The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

meanwhile back in canberra act
i have finally learned to play the bass
i steal my mothers triumph herald and go off driving
i pick up some girls and give them a lift
we go round their house where their mummy is out
and i’m kissing them both
the year is 1973
i’m a lanky skinny devil with freckles
and long bloody hair
i already wrote bel air the other night
and i travelled in the astral above this town
peering and leering down at all the carryings on
i walk thru walls
i appear in the hall
i take long lonely drives into canberras ample hinterland
and i walk beneath the pines on mt stromlo
i sold my violin bass
and now i have a burns baldwin
a big hollow bodied stupid thing
i play with a schlocky cabaret band
and i earn good money
we drive down the coast and play at some places down there
during the drive
the rain is so furious
and the ford anglia we are driving in
has non functioni windscreen wipers
so hugh jumps out
with a potato cut in half
and rubs it all over the windscreen
the stuff in the potato is supposed to repel the water
this might be a good trick in old blightys drizzle
but up the top of the clyde mountain
in a summertime gale
visibility remains close to zero
we stay in some dreary motel
we play at night in the clubs n bars
cranking out the same old tripe
listening to the singer cracking the same old gags
we had the music all written out in chords
and we’d just play along
the singers voice was quite pleasant
and we got paid well
i got time
to think about the music i was playing
why it worked
and
why it didnt
during the long grey days
i wandered the coast
stopping in to tiny towns and having a milkshake
or drifting on lonely rivers at dusk
everything was overloaded with significance
then as now as always as usual
each twig on every tree
each stick of grass
each shadow of a nest
each empty bottle on the side of the road
each sunset in pinkish clouds
each sickle moon cleaving through the oceanic fogs
each person i see
i imagine/intuit/daydream their story
its all falling in on me at once
i talk too much so i spend most time alone
girls are attracted by my looks
but my chattering reveals me as an idiot
strangely enough
i cant play the guitar at all
only the bass
i sometimes find myself somewhere
round a campfire
or at a party
someone thrusts their nylon string yamaha geetar in my hands
and says
oh kilbo can play
hes in a band you know…
but ha ha
im left holding the baby
when i can do nothing at all
i have strange genuine psychic adventures
for example
once an entire room full of people froze
but only i could see it
for a few split seconds
and then…
but only me
only i saw it
the guy playing the organ in the group
is what was called in those days a sex maniac
it was all he ever talked of
or made jokes about
he was only 23
he seemed a hundred to me
such was the gulf that separated me from the others
he also knew obscene phrases
in other languages
which we would liberally sprinkle the show with
gee i’m sure it was really funny too
i drink scotch n coke sometimes and smoke cigs
i play poker machines
and buy magazines with pictures of naked women
i drink vanilla milkshakes and i eat 50 cents worth of chips
i listen to the radio
i watch english comedy shows on a tv with 2 bnw channels
i tend to my 3 pimples
i spend much time looking at myself in the mirror
i can already see the wrinkles and bags forming on my face
my teeth are already an off-white
my hair not as thick n lustrous as i hoped
i want to be someone else
some composite palooka
everynight
carrying my fucking great big amp up some stairs
getting told to always turn down
standing in the background
plunking away on
a stupid song
boom boom boom

q : why are we on this earth ?
a : love is what we came here for

i sit in my room practicing on my bass guitar
the first night i got it home
i just sat there looking at it
my kind n lovely olde dad has bought it for me
oh i had to nag nag nagged em for a bass guitar
bass guitar was driving me out of my mind
i listened to records i could hear this thing underneath it all
when it suddenly ran up into the high registers
i got really excited
i sit down cross legged on the floor
its raining outside
i’m trying to play something
look
i’m getting nowhere….
i pick it up and play with it
but it might as well be a novel in chinese for all the good it does
plonk plonk plonk
i bore myself as i pluck the strings
i dont know nothing at all
i’m sitting there
when a spirit appears in my room
jesus i’m scared
the spirit materialises somewhat
like an olde man
he takes the bass from me
play it like this he says
his fingers glide over my cheap aria violin bass
he slurs slides taps fondles tickles pulls beats slaps it
the low end throbs
the middle pulsates
the high sings
he hands it back to me
plunk plonk…no …nothing
again the spirit plays a cool run
and then
i try again
no nothing
let me in says the apparition
let me guide your hands
this is all true
all i need is your complicity
he said
well yes
i wanted to play like that
i wanted to be on those intimate terms with my bass
i wanted my fingers to glide o’er the strings like a cool breeze
i wanted to get to the bottom of all music
i wanted to make all the good bits shake
i wanted to dive deeper
i wanted to be able to …….
i didnt know what it exactly was i wanted
but i didnt want to wait that long to find out..
