: she was tired!
aurora sits glumly sorting thru a huge box of buttons (!?)
it 5 to 7 in the morning
i hear a bus groan past up the street
so
yeah
i’m working on a portrait of elli
usual procedure
paint the white sheet black
someone said why not buy black paper?
you cant buy this paper in any other colour than white
besides i like the interaction sometimes …
i used to find drawing faces was hard
i was concentrating on lines to enclose spaces
thats not how real life looks
real life is shapes n surfaces in relativity to each other
not lines enclosing n defining spaces
but when we draw onto white
we try n represent it thus…which is hard
i try to forget its a face
and i look at all the planes and the way the light falls on them
so what i start with is
a general mass to represent the face
and where the light highlights features
let it all remain as abstract patches related to each other
elli has very regular features
ive found her very easy to “nail”
sometimes it takes a while to “nail” someone
that is
before you capture some essence
of what makes their face so recognizably them
i have found that perfect young faces
are easier to paint
than
ugly old faces
for many reasons
(tho not always as interesting)
beauty is a funny thing
it IS in the eye of the beholder
yet
there is also classic beauty
ie that that michaelangelo strove to capture
the mimesis of the greeks
the statues of the gods
apollos straight nose
and his huge perfect eyes
his sweeping jaw
his broad brow
his long muscled neck
his curly blond hair
he is a classic handsome bastard
he would be ..in any age or any place
i believe these proportions are easier to capture
than that of less perfect subjects
whose forms are more elusive to get down
elli is all tanned …almost the same colour as her tawny hair
and she has an enigmatic look on her face
a half smile that could become a sneer or a grin
depending….
nk points out that she looks a bit like that moaner liza
yeah
wonder if elli ‘ll end up in the loo-ve tho
there is a wonderful thing about being a human being
that is
if you do something often enough
you start to get better at it
now i been painting hard for 5 years
lots n lots n lots of paintings
the payoff starts to happen
jesus i’m starting to become a real bleatin’ artist
just because i persevered all that time
just like yoga
if you hit something everyday
eg
a language
an instrument
a discipline
an endeavour
eventually
you’ll get better
suddenly in leaps n bounds
one day
you just go from ok to good
like suddenly figuring out how to ride rollerskates
or realising how to swim
or kiss
or kick a football….
so the rewards of perseverance
give us something to look forward to
eg
i am getting older n uglier every day
but my yoga n painting are improving
actually now that they are improving
i care less about being fucking fifty four
than i would if i wasnt getting better at something
it excites me to paint because i dont know what
i might come up with now
now that ive put all the hard work in
people
i urge ye again n again
begin something
practice something
learn something
it will offset the passage of the years
i’m sitting here going
ok the bad news
in ten years time i will be 64
(will you still love me?)
which is olde beyond olde
yet
imagine how good my yoga n painting will be then..!
so its like…not so bad
however
if i was just learning doing practicing nothing
then in 10 years time i’ll just be bloody older
n all those tv shows i watched
(instead of actually doing something)
will avail me of nought
so thats my plan
take on a load of things
and time can be yer friend
as well as yer enemy
(tho he’ll get ya in the end)
you can either go out
an old master
or an old couch potato
really
the choice is yours
im an overachiever by nature
and i produce a voluminous amount of stuff
you could too in yer spare time if you wanted
you do it for yerself
and if you dig it
others will too
if you dont
why wood any one else?
eve kilbey is getting real good at drawing
she should be
shes been going hard at it for about 6 years
so the rewards are starting to kick in
her pictures are grand in scope
and shes always inventing new flourishes
aurora k does complicated cartoons
of bunnies
living in hive like conditions
all with speech bubbles telling the story
on the fridge is the picture which tickled rickys fancy
the bunny band
the lead singer :” in the meadow where its green”
backing vox bunnies :” green green green”
all this practice the doodles have been (unwittingly) doing
their whole lives
will one day pay off
when they miraculously discover
that theyre really good at something
without realising its the years n years
they put in as kids
drawing bunnies n mermaids n fairies n horses
my kids experiment with making up songs too
auroras taking flute lessons
there should be no distance between them n creativity
evie especially entertains no doubts about herself
she expects to be able to do
whatever artistic or physical thing she wants
and lo she can
everyone reading this blog is interested in creativity
how to harness it
well
the answer is the same
as last time i was trotting out this rant
now even more emphatically
PRACTICE!
even if you cant draw or play an instrument
then write
its as easy as listening
to that voice in yer head
and writing it down
who knows?
you could be an absolute fucking genius
i know times are hard
believe me
i aint got a wardrobe full of new shoes
i got a blown up car n a debt to the A T O
i gotta dirty half dead laptop most basic old model
i got a little tv doesnt get most channels
i got a messy room full of junk
but
art
yoga
music
these must needs be our consolations
and thru them
perhaps a way to our creator
if you believe in that sort of thing
dont despair
you dont need that fancy stuff
there is no where i’d rather be
than at home
painting a picture
list’nin’ to music i love
better than restaurants n niteclubs n whatever
create or be damned then
or sit on the couch n watch telly
see what satisfies ya the most………

jesus
i was angry and sickened
to see
the bali bombers execution
so lovingly raked over by the local rags
including headlines like
“straight to hell”
and
“this is what weve been waiting for” etc
isn’t it enuff that they were executed?
in the weeks leading up to the executions
certain papers gave us long lingering glimpses
into the bombers fate
including the absurd(ist) sight
of a man being given a medical check up
to see if hes fit for facing the firing squad(!?)
like a headline i saw once
“cow injured in a slaughterhouse”
is this fucked up or what?
no the newspapers were overplaying their hand
the people do not want garish bloodthirsty revenge
the people wanted justice
we are not interested in the gory details
a small sentence could have said
the bali bombers were executed today at 5 pm
that says it all
dont the cheap sensationalist rags realize
that in attempting to whip up this fervour n fever of hate
against 3 misguided foreign criminals
they become the very thing they hate?
