The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

i have 2 daughters here
eve and aurora
eve is all intuition
eve was making models of the opera house
with play-dough and clothes pegs at 3
she sits down and she does things
she never questions herself
she never asks can i do this …she does it
give her complicated instructions tho…..!?
aurora her twin and her opposite
she thinks things thru
this leads to some self-doubt and second guessing
as well as some very pithy ideas
everyone has these 2 sides
one dominating more than the other
me….im an aurora
not enough eve in steve
gee i wonder where she got her intuitive gifts
but i do have the intuition
it struggles underneath the intellect to be heard
nurture the weakest …be it intuition or intellect
dont underestimate yourself
i find everything in this world is 90 % bluff
so go ahead bluff yourself
i do
i say hey killer bet you cant do a great blah blah now
but look
im churning stuff out
funny thing
the more you do of whatever
the better you (should) get
thats right practice makes perfect
as it must be
when i first starting playing
i was pressing down so hard
my fingers traversed instruments like sausages
i tried to think it all out
remember songs like they were a test at school
i tried too hard i gave too little out
my hands n arms froze up
i still can get spooked playing and freeze a little
no one is immune
anyone can make a mistake
have a good look at the mistakes
is it possible a mistake could contain the seeds of your
great leap forward?
dont show your work or play your songs to ninnies who wont understand
my heart was broken over n over in my earliest days of 4 tracking
i’d play my weird stuff to ninnies who wouldnt know a can record
from a can of beans
if you want feedback avoid people who dont understand your genre
sneak up on yourself
thats right
come upon yourself unaware
and snatch whatever you see from the thin air
i tell you the world is full of things ready to be converted into art
i was painting some clouds on my latest painting
they werent looking good
its hard to imitate natures random patterns convincingly
i look up
blow me down
there are some clouds drifting by
ah…now i see the way it should be
thank you up there
dont despair…its the worst thing
evie ..she never despairs
she just sits down in utter faith
no one has ever told her she couldnt draw something
and she’s never told herself
her drawings become more and more ornamental and wild
she just follows them along
seemingly unquestioningly she makes stylistic breakthroughs
one by one the childish things disappear from her work
and start to move in an unmistakable artistic flow
she jumps on Word and starts banging out a beautiful story
Fox with his red flaming eyes and cold heart….it begins
she just follows some dialogue in her head (presumably)
she sings in a lovely voice with vibrato
but again she doesnt think about it
aurora meanwhile sometimes struggles copying what eve does
or doubting her self too much
even presenting her stuff in a more pessimistic way
eve just goes:here dad
but aurora has a bit of a explanation preamble
and an unconfident attitude
yet it seems she would superficially be the more gifted twin
she can analyze art or music more eloquently than eve
but evie has that self belief and thats the main thing
i write this not to write about my children today
but as an example of where you coming from
and how it affects where you will go
you can take almost anything and turn it into something
eve does
she takes pizza boxes and makes little laptop computers for example
whatever elements at hand work with em
dont blame your tools or lack of time
dont blame your art materials…use their cheapness to exploit some new thing
dont blame your dodgy studio…feature its faults
dont get hung up on peripheral stuff
dont waste time arguing with ninnies
if you have a vision , insist or walk out
believe me
people’ll try to fuck with your creative trip
jealous people
people with no faith
remain steadfast
yet
incorporate valid suggestions if any
take your 3 biggest heroes
say johnny lennon, rimbaud and vinny van go go
can you believe they were just blokes sitting down
with silent instruments and blank paper or canvasses
before they made that big jump into the unknown
thats right
with only access to the same old ingredients
they just sat down n started
a note
a word
a dab
now take these masterpieces you pay homage to
and dissect em
oh its hard isnt it ?
their brilliance tends to dazzle the admirer
you gotta look long and hard to see how it was done
be aware of techniques being used
see why this has emotional resonance with you
look at combinations and juxtapositions
what are the elements that make these song/poems/paintings classic?
can you imitate ? can you approximate?
is there room in this for your own innovations?
or is this your opposite?
will you work with this as a negative
replacing elements with their opposites?
can you take just one small thing they did and blow it up?
can you imagine what they would do next?
