The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

(please note : this idea is taken from the self-promoting ads that
playboy used to run in its mags in the sixties and seventies :
what kind of man reads playboy?)

what kind of person reads the time being?

a person with flare and style
just maybe not todays flare and style
someone who likes to stick bubblegum noses on real estate guys pictures
(and since when do real estate guys have their pics up everywhere?)
(and have you heard of the doff girls? mary doff carry doff and tragic ilene doff)
someone who can pronounce anathema correctly on tuesdays
someone who stands a vase on top of a rubiks cube
someone who doesnt read the instructions and doesnt care for the results
someone who drives a clapped out car with fiery seatcovers
someone who smokes catnip cigarettes and owns a yoyo
someone who listens to the sea inside a shell
someone who still believes in machine elves
someone who names their kids after greek myths
someone who loses their stuff all over the place
someone who doesnt like plain and simple fun
someone who cant read a map but can read in between the lines
someone who remembers hamilton joe frank and reynolds
someone who likes long rainy days spent elsewhere
someone who likes toasted sandwiches and a cuppa tea
someone whose favourite flavour is a butterscotch caramel vanilla cross
someone who lives by the sea with a dog named john
someone who hates halloween but likes brigadoon
someone who thinks bono is embarrassing and likes licorice
someone who has a job as calf model and collects masks
someone who wishes guy ritchie would just get his own castle
someone who gives their cat a surname
someone who cant believe george bush has an iq of 125
(where does the decimal point go?)
someone who wouldnt couldnt ever eat a crab or duck liver pate
someone who lives in a spacious bedsit with railyard glimpses
someone who gives not gifts stuff
some who has an impact but not impacts on things
someone who never says disempowering or saturn returns
someone who just wishes things were a bit nicer down here
someone who dots their t’s and doublecrosses their eyes
someone who hates frickin’ dance routines
someone who completely avoids reality tv shows
someone who reviles endless inane footy
someone who wishes there were more nights paddling canoes w/ little lanterns
someone who wishes there were more days on windswept beaches
someone who reckons the zoo is cruel but likes to dong mynah birds
someone who likes epaulettes
someone who likes floral
someone with a broken suitcase and a blunt pencil
someone with a lost ticket and a 4 oclock shadow
someone with a sticky wicket and gluey rice
someone with a bing bong device and a snuffle-cushion
someone who never uses the word misled
someone who likes sugar
someone who gets hotheaded yet has cold feet
someone whos axolotls are sean and colin
someone who left their keys on the bus
someone whos forgotten their combination
someones whos always standing in everybodys way at a party
someone who thinks men with gold chains are silly
someone who listens to the rain, cant you hear it pour
someone who likes raspberry but hates strawberry flavour
someone who wanders lonely as a cloud when they walk in the sun
someone who still hopes x-ray spex might work
someone who cant keep secrets
someone like you
someone else
thats what kind of person reads the time being

exponential increase
we adjust our range
kilbey turns off at his street
is that kilbey?
one foot in the past
one hand hidden
one eye larger than the other
one brainside firing
the other still
mondays childe is fair of face
it doesnt look like him
the mirror must have lied
a single black crow in the sky
a childhood spent sent
a bass guitar behind the door
jet black
lamp black
velvet black
blackest black of blacks
i need a black outline
my head in a halo of blue flames
colour my eyes gravestone grey
make my little fingers cold
make sure the fuselage is trimmed
apply freckle decals to back
make the nose sharpish
bring her round slowly
starboard starboard mr christian
one more knee to go
then……
let him loose…!
kilbey appears
but we cant get a fix (on him)
aim for his heart
aim for his memories
aim for his lah-de-dahs
a bit of a chamedian
something of the jungle about him
his wife arrives to collect him
whats he done this time? she says in her soft southern accent
a policeman leads her to a cell
extorting money from his subscribers, i’m afraid ma’am…
they lead kilbey out
he looks tired and resigned
says ‘e’s the best lyricist in ‘istory sniggered pilate
dont look like much now…
the crowd obeying for blood
what does it all mean ? says your mom
its like rimbaud stumbling thru mozarts garden says crit-ick
yer husband says he cant sing
yer wife says hes de-pressing
yer conscience says confess confess
yer clock say tick tick tick but never tock
yer dog says wow but never bow
yer canary goes cheap
yer beatles go yeah yeah yeah
yer wallet says dont give
yer feet say walk away
yer eyes say we are the whores of the senses
yer ears cant say anything they just listen
yer heart going boom like a big bass drum
tim powles lazily grips the steering wheel as he rides down route 66
the nz born drummer peers thru the rain
killer he asks
the man next to him stirs
killer ?says tim
the man called killer awakes
were you asleep ? says tim
no…yes…its ok…where are we now?