SHAME ON THEM!!
they are instruments of ignorance.
the death penalty….
christ
that is beyond my scope
like abortion
like euthanasia
real questions of life n death
i go deep in my heart
i can find no pithy answers
there are always arguments for and against
i dont even want to open any of this up
it ends up with people cursing at each other
which at the age of fifty four
im tired of all the cursing at each other
so dont fuck around with me you bastards
yes i been enjoying the peace on here lately
i used to enjoy a bit of discord
but now…ah i long for peace
i remember a phrase
oh it was so long ago
i was watching an abc version of the emperors nightingale
which you must all surely know the tale
if you dont
i will quickly retell it in killer new speak
but will stop for the poignant phrase
(which is the reason for all this malarkey)
once
in china i s’pose
or maybe tai wan
there was a bit of a spoilt olde emperor
not content with being a (fuc)king
he needed to go the whole eton-hogge
and become a bloody emperor
which means
he owned several kingdoms
including the animal kingdom n kingdom come
anyway this olde emp
he really digs the singing of this nightingale bird
which sings outside his window
(presumably for chicken feed…)
i mean
have you ever heard a nightingale
i hear even jokermen sing to their tune
theyre certainly up there with larks
as in you could say
steve kilbey sings like a bloody lark
or
steve kilbey sings like a bleedin’ nightingale
and both would be correct
ie
the nightingale is a lovely singer
anyhow
the emperor is always listening to his feathered friend
(i saw mick jagger play this part once….he was great
as the fey monarch)
and you know
to tell ya the truth
the little nightingale is flattered by the emps attention
(could be the imperial birdseed…)
and he hangs about singing
until one day
one of the emperors flunkies
brings him a mechanical nightingale
its a little pre-sampler device
a wondrous singing machine
driven by clockwork
(maybe this eastern potentate has never seen clockwork?)
and anyway
olde emperor rubberlips is smitten
the freakin’ birdietron can sing over n over n over n over
whenever he likes
not like the real bird which has lice
and quite frankly
has sometimes relieved itself on the imperial furniture
the real bird that moults n lays eggs n builds nests
(however the nests could end up in the soup, i guess)
look
the birdietron is instant gratification
the emp loved to wind it up n let it go
n he listened to it over n over n over
sort of like my neighbour pru daly
who one hot night in 1968
listened to “stand by your man” about 100 times in a row
uh huh
the emp gave the birdietron a good caning
meanwhile the nightingale is feeling like
the proverbial spare prick at a prostitutes wedding
hes pissed off with the emp
and so he should be
the emp has disregarded the real deals improvisation
and variation and composition and the bird
wears a badge which says
keep music live!
all the emp gets is that mech repetition
but he kinda digs it
the nightingale pisses off
in an avian huff (great name for my next band!)
and the emp dont even notice
till
till
yeah
TILT!
the birdietron blew its fucking head gasket
and no one in the whole empire
could sort it out
it was kaput
it was over
it was gone
the birdietron was mess of springs n sprockets
it had sung its last swan song
it was now silent
now the olde emp
kinda hooked on the b-tron
he goes into massive withdrawals
uh huh
just like the gear
he starts to shake sweat shudder n shiver
he loses his appetite
he lies in his beddy
wasting away
anyhow
imagine
i’m very young
i had never seen death personified before
i’m watching a blacknwhite tv show in the early sixties
the old emp is about to cark it
death approaches
its…a pale faced man dimly glimpsed beneath
a heavy black cowl
the emperor is crying out now
crying for his real nightingale
who appears
assesses the situation
and sings a beautiful tune
death withdraws from his business with the emp
and turns as if hypnotized
and says to the camera
ah
i must go
the bird sings of a quiet churchyard
the grass wet with tears…..

and that is the thing that has stuck in my head forever
that even death needs a sanctuary a haven
and that the bird could sing it to him
which illustrates the power of music
anyhow
when death has buggered off to find the churchyard
the bird sings for its emperor
who gets immediately better
and
everyone is happy
except the emps son
who was hoping for a bit of throne
too bad
the greedy debil

tibor (nee $1000 falcon) died th’other day
when he blew his head gasket
and that, my friends, was that
a loyal n noble beast
poor tibor had served us well
tibor suffered from a variety of conditions including
rust
alternator problems
no lockus the backus doorus
cockroaches
a mess of small toys n sweetie wrappers
old empty cans of berry v
a great sound system
seat covers with fire
bumper stickers:
no fat blokes
SAW
little miss naughty
poor poor tibor
the kids are really quite sad
so is daddy
tibor would cost more to fix up than he’s worth
he must sadly be put down
oh woeful day
what will i do?
alas n alack!