the spirit played a few more phrases
his fingers were a blur of movement
oh it was so much better than a lead guitar
my bass was talking to me
crooning me spells under the spirits vague fingering
singing a song of distant india where i once lived
or a rainy night in a little beach shack
where me n aurora are sitting in the candle light talking
who is aurora?
aurora your gentlest childe
now grown up
she comes to visit you in your shack
by the sea
where you paint paint paint
the rest of your life away
trying to paint the mystery of death while youre still alive
so this is my aurora
she was the…
she was the roamin’ goddess of the dawn
sings the strings in my heart
aurora what you doing here? i ask
the bass takes my phrase
takes it and plays it back to me as music
au-ror-a…whatchoo dooing here…
the spirit ceased to pluck on my bass
and as the final notes faded
i became aware of the insistent rain falling on canberra
i thought of my girlfriend lying in her room full of sisters
i thought about the kids at school all sleeping in their beds
or doing homework in the light of a lamp
or watching the black n white shadows of tv
the spirit asked
do you want this?
yes i want it i said and we merged
the spirit inside me felt quite comfortable
we seemed to overlap in some respects
this was all true
did you ever believe me until…
the only real problem was me just turned sweet sixteen
and the spirit was an old olde man in his fifties or sixties
and you know
he had his appetites…
he marched me out of the house
we collected 14 dollars and 85 cents that dad had left
on the telephone table
and we walked down the road to the rex
inside the rex
the spirit marched me up to the bar
give me a shot of vermouth! i said
though i had no idea what that might actually be
aint you a little young to be drinking , son?
i grabbed the bartender
and i pulled him to me
i said
i said a shot of vermouth , sunshine…!
he returned with my drink
i paid him n told him to piss off
some cabaret band were playing
the bass player was a hopeless clumsy sausage fingered fool
against my will
i walked to the little stage
i grabbed the bass off the clown
i thrust him aside
and brandished a fist
when he tried to squabble with me
i punched him in the nose and he backed off moaning
lets play i told the band
they struck up some old stupid song
it was 1970 remember
this is all true somewhere
they played close to you by the carpenters
then played ride captain ride by the blues image
ride captain ride upon your mystery trip
i blazed on the bass
wowee with a relatively big amplifier
(a strauss 100 watts)
and a nicer bass
(a fender telecaster copy)
i let loose a storm of bass notes
i pumped down low
i sang up high
both at the same time
the pumping nature of the low end
was so seditious and lowdown dirty
the women in the room swivelled on their barstools
and focussed their attention elsewhere
suddenly distracted
whilst the high end was singing to them
of distant india
where we all have once lived
and of lovely islands set down in tranquil azure
and of long warm nights in trueloves embrace
suddenly the spirit became bored
he set the bass down
we strolled out
into the lonely canberran night
my fingers itched
the liquor was burning my delicate guts
the tobacco was scorching my throat
it was still raining though
so theres continuity for you

wasted days
wasted nights
where would i be without my painkiller
the sun fizzles in the morning sky like a coward
the grey comes rolling in
a man playing a fender mustang with black eyes
a black man playing a fender with mustang eyes
the source of all music
the gap in reason from which music haemorrhages
the clown in me does his routine
i live it
i am
i am
i am
the mechanism is complicated
the results are unpredictable
i work down a little hole in the sidewalk
danger : poet at work
i get a job delivering babies
i just put my walkmen on and push em thru the letterboxes
i get a job flying plains
and after that
rolling hills
and i meet some woman who took me to her valley
kissed my eyes open in raw daylight
i was unfazed and unphased and undismayed
the people surrounded me
what are you they said
i said i’m the most in the least
i said i’m white hippy moses show me your red sea
why…he’s an old man spat out some arrogant youth
silence! …ordered their witch-chief..
i will interrogate this fool..
i was pushed into a foetid darkness
the witch-chief was inside waiting
lets see if this white man can sing the blues called the crowd
lets see if this white man can jump.. catcalled others
is it a crime to be an olde white man..? i screamed at them
and then i saw them clearly
the indians
the natives
the aborigines
the islanders
the lapps
the inuits
the aztecs
the inca
the mayans
the zulus
this was my audience
and all of them female
and all of them beautiful young fierce proud
you..! they silently thought
you……
sing us a song then …someone called deep in the auditorium
in my audience of opposites
what could i sing to you …i whispered in the microphone
which version of me is it i ? i thought to myself
but i caught sight of myself in the screens
and it was the olde tired me
whiter than white
older than olde
masculine in everyway
my lined and planed face
my bristling white beard
my thin wispy hair
my frowning eyebrows
my smirking mouth
my chipped olde teeth
my grey blue eyes like a dull afternoon
sing then…someone shouted
i need a guitar i said into the microphone
a roadie with dreadlocks scurried on
she handed me a plectrum
and scampered back off
i stepped up to the microphone
testing testing ha ha
i strummed the guitar
it was beautiful
it was delicate
it was loud
delicious echoes of violins trailed from its starburst
i strummed a few chords…but what to play
what song to play to my audience of opposites
young dark female
young…..?