his accent is hard to place
tim applies tiger balm to his temple
tim says that was the lemuria turn off back there
christ! the killer sits up
his brain is squirming like…like…like a …frog
if we keep going this way we hit el dorado at 4 oclock
in time for the soundcheck
whos on with us?
the low swinging dicks
didnt they just drop a member?
oh ha ha ha
whats for dinner?
starbucks?
nah!
waffle king…..
nah!
how about ma n pas vegan kitchen?
oh…ok..then
scene inside cafe
olde lady stands writing an order
so you want legless mayo and tempeh ribs
the kyoto accord sesame dressing with quorn dip
the loganberry cobblers and the stupid dill
knocked up mock hare with jugged bimbo sauce
and soya-goolies on the side…
can i get some not-pork buttons?
they come with the water sir…free of charge…
subscriber writes
if i buy you dinner do you promise to not put on weight?
another subscriber writes
i already gave at the office
another writes
my first born should be hitting your paypal tomorrow
no kidding i sigh
the police arrive and arrest the killer
his children beg for clemency
the leglessman begs for alms
the beggars beg for forgiveness
the police chuck ‘im in the lockup
bail is set
his wife opens her purse and its full of confederate money
the south will rise again someone offers hopefully
the west will never learn
the rest will follow
follow me says the killers killer
who are you? i ask
time he says

this pic of neuman in sydney just added
commissioned by ernst k in norway
courtesy nelg

ok thats heyday over and done with
ah…they were different times
people actually bought your music for a start
in 1986 people bought music
you could tape your mates records
if you knew how to negotiate all the malarkey
dobly on dobly off
co2 or blah blah bias….
it either hissed like a bitch
or was dull as a bastard
and then what….
they stretched n broken took ages to rewind….
so in those days
if say 30 thousand people had yer music at home
probably 27 thousand had actually paid for it
now my ipod is full of stuff i never paid for
not only that
but i make copies of more of it for friends
oh you really like the low swinging dicks….?
ok heres their other 6 albums and their first 4 e.p.s
why would you buy a record?
only if you didnt have a friend whose got it in their itunes right?
so wow
thats great
thanks marty n ricki n all the others sharing their collexions
isnt this great
i dont even go to the $10 cd store anymore
(they went broke anyway in bondi)
i just absorb my collexion by osmosis
wow!…tee hee hee
i can get anything i want in a flash…for free..
anything you can think of…
this is the life, eh…?
except….
except….
uh…
hang on a minute….
jesus….
all my royalty cheques shrinking and shrinking
because….
no one paying advances and stuff
and i realise
im like a pearl salesman and everyones got their own oyster..!
its a bad time to be a musician……
so hence
a la your stories
you heard starfish
you went out n bought heyday
nowadays you hear starfish
you rip heyday from somewhere else if you can
no one buys cds
if i tunes are selling a load of my stuff i aint seen it
or felt it
are you seeing my pointilism here?
i make something that most people dont pay for anymore
i look at the stats for emc on karmic hit
must be that a big most downloaded and didnt contribute
some people were generous
but most didnt bother…they just took it
i have no moral qualms with that either
i would probably do the same
especially without all the trouble of getting paypal or whatever
gosh but its making it kinda hard for people like me though
i love the technology but i hate the results (hmmmmm aint it always so?)
its wiping me out before my eyes
i already had the worst deals in the world
im already dealing with a load of disparate corps flogging my stuff
i have no idea what they sell and how much they tell me they sell
i never have and i never will
i have been ripped off blind
dudded and tricked and fucked over
cos i was young arrogant
AND CAN ONLY THINK WITH THE RIGHT SIDE OF MY FUCKING BRAIN
i write the best lyrics in history but can i read a contract?
in my arrogance i thought that i’d be such a big star
that it didnt matter if they ripped me off
cos i was gonna have so much anyway
or that “god” would look after me
or that someone else in the band would read it
or that so and so was honest and actually cared
ha ha
so there you go
all those records out there
that i dreamed up
only ever getting a fraction of my due
3 companies going bankrupt n never paying a zac
and now
no one buys it anymore anyway
not to even mention my shrinking popularity
(i said not to mention it!)
i wake up and find i’m going broke
so you’ll forgive my preoccupation with money
and i’m gonna mention subscription one more time
and i’ll fucking well drop it for a while
heres the thing
i hate to see people saying on my comments
oh sk im sorry im a bit broke i couldnt donate
please my people
i dont expect you people feeling the pinch to donate
i dont expect the people who donated already to donate more
i dont expect the people who make those v.generous donations
to donate ever again….