i’ll have to get a cab to the airport sunday
i’m flying to adelaide to do vegan festival
i wish i wasnt but i am
it never works out for me these gigs
it doesnt feel right to play ordinary songs at these places
they are always in horrible conditions
outside or in big noisy halls
always in broad daylight
i dont wanna fly n i dont get paid
i always hate doing it n usually piss someone off
anyway
if there are any killer fans or fiendss in adelaide…
but i doubt it…
i’m just not cut out to be a spokesman
2 weeks after that the earth festival in centennial park
where i’ll just be singing n playing my guitar
(which isnt really the thing i’m best at)
its not really what i do that well
not in daylight at a festival
its not my setting
but there you go
on friday night
in the pianobar nite club the cross
im singing a couple of songs
at a benefit for a movie ive got a small role in
2 unfinished films about bondi being made
i’m in em both….
one as a “reckord pra-dusar”
the other
as a zen furniture salesman
oh the horrors of typecasting….
i ask scarlet kilbey yesterday where her mother is
“her ‘scaped ” she says (she escaped)….
at the dinner table i was giving the girls a quiz on horses
whats the difference between a mule n an ass ? i ask
evie says innocently “oh an ass is smaller!”
(now remember my girls are all american)
they all burst into laughter including eve
as she realises what shes just said…
scarlet asks natalie to make a list of the family
after all the usual suspects are listed
scarlet thinks for a while
theres someone shes forgotten….
ricky! she finally says
much laughter ensues
aw ricky will be “home” soon
and killing pain at the oxford arts factory 22nd dec
you should fucking well be there
come in from other states n countries
cos the church aint playing this year
so you better come n getta fix of this!
come on down
you can get a fistful of aussie bucks fer yer dollars n euros
you can see painkiller
surf on chrimbo day
be back in yer cold miserable hemisphere by n.y.e.
or whatever
after all it is only our second gig
and we’re playing with all india radio
cmon have you been reading the odd reviews on websites
people are digging painkiller
oh i’m so glad
yes it is a quantum leap for me
in or out of the church
more energy
more directness
more random craziness that i love
its more time being
its like this blogge on music
its like my paintings as songs
its purer kilbey than you ever had before
it is undiluted with de-mock-racy
no one interfered
no compromises
no time or money wasted
a vision fulfilled
this is my future
i owe allegiance only to my own vision
painkiller is the beginning of what i can do
without compromise
oh i’ll probably still be doing other things
but painkiller is the direction of my journey
from here on in
i want to concentrate on making music like this
puts me where i wanna be
dont wanna talk or argue
dont wanna explain
dont wanna rake over the past
dont wanna wait
dont wanna approval
i need to conserve my energy
i dont wanna waste my gifts
hey i know the way (again!)
you can follow me if you like
or not
why should i care
there will be more art music words
my monkey nature is irrepressible
my aim is true
i am on course of course
you WILL enjoy whatever I do next
but you see
it is a lonely place to be
no one around who can advise me…
where i wanna go
no one around here has ever been…
ha ha!
oh grandiose talk
its funny
isnt it?

then one of his followers
the gentle bon bon
said
dear mangy panther
tell us about happiness
tell us when you were the happiest in your life…?
at that
white hippy moses fell silent
and his gaze was distant
and the followers waited for his reply
finally he turned
and his olde face was filled with tranquil joy
and the women sighed to see him so
and the men looked at each other
and said
it is good….
in his sonorous voice
the prophet margin spoke
then let me tell you of my childhood
let me tell you of my kind mother
let me tell you about my patient generous father
and my 2 pleasant brothers
and times spent in peaceful lands
how i was never hungry or lonely
how my parents did their best to spare me from lifes cruel barbs
how we had many visitors in our humble abode
and how my father entertained with music n laughter
while my mother graciously prepared and served the food
and how
in those times long gone by
the children would wander further
unafraid of villains or kidnappers…
“for who would kidnap urchins like us
in these golden prosperous times..?”
and he spoke of swimming in lagoons n sea pools
in river mouths and on hotel rooftops
of the white sands of his adopted land
and the rockpools containing entire universes
and holidays in the glorious sun
palm trees and sea breezes
coffee shacks and red sunsets
the cane fields and the storms
the rain the park and other things
childhoods daze
unable to tell real from dream
astral travelling so easily out n gone
over wollongong n port kembla
vividly walking abroad as only spirit
oh the rich worlds only imagination allows us to enter
heroes gods monsters
all are real
always attracted by the strange
always attracted by the weird n eldritch
his imagination became inextricably intertwined with his mind
until i lived half within my own world at all times…
the olde marster stopped and looked around
i still do…..he said
at this there was laughter from his followers
although judas the wag was slinking off to try to betray him
selling him out to the “straights” for 30 cheap laffs
in an internet cafe in sheffield
bon bon was pleased with his answer
and he ventured a second…
the obvious question,
oh aphid in the roses, is this:
when were you most truly sad?
and the olde foole but still coole
answered thus:
the gear my friends
oh thou shalt beware the gear
for the gear is your enemy and will bring you undone
thou shalt not fuck with the gear!
and the mangy panther hissed and spat in disgust!
and his mother came out from the crowd
with her new improved knee
and she pacified her son
saying to the crowd
“cant you see my son needs to rest….?”
and his friend davem said master blaster
there is a large gathering here…
yet i have only 5 rediburgers with me
the saint who is no saint
took the burgers from his dear disciple
and said
aw
they shoulda brought their own bloody food
and then
he thoughtfully took a big bite
mmmm eggless mayonaise…?
delicious!