imagine youre one of them
write like them
paint like them
dont weaken yourself with doubt
i really believe that everything i do will be good
and most of it is
dont give up on things right before the breakthrough
but dont waste time on things going nowhere
in your heart of hearts hold a brutally high standard
for yourself and for others
there is room for more good art
people are demanding more good stuff
it hasnt all been done
it can never all be done
the possibilities of art are infinite
its combinations and re-combinations are endless
create
analyze
move forward
pull your idols work apart bit by bit
put it back together your own
listen to the great collective unconscious
respect archetypal forms and shapes
but be prepared to abandon all rules
if necessary
use common sense
dont let art baffle ya
i believe in you

keep your eyes open for the smallest idea
it wont announce itself with pomp n pageant
when you find it believe in it cling to it
examine it
what is that inkling in our midst
what is that foggiest notion….?
look at everything
is that my idea?
be on the lookout for something ordinary
something you wouldnt normally even think of as an idea
consider all the variables
can any of them be manipulated
examine every aspect
go thru all the details
rapidly assess and discard all non-suitables
keep having faith in yourself
youre working with all the same elements as anybody else
everything is available to you
the colours
the sounds
the words
the great collective unconscious
your only lack has been self-belief
listen to that hunch
its whispering the key
be imaginative
assume you are the greatest
always searching for new input
gadgets and devices
drugs and moods
disciplines and collaborators
if you dont love it stop right now
who else will if you dont…?
maybe someone….
but better to love from ground up
build it on the foundations of love and belief
believe that the greatest symphony begins with one note
the most incredible painting with one dab of colour
the best story starts with one word..or a title
titles so easy to dream up
imagine your own titles
come on a title is painless
steal a title
get your title in place
you can title last if you want
but if things are slow start with a title
even if you have no other ideas
take your title
why did you pick it?
something buried in there telling you something
some satisfied connexion
maybe you think
oh my title will never be as good as so n sos title
until he uses it
then you’d like it
thats the kind of thinking to avoid
seize your title
embrace it
yes its yours!
its your beginning
its your masthead
its your flagship and vanguard
roll round on your tongue
write it down
print it out
make it go thru its paces
oh yes your own title
just stay with it awhile if you like
try it out on people strangers
pretend that theres more to it
watch their reaction to your title
quickly seize upon those imagined impressions
in other words
you meet x on the train
you say my new work is called ****
watch xs reaction
jump in behind his eyes
what is he seeing
you can almost pick up his thoughts
oh x says
i like that!
sort through his thoughts
anything you can use
any clues where your title wants to take you
sometimes the title is just a launch support
to be jettisoned as you take off
sometimes the title is oblique
cleverly oblique
or meaninglessly oblique
sometimes the title is the heart n soul of the whole thing
sometimes its a name
sometimes its a description
sometimes the 1st thing is an afterthought
when you got your title sorted
play with your variables
play with length
play with speed
play with the edges
play with the key
play with the tuning
play with the technique
play with the brightness
play with the shadow n echoes and obscurations
play with manner matter method
play with your mind
play with your settings
play with the truth
play with yourself
of course
you saw that coming
detect that good idea under all that dross
be prepared to throw stuff away
be prepared to take it back
be not afraid to be wrong or right
be careful
thats correct
take care
do it up properly or itll come undone
trust in the process
muddle through
know when its over
can you afford to drag it out
a slight return
reprise
refrain
when to end?
the poker players dilemma
yours too
not overdone
but not underdone either
finish it good
do it right
dont rush the end
let it take as long as it needs
dont lose interest now youre nearly there
bang
its done
dont look back
move on move on
a new title
start again

a thick thick fog has silenced sydney
on the top floor of a small house
surrounded by whiteness
surrounded by gentle quiet
i open up my mind and let it run free
i dreamt for a thousand years
who am i?
oh so many oh so many
like us all
enfolded encoded
the years like a coil
i am accessing something deep and submerged
something like a land
something where all senses are one
yes there is that place
the disciplines bleed into each other
oh i am only learning
learning so fast
racing the ominous second hand
as it traverses its monotonous loop
the songs write themselves
the paintings paint themselves
the words lay down on this page before my eyes
still the fog increases
pressing down on the marine city
swooping out of nowhere
sounds muffled in its white darkness
the flowers in the garden glow through it
like many incandescent points
machinery vaguely hums
a door slams somewhere
a car accelerates and another breaks
recognizing universal forms now
certain lines certain progressions
of course no real artist can enjoy their own work
impatience and familiarity
my brush glides
my eyes observe
my mind calculates
my mind has to know when to intervene
when to let things flow
the process is like a snowball effect
the tiniest idea will cause a landslide if its true
you can never run out of ideas
even if you live to 54
even if you like me
can enjoy this journey into the future
improve!