i also know that you know
that my current state of broke-ness
is my own doing from recklessness and stupidity
so i bear all this in mind
still there is a deep undercurrent of readers
who never comment and never subscribe
and i only ask the fortunate ones among them
the ones who can afford to
not the broke ones like me
not the strugglers n dispossessed
not the artisans and minstrels
not the kiddies or pensioners
just this
if you are sitting there
on a fat wallet stuffed with euros
and you enjoy reading me
(after all i’m one of the best…if you like this kinda thing)
then take the trouble
open yer paypal account
a dollar a week….how cheap is that?
pay in advance by all means
a dollar by itself will be chewed up in commission
there you go
send me some dough
you’ll feel better
i’ll definitely feel better
and its keeping those wolves from my door
i usually spend a couple of hours a day writing these blurbs
so its eating up my time
its a labour of love
it comes from my heart
not my need to earn a crust
but that would be a nice side effect
as far as other ventures go
we are going to begin rehearsals for zoo story mk 2
up at andrew hmelnitskys new gallery up at bondi junction
bondi junction is about 2 or 3 miles up the road away from the sea
its a bustling little jumping spot with the southern hems biggest mall
(wow!)
andrews opening on aug 10 and im gonna sing a couple of numbers
but anyway
me and sebastian are gonna start up zoo story again
and itll be running sometime in september
hopefully we can have a good season in his intimate little space
i love to act and i’m voracious to get better
so i’m looking forward to it
i hope it makes a bitter money too
but thats not why i do it
i dont do anything for money and thats why you love me
you know you can trust that my products were not created to generate dough
i hope they do
but that doesnt come into their creation
when i write songs or paint pics
its the furthest from my mind
you know thats the truth
and you’ll feel it when you hear painkiller
or if you buy one of my paintings
talking of which
go to my painting website and check out my latest paintings
under the new magnifying feature
you can now see close up how good or bad i really am
nelg showed me my get stoned n paint video as it is so far
and jesus i think it looks really good
its got some good painting moments and some good whacky bits
nelg also gave me a nice good haircut which is a relief
when will the vid be finished?
nelg says before the end of the year…..!?
as far as painting goes
having successfully finished this 3 n a half foot by 2 n half foot
jobby
i’m going bigger n bigger
cos lets face it
size does count
and from here on in
im gonna be doing some big pics
nelg if youre reading could you email me a jpeg of this one
so i can put it on a future blog? (see above!!)
anyway
i hate talking about money
i really do
its fucken vulgar
but it seems …..
ah you know
see you soon
no more moneytalk
sk killer

i fucken love you guys
ive been really touched by your reactions
ive been really touched reading yer youthful memories
i know 1985 kilbey would have been chuffed
i mean 23 years into the future people still digging it
why cant we have those heydays over and over….?
ah…..if i could figure that out
i’d like to thank all the people who donated yesterday
i really appreciate it!
things are a bit skint chez kilbey at the present
so we really thank you warmly for generosity
you didnt have to do it but you did……nice one!
i listened to it myself yesterday…1st time in ages
its where we really turned into ourselves
heyday facts.
emi aust dropped us after heyday
it only sold 20 thousand odd copies
i had a hilarious conversation
with some 1986 emi dennis eton hogge
complete with yes…a hairy chest and a libra pendant
he was a hog a pig and a bore
i told him i wanted our next album to be a double
i told him i wanted our next album to explore instrumentally
the ebb and flow of nature
more choirs
more orchestras
more peter walsh
the pig sat there stunned
the next morning
i was informed by telephone
just as i was about to jump in a cab
to begin pre-rehearsal for our next reckord
that the church were dropped from emi
our next album sold nearly a million
do you reckon that the pig ever got his porky ass kicked?
(oooh im a childish little sod, aint i?)
fact 2
more than one proud parent has named his daughter tristesse
thats true
they shoulda researched it more
its the “sadness that comes after lovemaking”
eg. post coitum animal est triste
3 there are 1 million acoustic guitar overdubs on each song
the original title
4 of already yesterday was hover
5the beginning of hhg was called poland
marty n i wrote that in bondi in 82 and slipped it in there
6the original title of roman was transylvania
7columbus was written in ….columbus..i was stuck with the title
now headquarters of my art empire…hiya eek
8peter walsh had a big brother also a producer he used to ring for advice
9peter didnt like the word “slump” he had me remove it from a song
10we called him the young english knob twiddler when we played pinball
11we hired the persian rug from a store in rushcutters bay
12the church werent wearing paisley at that stage
it had gone after 1982
i wore black from there on i guess
we did it as a retro laugh on ourselves
13steve sutherland called hhg
“like felt stumbling thru a big country rehearsal”
most american rags gushed however
14disenchanted was written about russell
but when he asked me i denied it!