i had been young once…but….
i had never regretted being so olde as now
here among the glorious flawless perfection of youth
youth youth that fleeing ungraspable shadow
that brief flash before the long lonely night of death
i searched my heart
for something youthful
but i found only ages strangely numbing contentment
i saw their brown and black and tawny and olive skins
their perfect flesh
not changing with freckles and sunburn and age
not green with envy or pale as a ghost
not redder then a beetroot
i felt bleached
i felt whited out
white through and through
i knew nothing of any others
they frightened me
their unexplained rituals and exuberances shocked me
trapped within my zeitgeist
i ate white bread
i drank white milk
i listened to white music
i had white walls
which had white ants
i loved white chocolate
and white women
my world was a one dimensional blizzard of white
and then thirdly female
yes
but surely
what….?
no
what do i know of childbirth
of the maternal longing rooted deep like brainwashing
monthly courses fucking me up with its malarkey
the brutality of men who save it for women
what do i know of the rapist
the drunken violent father
the murderous husband
the crazy jealous ex-lover
the jeers and whistles and insults
the pressure
the seductions and betrayals
of none of this can i sing
when will you sing demand the young women
he can only sing olde white manly songs they taunted
listen i said
and my voice reverberated around the hall
and i was aware of how olde how male how white it was
just like all the great villains of history
olde white men the lot of em
listen i said into the microphone
in my softest female voice
which was still a croaky thing
listen to me
inside myself
i am not white or olde or male
you are not young or black or woman
they sang in their one thousand languages
i am not guilty i sang
neither are you innocent sang their voices
i had been strumming a kind of g chord
leaving my forth and fifth fingers in place
i dropped the bass note down to an f#
the song felt as if it were sliding away from under us
just like the honeymoon they wait for you to score
i sang
just like the animals they leave outside the door
they girls sang back in all their dialects
just like a welcome mat you lay down on the floor
just like a law for the rich
and a prison for the poor
i was getting thru maybe
i started playing a t rex song
love you oh girl i do love you
it was 1970 on a long winters day
i come home from school and switch on the oil heater
mums gone to england
and dad wont be home from work for ages and ages
and the house seems dark and unfamiliar
i see myself so unsure and hesitant
everything was within me waiting to flower
but look at me here
slim indeed
a chestless bit of a kid
with a prince valiant hairdo
plus nascent side-burns and…
(i am suddenly interrupted)
muse : what about that audience of opposites
the audience of opposites…oh…ah…
… dressed in a flannelette shirt n white cord levis
someone
has left a record here by a group called spirit
the drummer is a real old totally bald guy
like peter garrett forty years ago
there is a song called i got a line on you
what does that mean
i puzzle in the darkness
i got a line on you?

ive had that horrible song in my head
that one about sally
jesus, sally is a horrible name too
unless your sally forth…
you know
theres so much of little value out there
you can imagine how the philistine dross
burns the delicate sensibilities of someone like moi
i get to the pool
a guy there is telling me how his 9 year old son has formed a school band
theyre playing oasis songs he says
why? i say (shocked by the sink-ronicity)
because theyre easy and simple to play
(exactly)
and the kids understand the words
(i’m sure they do)
and they have a great singalong factor
(just like baah baah blacksheep)
you should see them he says
dont think i will be attending, though unfortunately…
i have been always been naive and cynical simultaneously
which are 2 nasty traits in a man
but as parallel personality defects
they are truly abysmal
which is why i dont have any friends
because im stupid and smart at once
who can tolerate that?
i am at once incredibly cruel and incredibly kind
i make every individual in the room the subject of my disinterest
look i love and loathe myself in equal measures
dont you?
(actually steve, more people choosing the loathe option)
thats ok
i have met many people
who loved me so much that….yes…
they had begun to loathe…
and of course…
you guessed it
as usual
there were those who came to loathe
but ended up buried deep in love
i love to sit in my high lonely tower
sending down my bitter and envious yet truthful bile
theres a guy whose music i loathe so much
i would rather listen to liam sing a sarah maglockwin song
than abide one second of his puddingy syrup
hes a local guy
hes doing 2 sold out nights at a lovely venue with orch
god wouldnt i rather be swanning around on that stage
dressed in a tux
crooning a few numbers
and cleaning up the bucks
rather than bashing it out
with my crew of evil wasted rockers
in some beer soaked bunker at a million decibels
prob’ly to 50 people and making 5 dollars petrol money
am i envious of this geezer?