that must be my imperative
i must improve
i will improve
i am improving
this is not just my affirmation
i work so hard to improve
ah just like everything
the results for me are slow
but sometimes i’m a tortoise splitting hares
sometimes im the last one to understand
but when i do
i can do so much with so little
a little is all you need
my gifts were never the way i wanted them
my face and hair neither
i was put down in the wrong place
my past lives didnt understand me
something still makes me behave erratically
what are the forces pushing me around
again, the mind must know when to intervene
dont get in the way of magic
but dont let fiascos long endure either
be friendly but beware
the fools think there is no magic left
but its there on every minute level
the fog seems to be losing its grip
the city pops up here and there
the harbour bridge still hidden in the distance
sydney oh such a beautiful city
with its waters and its cliffs
its views its oceans its clouds its blue may skies
stockholm too …it must be getting pretty there now
elektra and miranda leaving in 2 weeks
we look at each other with a certain resigned sadness now
the feeling of temporariness
i know we will hardly ever speak when they return
turning seventeen in the warm skandic summer
oh the long days
oh the beautiful scents drifting in the country air
lovely blessed sweden never far from my thoughts
my little flat in bastugatan
waking up in the long dark nights of snow
alone in my loft bed before i met natalie
sweden all around me
i wanted to be swedish but i never could be
i never could be anything i wanted to be
i could only be the things i stumbled into
im not even a proper australian
when i get yabbering im usually too much for most aussies
englishmen rightly treat me with suspicion
my freckles my drawl my laconic laziness betrays me
i could pretend to be american but why?
they like me better the way i am….luckily
i have realized something lately
i am not everyones cup of tea
socially musically whatever
i rang up mem the other day
out of the blue
can you believe this guy answers the phone:
killer?
see
the web is tightening
anyway i liked talking to him
he was on my wavelength
but uh
its funny what is it that makes some aussies uncomfortable
i was on the bus with my kids
and i’m talking to em
you know my usual tripe
people all slack jawed around me
listen to the long words he uses to his kids
ok i think
if i’m so smart howcome i’m riding on a bus?
the more i appeal for riches and wealth
the goddess of fortune smiles and waves her head….no!
you have to be unconcerned
you have to be detached
life and maya and the family
a minefield
an obstacle course to negotiate
i love my children
but i love my work
which will i attend
when all children need you
or all children ignore your advice
trying to be the best painter and best father
my kids are incessantly drawing and colouring
they chew through the paper like demons
sorry about all that paper though i guess
see …eveything is verily a dilemma
many hands make light work
too many crooks spoil the brothel
ha ha
i just made that up
see…
the fog is dissolving in sunlight
the childs wake up
the baby will soon be stomping around
looking wild and disheveled
aurora with her wide bunny face
eve all warm sleepy and husky voiced
the dismal sounds of incessant construction reappear
but the sky is the most royal blue
and the sun is yellow
and now it 8 oclock
the real day begins

good fortune to my generous subscribers!
jai jai
hail to vishnu preserver
after visit to skin cancer clinic
i was given the all clear
uh huh a million freckles
but touch wood
no cancers………(yet!?)
you see i got burnt all the time
red shoulders red nose red chest
i knew the whiff of calamine lotion three summers off
i was burnt
i was peeling
they didnt know in those days it was so bad for ya
each time the skin came off more freckles
amazing they let me be such a big star with all these freckles
ha ha ha
anyway the doc was an old chinese gent
he was a real comedian too
as soon as i took my shirt off he said
oh i can see theres nothing wrong with you already
ha ha ha
then he ran this like whitelight thing over me
what do skin cancers glow when this thing hits em?
anyhow
i was worried about a couple of places
on my cheek a weird faded white spot
no thats not cancer you just getting old giggles the doc
then he sees this little knotty scab on my back
its been there a while …i figured it could be something nasty
no its just a ….(indistinguishable)he said
with the skinquacks thick accent n my ringing ears
i couldnt catch half of what he said
then a real benny hill moment
i thought he said i’m just gonna squeeze it
what? i say
youre gonna bloody squeeze it?