15the last record to have lyrics printed
ok
thats it
im racing against a “blog outage”
so im gonna post this
and wish you all a happy heyday weekend
sk

a man can get into trouble re-interpreting his old work
is it better to let it sit there in all its mythic glory…?
yes my friends
heyday
after the first record which is a bit awful
then the glorious sounding but slightly insubstantial b c
then emi/nick launay ruined seance
with its eighties crud (thanks, nick…it dated real well!)
then remote whatnots patchiness
then…
aha
then we unveiled our first almost masterpiece
remember it was the eighties
it was the fucking frigging eighties
we had to fight just to remain organic
can you understand that almost every idiot in the biz
wanted to make you eighties
eighties as epitomized by the thompson twins
or boy george or a million awful stupid bands
who’d hi-jacked the glorious future
that the beatles had left wide open
we had punk which shook it up
and then……
even listen to what neil young
or new order (new ordure) got up to in the eighties
of course it was harder to fight eightiesness in the eighties
because
only hypersmart hipsters like me even understood what was happening
like fish in water most of the imbeciles back then couldnt tell
that they were swimming through an era of embarrassment and tripe
the haircuts and cutesy little hats and the way girls looked back then
the beginning of the most ridiculous malaise in rock music
which was the perceived need for a huge punctuating snare drum
eg. what they tried to do to seance:electric lash esp
they were experimenting with “firing samples”
which meant when yer drummer whacked his snare on the tape
a sample of another drum played
this other drum would have been considered “better”
than whatever your own drummer played on his snare
so these guys carted there primitive snare samples around the globe
sticking em all over peoples records
we probably got the same ones as midnight oil had
and then after us the models….
one particular fault was the samples played a fraction late
and a fraction of time in a song can be everything
they also did weird things as they’d “refire”
eg the snare rolls in electric lash
sounds like a machine gun
which launay must have thought was cutting edge
but its still making most people groan 25 years later
funny thing is
i liked what he did to midnight oil
he spruced up a band and pushed em through his filter
trouble was the church was not a band
to go thru anyone elses filter
cos it was already going thru mine
so anyway
its important for me that you understand
how everything i did
with nearly everybody
was a fight
the church werent that successful
and everything was a fight for me..
i heard new gold dream and i liked its feel
it was mellifluous and organic
it was modern but not eighties
it was prod n eng by peter walsh
and he could understand ambience
he could also understand that i wanted this record
to have a spiritual component
and sonically he was ready for that
the band had decided to write most of the music together
this gave it a fresh cohesion and an added interest for the others
they were our songs
not just my songs
tho i was still the chooser and editor and general overseer of music
the others came up with brilliant bits n pieces for their parts
and all three shone as co-composers and musicians
peter walsh turned up to find 2 earnest guitarists
a prankster drummer and me
just turned 31
and i wanted to make a record
a non eighties record
with loads of guitars
with orchestras
with melody
with my first true authentic sk lyrics
the album opens with a masterpiece
go on listen to myrrh again
probably one of the best songs us or anybody ever wrote in rock
the music and words unfurl like a dream
no one could do what we were trying to do
but on myrrh we nailed it
everything was right
even the sounds of construction walsh flew in right at the end
construction that started early in the apts where he stayed
so he recorded it on a little dictaphone and stuck it on the record
peter walsh was the loveliest bloke i ever worked with
he was only about 26 when we did this
we spent lots of time playing pinball with him
in the foyer of the studio
a lockout of 6 weeks in 301
in the heart of sydney
8th floor up
we ruled up there
smoking so much fucking dope
but no other drugs
walshy ‘d have a beer occasionally
when he smoked the dope he’d go quite loopy
mainly tho he worked away steadily
he was always cheerful and tried to include everyone
he was a good mediator and everyone got on well
it was a good time
and it shows
walshy was good with all instruments
he knew how to mike and record stuff
he was old school in that way
he knew we wanted to be organic and he kept it that way
everything was great
i even splashed out n bought this renault floride
a 1959 convertible
and walshy n i rode out to the arrangers place in south sydney
with the top down
we were young we were happy
seemed we were on the verge of something
walshy n i figured out the arrangements with this guy
and lo n behold a week later these players turned up
and played on h.h.g and tantalised n night of light
at the end of night of light i had an idea
that the orch. all follow my sliding fretless bass
and they did
everyone was great
everyone was easy
heyday was so much more accomplished than starfish
starfish sold cos it had utmw
but heyday was much better
warmer realer nicer
im talking sounds here not songs
anyway
peter walsh was the producers producer
unlike the next 2 geezers who were uncouth bullies
who got lucky for a little while
gav mckillop was like peter walsh….a real producer
anyway
heyday had its weakspots
in our one argument
walsh didnt “let” me play keyboards
and theres some slightly average stuff on there
he didnt “let” the others sing either
so thats me singing everything
(as on p=a too)
i wasnt mad on disenchanted or youth worshipper
but walshy had heard the demos and he wanted em on
also when the record was repackaged overseas
record companies stuck as you will and the view on the end
which quite frankly was not what i had intended
just like when ziggy stardust finishes and then some other thing
comes on…yes its value for money
but no it disrupts the flow
roman was s’posed to end heyday not the view
it was a b-side!