well of course i am
but one note of his music or voice
makes me feel so restlessly compelled
to escape its vicinity
lest my poor sensibilities
drown in a mawkish quagmire of sickly goo
ha ha
i was sitting in the car waiting for my kids
and this big islander guy i know approaches me
hey he says
you like rock music dontcha? he says
eeeerrr that depends…i say
he says
dya want this ?
and he thrusts a copy of a free cd of said geezer
that the local rag had given away one sunday
i dont fucking want that ..i hiss at the guy
i dont fucking want it either says the guy
well dont fucking give it to me ..i say
i thought you fucking liked rock music ..says the guy
i do….and that aint it…i say
well you know i like rap and i fucking hate this ..he says
have you listened to it..i say trying to push it back in his hand
the guy sneers …accidentally…he says
he seems lost for words
i fucking hate music like that
we bicker over the ownership of the record for a while
i needed him to know
that before i accepted and destroyed this platter of noxious tripe
that this was not what we rockers listen to
particularly in view of the raquet painkiller is making
he seemed to think that me being a rocker
this music was falling under my umbrella
when in truth its more like a mix of
the captain n tenille
meets barry manilow
after hes just consumed 8 buckets of fairy floss
the rapper dude wasnt buying it
and finally with a menacing look
he threw the radioactive bit of schmaltz into my car and legged it
there it was
sitting accusingly on my dashboard
the kids hadnt come out yet
i timidly plucked it from its sleeve
stuck it in the cd player
and was just beginning to recoil in horror
when the door opened n a friend jumped in
what ya list’ning to , killer ? he asks
and then
oh
oh no
you dont think i was listening to this…
i was just…
i was just…
my friend gets out
backing away from the car horrified
at what he’d heard in my car
no no
you dont understand ..i miserably wailed
its not….

on the painkiller front
we rehearsed again yesterday
the painkiller crew are mean n desperate rockers
the volume was incendiary
the rock was turned up to 11 n a half
maymi was scorching and blistering
von ryper droned and strummed
bowden tuned in alien magnetic dustdevils
powles pounded and pummelled
i throbbed and ranted
exceeding all possible preconceptions
painkiller is now a living band
full of cut throat violent rock n roll hoodlums
ready to take no quarters and
give no prisoner
listening to us
is shirley the antidote
A FIX FOR A WORLD IN PAIN
PAINKILLER
ONLY >>>
a few days left…!!!!!!

guaranteed no fucking syruppy schlopp!

to tell you the truth
i dont know what im gonna write today
i feel disgruntled by myself
tired of my tricks
and unable to surprise myself
it is hard to surprise oneself
and its no wonder really
nevertheless i would like to give myself a little surprise
or get me something nice for my birthday
at time of writing i had only about 12 comments
on yessadays blog… and a load of them had been deleted…
it saddens me to have to turn off the anons
i dont like censorship much
but i never foresaw that some loony would be terrorizing me
at this ripe old age
just for writing a blog
its funny seeing people come n go
i must admit i sometimes regret the whole carny-voor schism
god…
its funny
its hilarious
the politics of running this thing
all the stupid things ive done on here
plus
all the sublime masterpieces
im sorry to be big headed (just one more time)
but tell me please
apart from maybe sam sejavka..
are there any other killers out there
knocking out this shemozzle EVERY day…?
i sit down every day and i come up with something…
big deal killer…..most of it raving on about yerself
isnt egomania a funny thing…?
i was out at tims studio lassanite
re-hursing agonydead’ner
when i was rolling a joint on top of an old music rag
theres liam gallagher…jesus christ….
he stands there with his hands behind his back
singing like a slightly simple boy doing the school anthem
the lyrics are mostly sing-song bilge he didnt even write
his voice is a real one trick pony
he invests the songs with no emotion other than a sneer
(but how could you really…i suppose…?)
and when he does write a song…….
its that one called little james which is so maudlin n twee
that if winnie the pooh sang it to piglet he’d vomit…
and yet this is a tough guy…
and he comes up with
“so play with your toys…though they make noise”
the cleverest thing about liam
is that he refused to sing that absolute stinker
dont look back in anger
gee what an original title….
stick dont in front of another title..et voila
dont catcher in the rye
dont sparkle in the rain , little james
dont get back
dont midsummers night dream
dont stand on the shoulders of midgets
anyway
that bit about telling sally to wait
makes me cringe and want to be anything but a songwriter
because i wonder if my songs ever revile people
in their sheer mediocrity
the way that particular turkey does me
yet
it sold bazillions
its a show stopper
noelle unwraps it triumphantly each night
right near the end
and people go nuts n singalong
and i must be going crazy
its goddamned so awful
its so mundane
its so meaningless in its realest sense
it means nothing
its like mass hypnosis
please someone out there concur with this…?!