no says venerable olde doctor wong (i kid you not)
not bloody squeeze it ….FREEZE it!
oh
next minute this nasty little (never did find out what)
is getting the frozen treatment
i explain to doc that im pretty deaf
thats why i keep getting it wrong
the doc has a good giggle
boy you in good shape for yer age…you all clear!
i said doc im gonna get out before you do find something wrong
he giggled again
boy you right get out of here now!
so there you have it
it aint got to me yet….that evil wicked sun
but its still not over
now
back to greg dulli
having obtained gutter twins legally
n then blackberry belle n she loves you
n even his solo album
amber headlights
a little less legally
i can only say
im sorry if he nearly ran you over
im sorry if hes a booze artist or whatever
but i gotta say
i love the mans voice n his music
when he hits his fuckin’ stride
hes like every huge american hit single you never heard
unstoppable powerful gut wrenchin’
the guitars cut deep
the bass drops away
the high pitched backing vox hit
last night
last night was alright
dulli sneers and begs at once
how can those ordinary words sound new and vital
ah the transformative power of rocknroll
dulli has absorbed the beatles n stones n dylan
and he refilters them
through his engine of excesses
yes the characters in these songs are boozers sexfiends n addicts
dulli is a modern brel charting this seedy territory
but at the end of all that champagne n cocaine and pussywillow
dulli wants to wake up the next day redeemed
dressed in white
like an angel
and then it starts all over again
remember how the gallagher bros were s’posed to be?
edgy mouthy genius backed up with street cred sneer
but actually they were both just thick planks?
dont look back in anger?
dont make me fucking laugh!
look dulli is a mastersongwriter
hes like springsteen if he looked under more rocks
hes like got all that big u.s. fm power
but hes harnessed it to a fleur du mal sensibility
he is the baudelaire of rock
songs from the brothel
songs from the vampires own mouth
the disgust and loathing
then in amazing technicolour contrast
the aching love
the tenderness as the characters crumble and fall apart
is that mark lanegan croaking
ok you fucker time to settle up
lay it down slow them im gone….?
dulli throws away one liners like
not saying its easy to have it all or nothing at all
but man
you gotta hear it
jaded cynical brutal glorious rock
this stuff bleeding all over the place
i give all these records five stars
no dud songs
this stuff is the true spirit of rocknroll
lousiana perches
down n dark n dirty
a can of worms
i tell ya
i’m totally sold on dulli
amen

hail to my subscribers!
oh well met!
oh well come!
the generous ones
without any reward
putting hands in pocket
making the effort
helping me out of impecunious clutches
being my patrons
sponsoring this old big cat
from behind my bars of flesh
from within ,this caged creature
paces up n down
thoughts ceaselessly traverse my mixed up mind
i read a story drowning in colours
my brain photographs sounds automatically
i peruse the lists of embarrassments i have been involved in
i churn my perceived enemies names in my minds oceans
i disdain the offered social condolences of those who read my words
those so shallow that cannot grok this slightest bit of honesty
why come to me if you want sunshine every day
has that ever been my strong suit?
bah! you fools
dont peer into my cage looking for ice cream sundae
old and contained i may be but in my heart i am wild
i know the darknesses of our zoological sequences
i bite any hand that comes thru my bars
much to my regret
allow me to roar and pace and whimper
allow my to lick my wounds
allow me to refuse this black water
if you need to laugh
there yonder lie the monkeys aplenty
parrots squawk in the distance
i believe they feed the “straights” everyday between 12 and 1
i believe you can buy a bag of stuff n feed the baby pigs
i believe the snakes can be quite scary
me….i run through my thoughts
i write music and i plot revenge
i remain silent for hours then i explode
my eyes will bore straight through you
i see your soul and i see your ambition
your platitudes fall on my deaf ears
your advices remain unsniffed
you look out for me
but i am in the back of my cage
wheres its black and hot
twitching in some fevered dream
you could never know
i descend down chasms where words give no light
i climb mountains up into pure lit vistas where i see everything
i dream of the circus and its flaming hoops
and i snarl
they whipped me and i clawed at their brandished chairs
i made every mistake, no doubt
let me seethe then if that be my humour
let me be in my smouldering huff
let me growl in my solitude
seek not to admonish me for my ill moods
i who allow this honesty between us
ever seeking the truth of ye olde rat race
giving you thus ever insight
you stand before my bars
you who have paid your money
you
a day
the zoo
electronic friends fiends patrons and voyeurs
i bid thee
fond adieu

ah i forgot what i was gonna write
i’m sick of being a genius
guess i’ll be an idiot for a while instead
clouds roll across a blue bondi sky
a dismal garage band is out there thumping away
buses grind
distant construction bangs n ‘ammers away
my ears ring
my skin feeling cold and dry…is this old age?