anyway some understood it
we immediately jumped back up the ranks in australia
and played totally sell out shows everywhere
in sydney they were queuing round the block at midday
in england a few idiots gave it bad reviews and nothin happened
in the us it” only” sold 60 thousand
and got us dropped by warners
and look at us on the cover
ah so pretty so pretty
in paisley as some kinda statement against….
ah i dunno
big fat record execs with their starsign pendants on their hairy chests
against spand-o ballet and belinda carlisle
against the outfield and preppy college kids
against howard jones and madonna
against oafs and brutes n non poetic types
we were the church
we were more beautiful and slender
we had more hair and better guitars
we were well read and we liked to take hallucinogens
we constantly wangled and fluked our way thru
we stayed in amazing hotels and we flew biz class
we were cooler than fuck
christ
it was our heyday
it could never last
but it was
and theres the irony of it
the beauty of it
the extra-temporaiety of it (thats my word)
(which is always my gift..to see beyond these times)
thats why i’m the time being
the eighties couldnt constrain me
i could stand apart from the zeitgeist
i could deliver this in 1986 (made in 85)
and it still sounds fresh as the day it was made
congratulations are in order
if you enjoyed the heyday story
hit your donate button ..hard
if i get some dough in there sharpish
maybe i’ll give it to ya
on another hundred levels
god forbid!

i whispered those songs to him then
and now you know
and that was the end of it
i am a living spirit
unravelling the tangled skeins of fleshsuits
i talk through electrical spasms and knocks thru the wall
i bring him words i bring him songs
his cup is never empty
he understands bit by bit how it all goes together
just a slow but steady learner
a slow and steady burner
there is spirit behind everything
the one one one
that is why
and here it is
this is you writing this
this is me reading it
it is us together
joined at the mind
joined at the hip of the galaxy
we are in space
right now
this is this is this is this
or whatever
the moment is gone
i am experiencing constant interruptions
ruptures in continuity
am i mad or seeing visions
visions of madness
but i am patently only pretending to be mad
and that is a form of madness also
for example
the next person to click on my site
will have an “o” in their name
or maybe a full stop
death is a full stop
in a sentence of lives
then sleep is a comma
or is a comma a coma
one day approaches
your heyday i speak of
that day of days of days
that day that hey hey heyday
make heydays while the sunshines
hey up and hey down, my children
heydays only seen from behind
when theyre over , theyre over
they linger on in a salient light
they blossom on in memory
they appear as they might have been
not as they were once
the things themselves have died
but something has preserved them in outline
hey day 22 years gone
do i long for you?
i cant tell anymore if i do
the day must come and go
the night will pass
the heynights and blacknights
the shortcuts and spotlights
nightclubs and jails
its all over
its all about to begin
in the merry month of may
may be
may be june
may be wintertime
maybe in for some more rain and no reign
what was i saying…?
have you lost our mind…?
have we been reading that stuff again?
the worlds full of these olde idiot-mystics
peddling their c.s. blueish sigh-fi pomes
about lost master peace and the winged genius of love
i wanted the hard facts about those lyrics
and now….this
prepare to stop
expect delays
caution children
soft verges
slow
give way
burn thru the hole like a spirit in flame

there once was a pool of lives
oh everybody knew about it once
and everybody who swam in it
came out changed forever
which life do you want , sonny? coughed the hag
as i stood there awake and dreaming
the dark water swirled and ran away underground
the hag sat patiently waiting for my answer
i want kathy and dad back …i finally blurted out
ashamed to find myself crying
the hag cackled and rubbed her bony hands together
oh ho little master any life will lead you to them…
then it doesnt matter then…i said…does it?
oh yes it matters…she said
oh yes it does matter she said
do i take off my clothes…? i asked
oh yes boy…plunge into your new life naked
she watched me lasciviously as i undressed
and she winked at me rudely
go on boy jump in over there where its deep
the water looked cold and uninviting
quick before i change my mind and demand a kiss…or something..!