anyway in said mag
liam says stuff like
the whole worlds jealous of me…they should be…”
ok in some ways its true…
we do envy your money
and we do envy your success maybe
i certainly envy the clever way you have parlayed
a very small modicum of talent into a stadium sized career
but there you go
a zillion people will eat at mcdonalds tonight
but my fave little veg place closed down….
its the philistine factor
on the other hand
it is perfectly likely
that i could echo liams arrogant words
about myself in some stupid rant
(remember the best songwriter in australia? ha ha)
and well us egotists n egoists
we forgive it in ourselves
but i think liam is not quite right that people are jealous of him
if you asked people who they would rather be
how many would say liam gallagher
youd pick someone with money AND intelligence, wouldnt you..?
like dylan or sir paul
or i dunno
insert someone with money n intelligence here..
dont put me because i have neither
its terrible
but i hate so much music
i always have
i used to hate credence clearwater at school
but i dont mind em now
i used to hate slade
i never really liked that yobbo thing that much
but all the kids at school loved em
i didnt like the blues or country
i didnt like heavy or west coast
i didnt like much prog or folk
im a picky finicky bloke
i dont really like my own stuff that much really
i’m disappointed sometimes it isnt any better
but no one it seems
is on all the time…
i saw” i’m not there” with our cate as bob
and
i’d recommend it to any dylan fan
kinda explores some similar avenues as this blog actually
in another kinda way though
you should see it..
last night rehearsing with stellar crew
ricki rene maymi on guitar
maymi is master of all instruments and jack of none
he is bringing painkiller guitar parts alive
on his gibb-sun 13 string nipple red guitar
joining him
is the man
with the best hair in rock music
scott von ryper from the black ryder
whose jet black locks thickness n sheen
would be the envy of any rocker extant
hes playing twelve string acoustico plus
on keys n radiotronics william bowden
a true master of time n space
who also masters records
on drums timbo powles
who kneads no intro-ductions
simon polinski will mix us on the nite
oh do please come if you can
cos this is painkillers first last n only show prob’ly ever
so pawn your grannies silverware to get there
it will be a good night
10 sept somewhere in sydney

i was recording “undine”
when dad and kathy dropped into the studio
that was when we used to record up on merlin street
not far from the olde mercury towers building
i was just putting the final vocal touches to the title track
i was singing in the darkened booth
sipping occasionally on a glass of johnny walker scotch (silver label)
and puffing on the ever-present weed
my voice was strained and sore
it hurt my throat to go for the high notes
i was singing low and husky
i saw dad first
he was talking to john b the engineer
i could see dad was making john laugh at the console
then i saw kathy
she was peeping shyly round the door in the recording room
there she was as bright as a button as always
we hadnt seen each other for so long now
not since i became quite famous
and i got stories written about me in the newspaper
we had both changed
both of us now were taller and gaunter
are you identical twins ? stupid people had asked us now n then
how can a boy n girl be identical? we’d ask back at the same time
and then face each other
roll our two sets of grey-blue eyes
and storm off
we were friends and twins and brother n sister
we played our own complex games
we had our own language
only dad was allowed in our world
usually dad and kathy ganging up on me
it made me laugh when they played with me
but it made me sad too kathy
that you always took dads side……
seeing her there, my voice took on a new leash of life
johns voice came on in my headphones
“well schteve ……” in his characteristic slur
“wanna try another one?”
ok i said
and the music rolled in
first of all a lonely accoustic guitar
its playing a f# minor 9th over and over
my bass came meandering in
looser than a golden goose
the drums pitter patter… just like water in fact
an electric guitar crying in gentle wah wah
i get ready to sing
my entry coming up
abrubtly the song rises up to d major
i begin to sing
beneath the surface where i watch you
drift away so drift away
everybody half something else
everybody wants to change
strangely enough
nothing could change you….
the music stopped
b’s voice came on
“mate you got it!”
i go back in to them
i have john play them our new album
dad says youre bloody clever, arent you
kathys got some little tears in her eyes and she just nods
but her nod means she really loves it
lets go out and have some dinner dad says
dad lets kathy drive his triumph sable but with much wincing
i sit in the back talking in her ear as she drives
and i ask her about south america
through the rainy streets of alexandria and kensington
kathy began to tell us about her time in argentina
as she braked and accelerated and steered through the shiny night
she met a man, a magic realist
THE magic realist according to some
enrico ruiz revilla
author of the lonely world
now a motion picture starring nicole kidman and tyrone powers
he was on holiday
and had seen my sister acting in shakespeares play beauty stab
and contacted her via her agent
they met and fell head over heels
and kathy had gone off to argentina with him
there they had embarked upon making a film
the film was sometimes called the two beasts
or sometimes
no su amante
anyway things became strange during the early days
things went missing
people changed roles and dropped out of character
the moon turned pink one night with a delicate mauve aureole
a real gun was fired injuring several cameramen
my sister begins to suspect somethings going wrong
but she cant speak much spanish really
shes acting in the film but she only has a few lines in spanish
during the montezumas dream sequence
she says
si no el cortez, entonces algun otro
kathy repeated her phrase a few times in the car
as if hypnotized…
gee thats sounds like real argentinian my girl said dad
thats really good kath i said
no its not really but i’m supposed to be english she said
anyway…
what about your enrico…? asks dad..what was he doing..?