my patience is short
my list of things to do is long
my understanding imperfect
still the bull in a china shop
a fragile bull tho’
a mangy panther
a turkey who wanted to fly
a worm who turned too late
descended from a monkey
who descended from a dino
who descended from a little piece of blechh
in some primordial bloody soup
my life is apparently meaningless
the uni-verse is random
everything is an accident
and then someone else put the boot into tom cruise
who cares what religion he follows…he’s an actor
its a lovely day anyway
but my procrasti-nation wont let me enjoy it
i am my own worst enemy
as it ever was
i shot off my mouth and blue off my foot
what will it all matter when i’m gone
rhymes easy but reason is harder
my grey eyes will stare sightless
nothing will bother me again
people may say this or that
but what can you do
there seems to be a secret i can never discover
give me untouchability
give me your filthy millions
give me a warm spot in the winter sun
i am ready to be greedy
i am ready to accept my reward
i am ready to sell my left kidney
i am ready to cash in my fish n ships
something always troubling me
i am discontinued
i should be returned
everything that used to be now is
i generate words like taps generate drips
i write songs like you write shopping lists
i cooked up a storm and i predicted the weather
i muddle around with this
i see my characteristic shadow on the wall
i should be a retired colonel from MI5
if my parents had stayed in england
my oh my how my life would be different
i blame everything on heroin
i blame everything on western imperialism
i blame everything on my manager
i blame everything on my family
i leave everything to be desired
i leave everything to my dear catfish the albino sucker
i am no time being
i am no writer
i am no one you could ever want to be
gullible naive lazy and slow
a cowardly bully
no gumption
no elbow-grease
no real balls
no real bullets
no real estate neither n thats no joke
i’d answer the phone if it’d talk to me
lunch had me
swim had me
baby hits the ground running and crying
something weakening my position
i blame dope
i blame booze
i blame nescience
i blame ignorance
i blame long stupid unimaginative liszts
of blaming this n that
i blame miss spelling
i blame the liberal party
and the party that went all saturday night on murrivere street
yeah i’m bitter
bitter this bitter that
bitter whatever i fuckin’ fancy
i’m no bing domingo
i’m no gentleman jim
i’m no spring chicken
i am the panther in autumn
a man for some seasons
i am grey eyed blackhearted whiteman
i am not for sale unless the price is right
how far can you throw me
how far can you trust me
how far is it to the sun in inches
where have all the question marks gone?
ah ha theres one!
and a exclamation mark too
mark?
are you reading this
my teachers…where are my marks?
my walls…where are my marks?
my birth…no mark
my water…no mark neither
my bench….ah you can see where this is leading
is that it?
was that a blog?
are you serious?
a further question
how about this?

if you hit the link stevekilbeyart
you’ll find nine new paintings on there
for my upcoming exhi in oh-hi-oh
i realize some among you may groan…
i usually hate it when people move into other” disciplines”
e.g. ‘orrible singers trying to act n vice versa
so i guess i should try to get some kinda explanation together
once n for all
now you’ll remember that my dad painted as well as played
so there was some precedent for this
i must admit i was quite good at drawing
spending lots of time in class
drawing guys playing guitars n drums
the way some little girls draw horses
i drew bands
later i honed my skills
in doing mean little pictures of the dopes i worked with
in the canberra shiny bums circa 1973-78
wacka wain
ruffhead ryan
ali bear
rod the hawk thomas
bill gunky shaw
all these faces came to life on my blotter from ballpoint pen
i stuck em up on the notice board n i’d get my ear clipped.
during the eighties i made some little heads with clay-mo
but i never really was that interested in painting or paintings
in 2002 after having moved back to aust
jlk suggested i do the cover for freaky concs
he remembered all the little pictures
i did of my mothers then new husband….