i closed my eyes and i jumped
the cold shock of the water made me gasp
it was like icy fire
i started to go down at once
struggling and kicking for i did not know how to swim
i saw the hag above through the surface
reaching through it to me
she was screaming something
i felt her hands clutching at my wrists
but i was too heavy and she was too weak
shes trying to save this life i thought as i drowned
this life
that life
i thought as i gave up
it was nice to give up
as if all my life i’d been struggling to stay awake
and now i could finally sleep
i tried to open my eyes but if i did it was still black
i tried to feel the cold water
but everything felt rather pleasantly soft
which life witch life i mused sinking or rising
i must be dreaming i dreamed
i saw some things behind my eyes
dreamy scenes
at a childs party on a lawn long long ago
i wasnt really there
it was a drawing someone had done…maybe kathy
no…i was there and dad was there too
it wasnt exactly dad though but he talked like dad
no maybe it was a painting someone had done for a calendar
for the merry month of may
i thought about aunty may with her blue black hair
i thought about little canoes with lanterns in a film i saw
i thought about a story with a dead twin
i thought about a picnic with my sweetie in a forest
i thought about the white flesh on her back
and her earthy aroma
i thought about an old man looking in a mirror
at the ruins of his youth
i thought about musical instruments
how i would love to play and sing and dance
i thought about death
i wondered if this was death then
if i was a drowner
if at this very minute
the hag was going through my discarded clothes looking for coins
and our little empty house
and about lost children everywhere
just wishing and wishing they were back at home
and wishing that their father was strong and kind
and wishing their mother was soft and sweet
and wishing they had a sister like…..
i struggled to remember her name
i could still see her behind my minds eyelids
with her sandy brown hair and everything
remembered how she looked sleeping
how she loved to wake up and find it had snowed in the night
i tried to hold on to her face
but other faces were superimposed on it constantly
strange beautiful faces
proud faces
savage faces
sad faces
sometimes i felt like i had woken up in a room
i was all connected up to something
and every part of me hurt
people stood around talking dressed in white
when they saw me open my eyes they seemed surprised
dad? i heard someone say
not having the strength to keep my eyes open
i sink back
or rise up
again
i flicker in a place where i seem to wake up
ive been sleeping somewhere
oh i ache a bit too
i’m holding a guitar and a cigarette
i’ve nodded out in a studio
i’m s’posed to be playing a song and….
more blackness
steve…..? someone says
i open my eyes
i start plucking away at the guitar
lucky i think my fingers know what to do
i smoke the cigarette which is a joint
i’m in a room with some guys
young guys all with long lustrous hair
one blondish guy sits banging the drums
(the drum i think…kathy didnt want me to play the drum)
2 other dark guys are fiddling about with stuff
another blond guy
with long curly hair and almost feminine features sits there
too much wacky tobaccy , steve… he says in a soft english accent
you’ll g-g-get used to that, p-p-peter stutters the drummer
the other 2 guys keep fiddling around with stuff
peter the blond guy starts talking to me
have you written any words yet?… he asks
yeah i seem to be saying through a distance
i pull out a piece of paper from my pocket
something typed out unevenly upon it
the blond guy smiles
oh i like that already he says
emerald haunt in overdrive……hmmmm

old face-ache was the king of the goblins
he was a hobgoblin in fact and a right bastard
he was married to bloodblister the witch a real bitch
and they had a brood of unpleasant brats
no bloody wonder i need to get outta here …face-ache thundered
how can i dream up evil and malice with this lots racket?
i thought you bloody enjoyed a nasty din…said his wife
ONLY IF I’M BLOODY MAKING IT MESELF !! bawled the king
and then he strode out of their home
which was an abandoned eagles nest
connected to a big hollow tree
‘ere you lazy sprites and bent pixies
hey you dopey gobs
call yourself imps or fucking wimps?
get your armour shining ,boneswax
you, mr stinkjolt, straighten your bloody gaiters
and whats this…? pimple and bumballs?
sir!?
wheres my cup of cold vomit with a hair in it?
bumballs proffered a cup to the king
face-ache exploded
THIS BLOODY VOMIT IS WARM YOU IDIOT
WHO WANTS TO DRINK WARM VOMIT IN THIS WEVVER?
after the king had been placated with some brownie soup
he called his generals around him
orright lads, gimme the story on the war
and no bullshit please gentlemen
cos you know i will have yer guts for fishnet garters
i’d love to see olde bloodblister in fishnets.. giggled a general
oh would you now indeedy …? said face-ache turning on him
sorry king, it was just a joke…said the cringing gob
a joke….? a joke….?
well it was not funny
the fishnets were not for my wife
if i gave ’em to her, she’d go n catch eels in ’em..
they were for me…oh ha ha ha..!
and face-ache prodded the cheeky black goblin with his pitchfork
anyway…enough of this malarkey boys….
and
show me the dead faeries…..!
face-aches face was ugly and grim
we got some problems in the military oh king ..said hogeye
what kinda problems ..said the king
outbreaks of goodwill, sire…
GOODWILL??!! the king fumed
and little kindnesses ….