kathy sighed
swinging into neptune street and changing lanes
she drove carefully down the long palm tree lined avenues
presently she begins to speak
dad and i listened in silence to her tale
“rico was obsessed with this fellini movie
or was it the norwegian director alldrig
about a group of people in this castle
changing into birds and flying around
watching everything
all the pain
all the joy
all the struggle
although set in medieval times
some characters appear to be modern
with wrist watches and telephones
usted no penso que entonces fueron inventados
i think my character says…
something like that
but some people understand whats happening
theres this hunter who traps the birds
and oh i dont really know
he does dreadful things to them
i never really understood this part
jesus is in there as this mexican god
i mean it really looked like jesus but in this golden head dress
and enrico and some others took some wild new drug
and some snake ate the birds that had been trained
at the same time as this
argentinas economy had gone all wobbly as enrico said
and our set was being repossessed bit by bit
we drove up into some mountains
and i was lost in a snowstorm
wandering in a white wilderness
my body became numb
i could not feel it
and eventually i did not care
i felt so sleepy and i lay down and slept
and the next thing i knew
i was walking in the door of the studio tonight..”
we arrived at our destination
but dad and i could say nothing

sydney lashed by violent storms
the rain comes rushing in diagonally
the palms weird in the grey light
people huddle under awnings
puddles form in the mornings
natalie lies sleeping in bed all warm n aromatic
scarlet lies on a cushion in my room
curled up and slightly sad about something
she comes and sits on my lap
muttering something softly
she finds a headless figurine which happens to be on my desk
she regards it with big blue sad eyes
is it any good now her heads gone ? i say
she shakes her big head and gently sets it down
last night dublin frank n janice n marlon
came over for a minestrone soup
ricki rene maymi was also on hand
i was being tested
frank keeps teling me
that crunchie and violet crumble bars are the same
this is the sort of heresy you’d expect from a gaelic type
all puffed up on euros and leprechaun carving grants
but anyway i had set him straight
they are completely different i said
give me the blindfold taste test
so after soupy n salad
out came crunchie bar n violet crumble bar
i was blindfolded
yes yes
come on
and voila
they give me a bit
its crunchie
it dissolves in the mouth all sugary
yep thats a crunchie i say
next i get the violet crumble
its all chewy the chocolates different everything
thats the crumble i say
a big cheer
of course i was right
and you shouldnt bet on a certainty
no one else could get the taste test right
including the wild n glamourous rocker maymi
who couldnt tell a crunchie from a crumble if it bit his ass
the kids all tried
but were more interested in just eating the candy
frank himself tried
got it wrong
and said
theyre completely different
AFTER HE WAS THE ONE SAYING THEY WERE THE SAME!!!
aint that just like a bloody irishman
nk refused the blindfold on the basis it might mess up her hair-do
and scarlet was peeping
and she didnt know or care
she just wanted some more chocky
ricki n frank then went off to jlks
to prepare a future esoteric music club track
and i tried to get tibor the falcon outta the drive
but some idiots had parked us in
janice n young marlon had to walk home
i backed tibor down the drive all angry in the dark
and probably reversed over all the flowers
(down the side of this house this smorning)
after getting the 3 children down to sleep
my wife showed me some new clothes she had bought
(with subscribers generous subscriptions, of course )
and i was quite taken…
maybe that is not the quite the right word
but anyway….
wake up this morning kissing my wife
open my eyes
and there is scarlet watching me mournfully
i thought kids would be happy to see parents kissing
but not little bloody sk
who starts to writhe and groan
real tears!
and everything
just coz daddy kissed mummy good morning
christ! sometimes youre just wrong whatever you do
i get up and take scarlet back in to the doodles
hey evie
i gotta delivery for ya
evie goodnaturedly n half asleep makes room for the woofle
whose kicking n growling like little tassie devil in a trap
she goes into the doodles bed roughly
but they envelope her in their warm sleepiness
and eventually
as i walk back to my room
i hear her protests gradually diminish into silence
believe me
if you wake up early on a saturday
and youre kissing your little sweetie good morning
the last thing you want in yer face
is an angry little moaning woofle
so….