photos by drofstaw nelg courtesy 2026 inc

you need a method
it might look random to you but you need a method
you dont just slap it all together
you need yer guiding principles
you need to establish n follow yer own method
you need a plan
patience
feel
feel around for the right elements
dont force it
let it come
open up
youve got everything assembled
combine n recombine
one tiny discovery
one new subtlety
one more ambiguity
dont let it say too much
dont let it say nothing
let it call ’em
let it allude to other stuff
let it invoke everything
dont shrink from realism
dont shudder at the bizarre
use your fucking imagination
GO ON!
anyone can do it
everyone can do it
swim around in your mind
revisit yer childhood
before you put the filters on
before you started screening it all out
now be aware
now be aware of the sublime planet you live on
its skies change all day long
its flowers are brilliant
the artwork of mother earth
her beautiful flowers n corals n clouds n canyons
beautiful loving mountains and seas full of glitter n movement
i see great silver whales break the surface of the sea
i see my children busy working with paper n pencils n paint
i see the pale blue sunday sky
i hear the deep silence of sunday morning
a day of rest
a day of soft words n lingering kisses
my mind calls me on
do your yoga
do your paintings
write your blog for those who care
i tremble on the verge of some great discovery
some equation i will soon postulate
i am on the track
i am trying to find the source of all art/music/poetry
yes it all comes from the same place
the very same place
do we doubt that van gogh could have played bass guitar
oh he woulda figgered it out sooner or later
and when he played….ah
me
i’m bringing it all together
i will impose my imagination on this world
i will sow a seed that will grow n grow n grow
the implications of my ideas will flow out n ripple on
they will be a tiny rivulet feeding an endless sea (endless)
i seek to master all my chosen mediums
i seek to be the best in the world at what i do
oh yes i always fall far far short
but that is my goal n occasionally i get it right
according to my own crippling high standards
you see i am critic/artist combined
i am no dumb prodigy
i am cunning
i am knowledge
i am skill
music painting poetry
i will be a master before i die
then i will reincarnate
and that master will become part of my future
something inside me to e’er call on
like i call on the artists inside me to give me aid
like when i let em do the work
get out of the way
they can all play
they sing sweeter than the lark
their fingers run over instruments like dreams
the imaginations come with methods
methods for painting
methods for poetry
methods for recording music
listen to painkiller
theres my method
how to make a masterpiece
on a low budget with some talented friends
kilbey says to tim n william
whatever we do this afternoon will be the songs
no ifs or fucking buts
so
i immediately write outbound
i start to play riff
i dont know whats gonna go on top
i dont worry bout that
i trust in the method
my methods always produce the goods
because i trust that whatever i do will be good
or i wouldnt bloody well do it, would i?
well i do have lapses of taste n judgement
thats what comes with being mercurial
and i am
and thats why you almost love me
i dont brook doubt
i dont brook questioning the method
tim n william never say
what the fuck are you doing?
i have inspired them with confidence
so firmly am i rooted in method
we all believe we will achieve results
oh i have cultivated this sublime touch
been patient for 40 years of strugglin’
with amps n people n audiences
all the things i gotta get right
i gotta sing EXACTLY the right words
I gotta play EXACTLY the right sequence of notes
i aint going for the common denominator
everyone reading this blogge
is a strange n weird “off beat” character
i know you all are
or why would you read me
you are my constituency
you are the ones for whom i do my tricks
i wont be wavering anymore
i will be going for arts jugular
i intend on conquering n mastering singing
i am improving on bass in leaps n bounds of faith
i dig further into myself
and i fucking find everyman there
just like jung said he’d be there
yeah there he is
and through him
my childhood becomes your childhood
in invoking one i evoke the other
and when someone makes that connection
well…
its delicious
it tells us everythings ok
it holds us
it nurses us back to health
thats why the people love their music
thats why the people love their paintings
thats why the people love
i’m not embarrassed by art or my arty talk
i am an authority
i am a self taught fumbling bumbling fool
groping my way to some greatness
the sky will be my limit
the spiritual sky
a deep respect for tradition
and a
fuck tradition!
give me guys like ricky maymi
who act like high performance additives
when mixed in with my fuel
give me polinskis wily ears n deft touch
give me tim to play the stuff i cant do
remember : even i cant be good at everything
i cant ride a surfboard or play the drums!
there
now can i let myself off the hook
drums are alien to me
i’d rather play a fucking harp
i dont do drums
i dont do oils
i dont do a lotta things
set yerself some boundaries
get good at one thing first
dont try gouache n then watercolour then metallic
then pastels then inks then pencils then whatever
everytime it dont work out
choose yer axe n stick to it
dont blame yer fucking tools
dont say
oh i could be an artist if i had my own studio
i was painting in the lounge room till i got my own room
i was pluckin’ a cheap guitar n dreaming of becoming myself
a thousand years ago in lyneham
i was plotting n scheming i was obsessed
i had to fight fight fight
i still gotta fucking fight with this mediocre world
i gotta make records like mimesis n painkiller
because SOMEONE HAS TO !!