LITTLE KINDNESSES??!!
blokes dishing out compliments without warning
FUCKING COMPLIMENTS!?
the king rounded on his generals
he straightened his stolen gold crown on top of his big ugly bonce
he was bloody impressive in his ‘orribleness
no ordinary goblin could challenge a hob
and face-ache was pure hob as far as any gob could remember
sire….? general wartsley an old goblin spoke up
yes wartsley you senile olde gremlin ..what is it?
some of the men are afraid, sire
they say the faeries have got johnny goblinkiller back..
WHAT?!
sire, he’s already killed 7 of my best men…
WHAT?!!
sire, the boys are grumbling about it and…
WHAT??!! GRUMBLING……?
cool down sire…we have a plan
A PLAN GENERAL WARTSLEY….YOU BETTER “AVE A PLAN…
wartsley called something to one of his men who ran off
he was back in a jiffy with a prisoner
he pushed the prisoner into the kings presence
and all the goblins began to jeer and call out
SILENCE YOU HAIRY BOLTS! he ordered
what is this we have here , wartsley? he asked in a growl
it is a half human half faery child, lord said wartsley
a groan of anger went up from the goblin soldiers
and they surged forward towards the prisoner, bristling
BACK YOU FILTHY SQUID! yelled the king and they fell back
sire we captured her wandering in the whispering wood
aha! said face-ache..pull back the hood..!
a goblin soldier pulled back the childs hood
to reveal a pale tearstained face
the girls mouth had a dirty scarf tied over it
let this monster speak said the king coldly
the soldier undid the scarf and prodded the girl forwards
what is your name, you ‘orrible childe?
face-ache asked in a voice of ice
what is your name and whither were you bound?
the girl choked back a sob
my names kathy…she said

and then dad called out
son go and find your sister
i ran calling kathy kathy through the roaring trees
dad was right behind me all the way
he picked me up and we some times flew above the grass
how do you do that dad ? i cried out but he just laughed
where do you think she is ?
he yelled into my ear as the noise of our speed was nearly deafening
kathy kathy i was calling out as we glided in the forests heart
kathy! at the mouth of a gloomy cave
kathy isnt in there son… said dad rising above the hills
look! he said
on a little green knoll studded with quince trees
there she was , fast asleep in some creatures bower
all snuggled up in dreamy feathers and soft aromatic grass
wake up young kathy ! boomed dads voice
and she sat up all smiling and confused
dad lifted her out of the bower
and he brushed away the gossamer webs and spearmint leaves
we’ve got to get going, my girl… said dad
then he popped both of us in a pocket
and he held up his finger
and he whispered something to the wind
whats dad doing now? said kathy
oh shush , you wouldnt understand…. i said
dad was whispering to the wind
and the trees all started to shake and move in a gale
but we stood right in the middle of it all
we were hardly even moving
as things started to shoot by us
trees at first
then houses
and shops
and railway stations
and then we were suddenly home
kathy was sitting up in her bed reading a story
dad was peeling some spuds
and i was under the table playing with my cards
dad was singing as he peeled
and kathy put down her story and joined in
her shrill little voice sounded funny singing along with dads
and i laughed as i was hidden from view
dad hes laughing at my singing… she said
and then dads big face appeared under the table
youre not laughing at her singing are you? he asked
suddenly there was a knock at our door
me and kathy raced to answer it
but dad said
stand back now children…let me see who it is
dad opened our yellow door
there stood a strange man, i must say
all dressed like it was the olden days or something
dad seemed really happy though
dad said
children this is your uncle peter, my brother
uncle peter came in to our house
he smelt dusty and smoky as he wandered in
kathy and i liked him at once
he said hallo children in a musical voice and he bowed everso slightly
we were on his lap in a trice and we chatted for all we were worth:
ohh uncle peter…kathys got a white rabbit called snowboy
hes a hare, isnt he, dad …?
the widow greene has a wishing well….and we…
dad says i can get a drum for my birthday
no dad dont let him have a drum…
can you play a drum uncle peter?
eventually uncle peter set us down
and he and dad talked earnestly
while kathy and i sat still as mice under the table
dad and uncle peter were drinking some black beer
uncle peter smoked a pipe too
and he waved it around illustrating his words
what kathy and i heard frightened us cold
uncle peter was saying
we cant hold them out much longer, theyre too strong
we need some more stout men down our way, john
we heard dad say
i cant come ,peter…who would look after the children..?