anyway
lets see what saturday will bring…
all of you in my thoughts
sk

baby
its like an arrow in my eye
the far thing
neither beast norman
shutting down merrie olde england
the blurred crusade…well here we go
lord parlophone having annexed lyonesse and tir na nog
approached in the etherworld by an indian spirit
he whose mountain is ever clear
and having laid waste much of south umbria
then surrounded his brother
the earl lee byrd
whereupon germany promptly sat by the rhine figuring out perspective
and some old housewives did toil upon the kilbeaux tapestry
william (billy) the conqueror
heard the 12 string burns
and captain cook us up some great southern land
french entered anglo-saxon
and begot our luverly land-gwidge
lord steven of the lowlands
architect of the resistance
already tres formidable
a renaissance man in an era of pure dross
consulted long with his lords in hyperborea
and unleashed a silvery blast on his great horn
summoning his free champions
count pieter de rooos
lord pipe-ah
and the dutch rebel dyke plog
they fought a valiant camp pain
bringing down the houses of york-razy
and laying siege to the hole of fame
steven
who looked like a true king of old
with a proper medieval beard and everything
a special gap between the mustache
a man for all seasons
a panther in late autumn
king leer
faithful servant of his sovereign liege
upholder of the queens sheets
licking her wounds in the east tower
richard gear
shorn chronologically
oh mi lady
lord steven with the gap in his mustache
awaits your royal pleasure
in the room with soft carpets
and tiny things tinkling in the august breezes
see how his shiny chain mail clings to his bulging calves
his lute slung over his back
his grey eyes in a weather beaten yet serene face
his hand e’er on the pommel of his great sword
lest any should catch him unawares
oh even in medieval days
even in these darkling ages
a handsome man is still a handsome man
and a relief that this good kind somewhat modern looking man
should save his queens country for last
as he knelt
pledging his troth
fulfilling her oath
and craving a boon
pulling forth her own royal map
she showed him the deep fertile valleys of wessex
the lovely hills of bristol
the impregnability of her ports
the already held hampton wicke
her loyal serpent
thrust his sturdy dagger down into the map
the queen started in surprise
well-in guard n city…no no
you cannot go in there my lord
suddenly billy the kid conquer or
called mad uncle willie by his nephew cuthbert the badly-named
and called big king willie by his chambermaid ethel redding
and called king-o for short but not for long
by his plotting scheming half brother alice
meanwhile the bishop of woosta-sheer
a saucey sod
and loyal to duke umheer-offen
signed the deal with plantagenet records and tapes
and executed 40 serfs at their single launch
baron fatso from little italy was not yet on the scene
i’m almost with you said william the conk
as he gave hereward the wake up
youre fucking history mate called out king harold
hey you should check out david bowie in an eyepatch
because dude youre gonna be needing one !called back william
in norman
(oooh!)
archers let loose he commanded
still in norman
the sun was blotted out by their shafts
their black feathered bolts rained down …oh harry!
oh england!
we are lost
we are lost!
now we’ll have to learn how to spell rendez-vous
and pronounce raison d’etre
and learn to eat what…?
bits of froggies?
meanwhile the queen stitched diligently at the kilbeaux tapas tree
and evil barren carrere
a french ponce and cheat
took off with the royalties
the houses of lang-caster
the houses of tele- caster
the houses of love and viscount guy de shad-wicke
the knights of malteasers
the bish shops and the bash shops
the slurping usurper cnut the burper
and little bonno his jester
all the tennys court with their grande balls
all perished in the sword shortage of 66
scotland took back their kilts
and the japanese attacked wales
the french went on to invent berets
the italians gave us italian and italian garlic dressing
the maltese gave us falcons
the english gave us toffee and crosse and blackwells marmalade
the irish gave us belfast frank and dublin frank
the isle of man gave us testicles
and the normans gave us wisdom
see…?
tomorrow: unravelling the 8 henrys

on the long days in oceania
when i have run out of words
i send you down to the shops to buy me some
get half a pound of mixed adjectives i say
but no adverbs…theyre cheaper up the junction
while i’m waiting
i take drugs
i write some songs
i touch up a few portraits
i choreograph the sculptures
i parse the colours on my i-life
i switch on summer from a slot-machine
(i shoulda put the Cat out)
i loll in my hammock as the south seas winds blow
someone gently strummin’ a uke
plunka plunka plunka plunka plunka in the afternoon
grant comes over to my beach shack
totin’ his maton guitar
and the inevitable bottle of red
dont let me smoke any of this …grant says
taking a huge puff on my spliff
dont let me drink any of this ..i say
taking a huge gulp on his bottle
bloody pot gets me all stoned ..he says
(like i’m forcing him to do it)
after we are both pleasantly refreshed
grant starts to tune up his guitar and talk
so steven how have you been filling the long hours here?
well grantley i wrote a couple of songs just this morning…..
grant laughs
yeah …i bet their real beauties too…
actually, grant, scarlets just gone down the shops
to get me some new adjectives…..i say
grant rolls his eyes
oh…i just got some…
really?