i carry the banner for the hippy ideal
FLOWER POWER BAYBEE
SUMMER OF LOVE
WITHIN YOU WITHOUT YOU
this is my starting point
indelibly burnt into my mind
i will forever go over my patch of turf
mining it for wonderful childlike things
that are not cloying
erotic not pornographic
spiritual not new age
when i perform i will give it all
n hope that sweet spirit will fill me with song
when i paint i let the brushes glide so divine
i let the colours swirl in outrageous combinations
just like our lovely mother nature
my songs are wonder and tragedy n nothing n everything
hey im a roman
im a woman
im a madman
im a prophet
im a bewildered kid
im an olde master
i am one hundred arists n singers focussed into one fool
i take all the colours n notes n words there are
i ask humbly for saraswatis blessings
bestow upon me the gifts that will allow me to accomplish this
i will reveal all my methods tho they will not work for you
with a sleight of hand
out of thin air
this is how confident you have to be
like muhammed ali
like dali
like bolan
like johnny lennon
paint the universe
sing the sky
write about the love between my brothers n my sisters
is that enough?

sometimes when i’m painting or making music
i feel like a detective
trying to solve mysteries
and track down the culprit elements
that are making my stuff less than perfect
n lemme tell ya one thing bout getting olde:
your demand on yerself for perfection goes up!
not that you can ever hit it
you cant…just accept that
but try kid try
go that extra distance to get it right
a few days back
encouraged by” natalie in lemurias” reaction
i started on natalie in lemuria 2
i wanted to relive the whole thing
wrong move for a start…why re-do an idea i already did?
i dunno
as i said to get all the attention the first one got
the first one does n doesnt look like my wife
you know
someone can paint ya
get it totally wrong
and still you might love the painting
or they might get it wrong
and you say
fuck this
it dont look like me at all…
on the other ‘and
they might get you right but you may really hate it
or
some people may see the resemblance n grok on
(can you believe “grok” doesnt get the red mis-spell underline!?)
there are infinite reactions to a portrait
portrait painting is difficult n tricky
i know ive botched loads of em
i shudder to think
only starting now to even get reasonably ok
so i started painting from a slightly blurry photo
another bad idea
at least have a good photo to work with
(i like it when they sit…..if they can keep still ;
beware : most sitters can’t !)
but anyway
i did my usual thing
i painted my big sheet of paper black
its like 3 foot by 2 foot
even this simple task is fraught with problems
now ive hadda figure all this malarkey out for meself
i aint no expert n i never had a lesson
but these are things ive deduced
with gouache painting one of the most important things is
getting the paint to go on smoooothly
yes this is not oil painting
you do not wanna slap it on with a trowel n build up texture
you do not want hard dried lumps sticking out like a relief map
that may work for oils or acrylic but not gouache
neither do i want runny olde washes like watercolour
(tho this can be done )
now
each colour in gouache has a slightly different consistency
and each brand too
and if youve had yer paints a while
they tend to go hard in the tube (mr humphries!!)
so with every individual tube you got a variable viscosity
there you foreign readers n sluggish gooseballs
look up the word viscosity in yer funk n wagtails
its a beautiful word…
so you need to add water my lovelies
be careful
some colours will not need any water
lemon yellow
bright orange
maroon n crimson
others like black n white
cobalt blue
purple
they seem to neeed constant watering
keep your brush clean now, class
n pay attention
i used to add water to the paint via the brush
i now add it via a little eye dropper
it makes me feel like a real little scientist
getting my black n white more viscous
then
you gotta mix it up
so all your dollop of paint in your tray
is evenly liquid
too much water
gotta add more paint
beware
the stuff is trying to set all the time
so you can mix it all up
and get a nice lil batch o’ black ready to go
and in 2 minutes its thickening up everywhere
too watery n itll go on as a dirty grey
so painting the sheet of paper black evenly
is no mean feat
it takes about half n hour
then you go back get the patchy bits
then you go back n get the patchy bits from the patchy bits
n wait for the whole thing to dry
(uh ah dont go working on it till its 100% dry, now…!)
then
ah ha
it just occurred to me
that most of you have no interest in this
whatsoever
and are hoping i was gonna write about my bass playing x-ploits
BITE MY EASEL !
anyway
i got nks pic up
i got my dry black painted 6 square feet of blackness
i start the way i started the 1st one
apply white pastel with a sponge
approximate the shape of her face
then i subtract with the soft eraser
building up again if i go too far
i battled n battled n battled
i never got it right
i added nose n eyes n mouth n hair
there was something i had missed
i went over it n over it
the bits individually were ok
but it wasnt adding up to nk
it was just a stranger on the paper
i struggled n i struggled
like an art detective i went over it again
but i could never figger it out
the eyes were always too far up the face
the chin was too big
the nose was too long
whatever
i just couldnt get it right
nk was not jazzed with it either
so after 4 days of frustration
i painted over it again black
nk when she saw that: have you abandoned me?