at this kathy gave a little cry of alarm
and dad reached under and pulled us both out
dad, we’re scared now ….i said
dad just laughed and sent us to bed
we kissed uncle peter goodnight too
he looked like dad but with sadder eyes
and his beard was not so white
goodnight children he said softly
kathy was whispering under the covers
you know what theyre talking about, dont you
the goblins? i said
yes she whispered
that night i had strange dreams
i saw dad trapped in a hollow tree
and i saw uncle peter with a black arrow in his side
and i saw a strange looking man going into the earth
and i felt something sting me and i felt something try to swallow me
something had happened to our town and i roamed its empty streets
thorny trees grew everywhere and crows sat on the clotheslines
the clouds were black and the sun was lost
winter strode in surrounded by flurries of the whitest snow
the roses all faded
and kathys rabbit ran away forever
i sat at the table waiting and waiting
our little house was so silent
kathy had written a little note for me
stay there…
dont be scared ive gone to find dad …it said
i looked out miserably at the snowy fields
a churchbell tolled distantly
kathy had made me a cup of broth now long gone cold
kathy had left me her good luck charm…one of her babyteeth
she had gone after dad
the snow had me surrounded
the broth was cold
the note was in indian ink

tap tap tap
a man sits at a desk
writing away
combinations of letters
that form words
that become thoughts in your mind
why do you wanna read this mans words?
because once….
what…?
oh never mind…
no, go on now, proceed…
well once he wrote something…it made me feel unalone
it made me feel like someone else…understood..um, something
it made me feel like someone else could…..ah i dunno
…and it somehow made me feel….oh a connection..
really? with his words
yes somehow it made me feel special
like i was wrapped up in this big scheme
or part of a family
or like i was in on this huge secret and….
….and the words were a code for the real thing
yes like i knew him
like i knew him so well
you could almost see him there
typing away in his small room
an ordinary room in an ordinary place
he had cold feet and was hungry
it was early on a sunday
it was a wintery morning
the moon was still an echo in the sky
the city slept
sated in booze and violence and sin
the palm trees nodded but today they were silent
only a few cars still haunted the foggy overpasses
a dog barked and was quiet again
his eyes squint through his glasses
as he chooses his words so carefully
when he gets truly rolling
the words flow to his mind in an unending stream
he doesnt think then he just transcribes
tap tap tap
the letters joined up as words
the words coagulate into sentences
the sentences coalesce in your mind as thoughts
the thoughts fall together to become ideas
and the ideas form desires and pleasures
he writes about himself mainly…
strange that you of all people, shouldn’t mind
what do you care for some else inner life…?
maybe small sleepy children are sitting reading
in that small room where he types out his words
children with straight blonde hair and brown eyes
children with wavy brown hair and blue eyes
children with curly chestnut hair and hazel eyes
the children yawn and turn their pages
in the deep still of winter every thought turns to silence
the animals are motionless in their burrows and hollows
the fish hang in the water hardly moving
the only movement is the mans fingers
which type type type away
the sky is whitish grey like its been sucked of colour
some optimistic streaks of blue smudged in the distance
some birds have begun to wake up
tentatively they call to one another
what are they calling?
here i am all you sparrows…
or
here here we have found some worms!!
or
my starling bride has a lovely beak!
or just tweet tweet tweety tweet
we only understand our own modern english
what hope to know the birds…?
the man writes: it seems all things must come to us
but what does that mean…
that nature must approach man on mans terms?
that the birds must speak english if we are to understand them?
why understand them then…the man is writing..
to understand things brings everything undone
you just let it wash over…thats right….
you just let it all wash over you
all the words and all the birds words too
and the worms too
what would they sing if they could?
a song of earth
a song of fear…fear of birds
a song of blindness and darkness
a song without a sun
the man writes about the birds and the worms
he writes about small stones and little chips of green glass
he writes about some old souvenir from another time
he writes about the warm feelings in the reeds
he writes about the clouds no one wants to see
he writes about the outside
he writes about things we are starting to forget
the man…..he just keeps on and on now
no pause no nothing
the words come from the ether
where once there was nothing
he has built a sturdy idea
with subtle flourishes
put in
as it seems
especially for you
you alone
and no other you
nothing is ever definite really
sometimes the stupid things he writes makes you angry
and only later do you see….
see some humanity behind that or something
sometimes youre bored
and you only linger on the words for courtesy’s sake
but now and then
or eventually
or
sooner rather than later
and who wouldnt rather sooner than later obviously
words flock around events soaking up ambience
you seem to be a sensitive soul
a plane flies over head
a few miles up people reading the sunday paper
fastening and unfastening their seat belts
some of them asleep already
some nervous and anxious like you can be
with some mighty effort the sky is turning blue
the plane must have opened up the clouds
and the blue is seeping through
houses appear on hillsides all blond brick and stucco bestucken
morning is an illusion like everything else
its all in flux its all in flow
anticipate that flow…oh thats it
move with that motion
as you row merrily down the stream
time going everywhichway
there is a flow however
but its so hard to see
panthers and picasso can see it
jeff buckley can see it
johnny lennon and pauly can see it
new people come along and see it
seeing is believing
listen the birds have stopped singing
the day, as such, can begin
the man stops typing
he wonders how he can get warm
he forgets what he’s just written
and life rolls on
you conclude those last few minutes
and youre off
into the future