grant lights up a stuyvo
has to be stuyvo soft pack
dont give grant a stuyvo hard pack cig…he’ll know
as he inhales he closes his eyes and winces a little
and then he blows it all out upward n away
in some schoolboy smoking gesture he has never seemed to’ve outgrown
he chucks down the vino from the bottle reluctantly
(havent you got a clean glass…?!)
everything about grant is a soft kind ironic fussiness
he talks quietly but he laughs heartily
i love to bignote myself to him
and oh how he loves to laugh
fuck em grantley…i’ll show em..the kids ‘ll love my new songs
grant almost chokes on his cigarette in merriment
yes steven…oh ha ha ha ha..i’m sure they will…
the fucking critics grant…they cant understand me…i’m too good
grants rolled up in a ball laughing
who could understand you steven.. ha ha ..except me
you wont fucken laugh grant when i got my own tv show
no….no one will… he says
presently scarlet kilbey returns with the adjectives
sorry dad she says
what are you sorry for sweetheart ? says grant
i dont think dads gonna want any of these…..
i poke thru them
too latinate
maybe this one
oh no…too cliched
hmmm….too ordinary
this one…….too florid
this one….too obvious
this ones good….oh i already used it
this one….nah! too obscure even for me
grant starts to strum out a tune
he’s got a capo on the fourth fret
and he’s picking the guitar slowly
“i cant believe (he sang)
i cant believe that you left me on new years eve
i was taking you to the dance
now my tears just water the plants….”
scarlet says i like it!
grant continues
but the song has gone all minor-y
and sad
“i cant believe i never saw
how you loved me less
as i loved you more
and i cant believe
that you dont know
that i want you back
and i miss you so…”
gee thats pretty sad there grantley …i find i’m saying
you really think so says grant
warming up to it now
you really think its sad..?
i do says scarlet kilbey
shes 5 foot 10 inches tall
she has wild hair that looks like a dryads
she has the deepest blue eyes
like looking at a summer sky
dad what should i do with these adjectives ?she says
ah …i dunno….stick em inna cupboard i s’pose… i say
its beginning to rain
grants off strumming again
he’s changed the capo up two frets
and hes picking out this countryish thing with a D shape
he starts singing
his beautiful voice up close is always a treat
“the rain is falling down on my true loves town
where the clouds roll down upon the brown river
everything i have i give her
everything she does
makes me love her”
did you write that, grant …i ask
most of it…he winked at scarlet
most of it…
public domain?
traditional arrangement…
oh the old trad arr….?
send royalties to g w mc then….
immediately!
we all have a laugh
gee oceania is beautiful this time of year ..i say
a little warm though perhaps steven says grant
dabbing at his forehead with a little hanky
god hes got a bloody hanky…i exclaim
its alright steven…he says…
i know you old people like their warm climes…!
we all have another good laugh
grant produces another bottle
he lights another ciggie with the same malarkey as previous
he takes the capo off the guitar altogether
and begins to strum strum strum
the soft rain keeps falling
and grant strums between 2 simple chords
but with subtle differences each time
a melody seemed to imply itself somewhere in the chords
grant looked at us and smiled
then he looked off at some point miles away
and some deep sadness informed his song
he began eventually to sing
” i remember you from a dream
walking beside me
we were a team….”
he choked up a little
oh grant …scarlet says
he continued
“i remember the way your smile curled
around words like
i give you my world
and i dont think
that i’ll find you in this place…”
jesus thats another sad one too… i said
grant seemed well satisfied with himself
he put his guitar down and uncrossed his legs
he looked at scarlet
hey listen to this he said
“you move around on your island
your baby blues shine like diamonds”
i nodded my head
thats very nice
i said

the silent dark lake where we used to sit
in summers long days
listening to swans and larks
the reeds rustled
the ants bustled
an old rowboat fallen into disrepair
the three of us
joined hands and danced down the path
we hid from each other and ran on ahead
we walked the forest paths to rollingen
and swam over to the other side
theyre were no other sounds
but a breeze in the pines
and the caw caw of the crow
the lowing of cattle somewhere
the grass all lush and green
oh such a gentle northern sun
its rays friendly and warming
the spell of childhood still not fallen from your eyes
so i was the dopey leader
and you 2
learned to swim and climb so easily
i was amazed by your alien litheness
by your subtle strengths and good natures
cartwheels and somersaults along the forest paths
and chatter chatter chatter
you were finishing each others words
getting angry with each other
we kicked stones along and gave them names
we saw foxes and once a weasel
and e trod on a tiny snake who quickly slithered away
later
when i was long gone
your mother found one of you in the forest
on your own
what are you doing here ? she said
do you think ….you said
if i walked far enough into this forest i’d find my father..?