i put up a mirror
n i started a self portrait
build up a mass of white on the black
then i start to subtract away at it
like a block of marble
anyway
i put some music on
i groove to some cool sounds
and i go off into spatial relationship world
i fiddle around ..half on half off
people ring up n i have conversations as i work on myself
(its no fun looking in the mirror when yer 54
but you gotta get over that n paint what you see)
i dont concentrate half as much as when i was doing nk 2
and that turns out to be good thing
i put pale blue eyes in
over the black holes my eraser had excavated in the pastel
i put the pastel on roughly n dont smooth it out
it forms weird patterns in the eyes
the eyes i work on for ages
eventually i snap out of it
and i got a really good pair of eyes
implying everything eyes should
i paint the pupils in… a little black dot
anyway
its going really well
the beard has a new texture
the jungle around is purple n red n crimson
looking more ornamental than real
but i like the effect
i was right to stop work on the one i couldnt get right
this one is one of my best ever ever
i’m gonna savour finishing it
there was so much i was gonna tell you
about the different brushes
and the pastel on the “tooth” of the page
and about perspective n shadow
n the secret to complete success
(as if i’d know!)
but ive run out of shoulders
another time
another blogge
aloha! ha!

this incredibly bizarre world
this mixed up ball of confusion
humanity……?!
what hope is there but rocknroll….?
sanity will not prevail …..no
we will all disappear so it must be ok, right?
steve kilbey has gone mad n abdicated
ive been left in charge here till he returns
but i’m a clever counterfeiter
so maybe you wont notice anything
maybe i’ll slip up
in my world
a bunch of hindu indians
trying to find a passage to italy
(you see they were hooked on gnocchi)
accidentally arrived in america
and in a naive hopeful stupid way
began calling the natives there
” italians”
(though there was no cafes anywhere)
so nowadays in my world
if someone says oh the italians did such n such
you ask
the italian italians or the american italians…?
although you should no longer use the word italian
to describe an american italian
we now call them the lasagne peoples
although they themselves prefer the term
the original occupants…
in my world ….
ah it sounds ridiculous
my world this
my world that
by the way are you enjoying my impersonation
of your erstwhile idle idol…?
olde kilb-eye
a classic case of the jumbles
hes madder than you think
madder than a lake
(thats an art joke for the ohions)
you mean youre paying him to write this bilge?
i mean this counterfeit bilge naturally
i mean i cant be kilbey
because he is mad
and i am not
am not am not am knot
why did you do it?
i wanted to
what did he do?
everything
what will he do next?
everything else
a mad olde fool
a classic mad olde foole with a beard
much lavish self description
an egocentricity bordering on the futile
or infantile
or some other flashy word which means something vague
kilbey got you out-manoeuvred with vocabulary
only nick cave-in knows more words
and maybe someone else
but kilbey can trot out words like fulcrum
which he juxtaposes with some unlikely word… say love
then uses a strange pre position
and you get
(french exclamation!)
voila
fulcrum beyond love
or
love within fulcrum
or
love fulcrum without
can you see how this is done?
now if i told you my new solo album
was called love fulcrum without (and it is)….
in my world painkiller has gone platynum
it was heralded as a true work of genius
and outbound was played at the olimpic games
a lasagne from america won 4 golde oscars n a silver roger
a bohemian yodeller took out the big prize
a week at the crouton institute in maine
and a drawer in the next australian cabinet
now do you think kilbey would write something like that?
are you sensing the difference between us now?
in my world i drive a panther x-type that runs on steam
the steam has anti-ageing properties (with ocean glimpses)
my car has bucket seats in spades
it has a white diamond dispenser (di spencer?)
it has a octophonic sound system that pacifies yer quivering cilia
it has talking ashtrays and touch responsive manny folds
baybee my car can reach the middle ages in no time flat
and some time hilly
and summertime when the livin’ is so e-z
and yer mamas rich
n yer daddys good lookin
n yer lookin’ for a place to spend the nite
in my world the wag from sheffield is funny
and sheffield is on the sea with palm trees n bikini clad buildings
whilst bondi is a grey blur of railroads n cups of chip butties
in my world davem is lead bass guitarist in $%#
and they just won the mercury prize and the mont de venus
and the sheffield auxiliary wag flower committee award
and the smiths formed in 1982 after seeing the leadmill play at
the church
until johnny marred ’em
that helped maurice see
then their biggest album
the queen is murder( went to numb her juan)
in my world bobo n the hedge are roadies for john foxx
who just sold out wimbledom
and michael stype is a clerical assistant
and peter buck is a kind of deflation
that causes yoghurt to fly around on airoplains
and robbie williams is hedging prunes
my world this
my world that
where paintings paint people
where music is seen under a certain light
where a faux kilbey can be finally ‘appy
where andrew eldritch is on the 100 dollar notes
where andre breton coaches the metaphysics kids on tuesdays
where elton john works in a pie shop selling puddings
and george michael designs urinals
(please dont throw your cigarettes in here: they become soggy
and hard to light!)
and the cinemas and galleries and bars and museums are
stuffed full of ME!!!!
me everywhere
my conversations
my anxieties
my triumphs
my wag
my eek
my comments
my internet
my oh my
yes the future is ME!!!
so get ready now
me me me
buy some try some cry some hand some
we’re all gonna rock to the rules that i make
sang vincent furnier
but i dont see much rockin’ on the golf war…
the kids are wolfing down popol vuh
and have you tried fruity rings yet?
try ME!!@blogspot.burp
check out my prod-caste (the lazy debils)
hook me up with grating new fruity ring tones
and win a price in the blottery
kilbey now available in olive gream
post no bills
star f only
no blog beyond this point

f

obviously it is not my field of expertise
but was very pleased to see obama win u.s. elexion
he SEEMS like a very decent kinda bloke
and his academic record (yawn) is blah blah blah
(what the hell wood i know?)
still
i fear for his life
knowing his death would instantly trigger a kind of civil war
and already reading the white nazi idiots reactions
weve got those imbeciles in every country
uh huh
they definitely got em here…witness cronulla riots
they definitely got loads of em in england
they even got em in scandinavia
where some old school vikings
would like to chuck out all the forbannad svartskulls
(accursed black heads)
you know
will fucking humanity ever get over this thing?
will dogs n cats ever forgive each other
or is it just all part of the obstacle course
that is life on earth…?
in my last life
as you recall
under hypnosis
i was an indian bloke, a sikh hating the english
for what they had done to india
hating the bloody english defined me
as i died i was still obsessed with my hatred
so what did i appear as
but a white puny little english git
the very thing i despised the most
einsteins 13th law :you always become what you hate
(just watch that principle in action, folkss!)
so i kinda feel like i should know
this race thing is a temporary thing
just a one more thing to create friction/diversity down here
one more thing to get over before you move on
the goals change all the time
you gotta adjust
you gotta perceive
you gotta move on
when i was a kid
a mere 50 years ago
my favourite sweets were licorice “cigarettes”
they came in a packet like a ciggy box(another BAD idea)
and the brand name : nigger boy
complete with the most horrific little drawing of that boy
with all the racial exaggerations you can imagine
there was a show on telly as late as the early seventies
the black n white minstrels
the white minstrels were caucasian ladies
the black minstrels were white blokes with boot polish
on their faces complete with big lips n big white eyes
it was so fucking weird
but it had been on telly ever since i could remember
singing songs like
way down upon the swannee river etc
is this racism?
or some trad jazz tradition…?
i’m a bit confused as to what this shows intentions were
i’m sure its on you tube somewhere
this incredible world with all its shameful secrets…
the unbelievable capacity we have to hate n fear each other
ridicule each other because of this n that
i know…IVE DONE IT TOO
havent you?
anyway
no matter how much we like barry obama
theres a whole loada klansmen n stuff
who surely will not
and feeling like this will bring on the armageddon they crave
so
one would imagine someone somewhere is gonna try n
put in a fix on him
its naive to believe it aint so
tho i pray n wish that it might not happen
because if mr obama is as much as hurt
it will surely bring on the long american night
secondly
i’m thinking that maybe we had to have bush
so we could have obama (ying n yang?)
yes i say WE
because
whoever america elects
the rest of us have to fucking suffer
( if n when theyre turkeys…)
its not like u.s. presidents keep to themselves
after world war 2 the u.s. has monkeyed around with this world
often with the most gruesome bloodthirsty results
epitomized by vietnam
a useless war which was totally unnecessary
which took an incredible toll on women n children n civilians
just think of all the residents of hanoi
bombed night after night after fucking night
burning n screaming n hideously mutilated
it was that same olde pack of white protestant anglo saxon gits
the olde geezers who dont fight themselves
but happy to get loads of others killed
bush n cheney the modern ones
back then we had lbj
n bob menzies in aust
old school belligerent numbskulls
go to some place where ya not wanted
n kill the locals
who have different skin/customs/religion
why doesnt everyone just stay put?
if everyone stayed at home theyre be no fucking wars
no one ever wins
the losers lose
the winners lose
the onlookers lose…
where am i going with this
well i just hope old obama doesnt get pushed into malarkey
by all the others
the generals n halliburton n cia n illuminati n whoever else
keeps thinking up reasons to get more people killed
is the president able to resist such pressure?
is that what got jfk killed?
i’d say yeah…n a few other things
so baracks got a big mess to clean up
will they let him do it?
ok call me a dunce
but i dont understand this:
you can spend one bazillion bucks a day on subjugating iraq
but you cant afford health care for the poor
or to fix up the levies in new orleans…
can someone explain that fucking bullshit?
if my kids get sick
i take em to local quack
he sees em
no money even changes hands
surely the u.s. could afford that
most countries got that…why not the u.s.?
will “they” let obama sort this out?
and if not…why not?
another thing
i was dismayed to hear obama using all that american jingoism
that the rest of the world hates so much
and which has indeed proved dangerous to our hopes of peace
mccain was hitting the same old AMERICA stuff
during his extraordinarily gracious concession speech…
when will these guys realise that a patriot
is someone who believes his country is the best
merely because he was born there….
drop the star spangled banner routine boys
thats what the rest of the world DONT want
all that john wayne my country right or wrong tripe
and george w “we’ll smoke em out!”
hey its 2008
those days are over
hopefully barack obama signifies an end to the cowboy era
and a new day can dawn of the intellectual urbane president
one whos on everybodys side
a peace loving man whos gonna heal some of those scars
me
i love america
have you been there?
its got the BEST n the WORST
my wife is american
eve n aurora are american
i got a huge vested interest in this
i’m tired of fuckin’ kneejerk anti-americanism
but
i’m tired of the old school cowboys n their ‘orrible wars
please
mr obama
dont get shot
heal the rifts
sort out the poor
fix up new orleans
n
make sure i get my next entry visa
i’m really sorry for what i did in 1999 in nyc
and i’m now completely norbal (again)

footnote
joe biden was mates with natalies uncle gary who died recently
gary was an active democrat in delaware at all the functions
how sad that he never got to see this happen
n
just think
the time being woulda had a contact in the whitehouse
ok
now people
lets make this happen now for barry!

same olde dreamy
flying cautiously thru the air
i turn up my palms and i soar
soar thru my continuum dreams
where my mother runs a nightclub
and the band i’m in are always on a plane
or checking in to some strange motel
or my whole family are with me
in scandinavia or s.carolina
or howe the hell would i know
and just like in real life
i struggle struggle struggle against a contrary world
elation n indifference
trying to prove i’m innocent to someone
trying to negotiate complicated rules my mind cant follow
trying to decide
trying to cope
always something niggle niggle niggle
higgledy piggeldy
i wriggle away from redtape like an eel
hot n bothered
trick questions a’plenty
hoops n coops
boxes to tick
forms to fill in
i never get around to it
always way behind in spades
weary dreary and teary
i blame drugs
i blame pressure
i blame the years
i blame everyone of you
i blame the stupid things i say
i blame fame and the lack of it
i blame the second rate pricks who always do well
i blame my patrician face and my freckled skin
i blame war and disasters
i blame my over imagination
i sit at the table with miha my new friend
he looks like a slavic king from 1476
with his sandy prince valiant do
and his scanty little beard
his deep blue eyes are piercing
his body is tanned n almost perfect
as he lifts his shirt
and shows us the scar that runs from his chest
past his belly button n down
miha at 33 has licked the big C
some fucking monstrous tumour putting the squeeze on his guts
hes learned some things battling the disease
he can rise out of his body at will
he can withstand great pain
he is christlike in his composure
his blue eyes rest on me benevolently
at first i thought he was a hippy bum like me
but one day he turns up dressed to the nines
in a pierre de la ponce suit
wow they say clothes maketh the man
but this guy looks very smart in his black threads
he seems to have a hundred jobs i dont understand
setting things up
sailing boats
making films for installations
some people its better to not to try to understand them
its easier that way
let them be poems instead of articles
let them be songs instead of equations
he says hes gonna find out about a lot of things
before hes done down here
from most people that would sound hollow
and i would prob’ly scoff
but miha has the genuine ring of authenticity
his gaze takes a lot in
i can see that
you could play king wenceslas if they ever do a version.. i say
i could really see him with a silver crown n chain mail armour
or am i dreaming all this up again
steve roaches dream circle pulsates in background
natalie in lemuria 2 sits on my big new easel
my ears are ringing
nk looks for election results in the u.s. but finds only soccer
i hate fucking soccer
the endless construction in sydneys eastern suburbs starts up
they continue to knock down little family houses
n put up “modern” looking blocks o’ flats
that’ll be eyesores in twenny years time
up go the cranes
up go the bricks
down come the bleedin’ ‘ammers again n again n again
the radios come on playing the worst rubbish
the blokes yell out to each other in “colourful” language
the lorries n vans clog the streets
theres sand n bits of wood everywhere
cement trucks queue on the corner
sloshing round the liquid blecchh
the porta loos reek
and the racket goes on 6 days a week
meanwhile the n bondi sky is filled with
good n bad minor birds
magpies
pee wees
pigeons (i hate fucking pigeons)
sea gulls
pair o’ keats
starlings
sparrows
willy wagtails
cock or twos screeching n careening abaht
kook-a-burras
crows (of course)
ravens(can ya tell the difference?)
and occaisionally you see
some birds of prey high up in the either
snatchin’ un-fort-u-nate vik-tims outta the heir
say la vee
n
kay sir rah
n
et stra
n. bondi is amazingly picture-esk
its surrounded by hills full of lovely trees n houses
the flowers bloom intensely
their colours are all outrageous
and every one is reaffirmation of the existence of olde godly
who is one fucking hell of an artist
wow even when ya look up close ya cant tell how hes done it
and some of the flowers smell good to boot
and some little yappy dogs are good to boot too
(tho i’d never dream of eating em)
guess you think i’m a brute with my talk of boot
yeah i am
a poet n a brute
and you thought they didnt make that model anymore?
but just like (insert fave poet here)
i am too fucking bloody subtle for the hoi polloi
and they cannot grok my groovy message
so i write poems about atlantis
and my readers tell me to cheer up
oh ha ha ha
next
cortez n the azz-tex (the happy version)
the punic wars with sad bits left out
attila the hun…the less heralded genius of..
the lighter side of melancholy
etc
etc
puh-leeze
meanwhile in n bondi
the birds tweety tweety
the machines bangedi bang
the cars rev rev rev
the buses groany moany
schoolkids sigh
ants scuttle
cockroaches hide
rats piss
mice squeak
bees buzz on their busy bizness
fuck i dont know
the sun comes feebly n tentatively out
the clouds form a hazy patina like in italy
the houses gleam in the sun
scarlet squeals n shrieks somewhere in the house
all around me is the debris of art
paper pastels pastel dust
paints dried up paints pencils scissors brushes
leads plugs earphones cans of spray sponges
applicators wrappers lids plectrums lighters papers
bottles of stuff
rollers tubes buckets pots boxes sketches packets
clips tape easels paintings frames masks books
cds dvds material fake n real plants
etc etc etc
a still morning outside
it will never come again
carpe fucking diem!