so i cobbled up a bit of stuff
using some ideas from my screen printing days
which had consisted of cutting up nmes n melody makers
with a little stanley knife
and using the actual page as a one or two off stencil
eventually john auctioned some off
which led to more people asking for some
so i did some more
and for a little while
people bought em as a novelty
and i just muddled along
accidentally doing something good occaisionally
eventually i started to learn something
gravitating towards gouache n pastel
lucky a few people were buying my stuff…
anyway thats leads us to now
at the moment im painting heavily n furiously
trying to get all the paintings ready
for ohio in june
way to go ohio
anyway
my painting is one thing my music isnt
and thats 100% original
when i do paintings i aint imitating anybody
i wouldnt know how and i cant be bothered
whereas my music is about 50 % public domain
ie
i am heavily influenced by many others
so my latest bunch of paintings all aspire to movement
to vibration
to connection
eyes watch ominously
vegetation twists and seethes
colours rub up against each other in pastel/gouache interzones
the vegetalista is another me
walking through the jungle of my mind i came across him
enclosed by eyes and fiery skulls
the many plants seek succour from light
the vegetalista remains in shadow
his eyes pierce from the murky psyches fog
the light and shadows break down into fractured organic pixels
i try to paint auras and feelings and i mistakenly come up with this
i try to paint ideas
the way i would sing about ideas
my ambition outstrips my technique but i’m catching up a little
i painstakingly pointilistic detail and dot dot dot
the paintings are supposed to represent (re-present) the psychedelic moment
why?
just for the sheer hell of it
its quite safely impossible
but in attempts we come up with great stuff
the actual receding geometrics of dmt are forever beyond my scope
but i like what i do as approximations
so
we get the idea of the colour n movement of the psychedelic vision
rather than anything actual
because actually it contains nothing actual
in dmt download a somewhat fragile me
surrounded by the weird mental pyramids in my head
the colours are all bright
the psy experience is usually vivid
everything is supposed to be oscillating
this is what im drawn to , i suppose
the other bits of life
me playing my bass surrounded by visions of music
someone having a fix in a basement while a tv blurbles on
jims mirror and his jacket of many eyes
rickis multi colour hair
the mona lisa with a swirling magma background
the king of dope
i think these paintings are at least my own
you may find other bits n pieces in there
but unintentionally
this is the stuff i wanna paint
i wanna call up these feelings with art and music
the micro-life
the macro-life
the surreal life
life under the influence of art
believe me these pictures look better in the flesh
theyll sit on your wall n you can get lost in em forever
trying to emulate my songs
these paintings are a little door for you
a door into…
(cue eerie music)
the empty place

blessed be the holy land of usa
for verily my childe
this is the source of rock
the blackmans blues
the whiteys folk
it suddenly mutates
johnny winston oboogie in old albion he catches on
micknkeef in dartford prick up its ears
jimbo in florida ….uh huh something going on
tom verlaine in del-a-where
little stevie k in a car park in canberra
waiting for his daddy
when daddy comes back he dont know his lil slim is changed
daddy i heard the who
daddy i heard a new take
daddy not morose like blues
daddy not preachy like fucking folk
daddy not complicated like jazz
daddy not limp like schmaltz
daddy this is raw and real
daddy im gonna be a rocker
even when i’m older than you are now, much older
i will build my church upon this rock
those guitars
they can shiver and wobble and vibrate and scream
and the drums like a jungle in a auto-plant
and the bass guitar …will ya listen to that….
son can you make a living plucking that 4 string behemoth
yes father
it was ever my destiny
on my 16th birthday
my first bass comes to me
and i set to
figuring out how i will say
whatever it is i will be saying
i look in the mirror
can a rock star be covered in freckles
i strum my tennis raquet
i put pictures of blue cheer and quicksilver on my wall
leon russell in his top hat leering off my wardrobe
in the darkness of those years
me n fernando drive round canberra trying to crash parties
we buy galaxy cigarettes and jam in peoples garages
5 guitarists all plugged into one amp
the drummer called mark
hes got a pretty sister who goes out with tony haze
whos in a real band
i feel important just standing in their backyard
out the back of the garage is a little room put on
we lounge around in there smoking cigs n reading magazines
i just found beard of stars in a record shop
and in one of marks sisters old teen magazine
is a story on bolan
hes sitting in some english garden on a summer day
far from wintery canberra n my thick jammin’ pals
who love the blues but not the rock like me
they aspire to denim n beards n long solos
but now ive found marc bolan i’m beginning to see the light
i gobble up the article
i read n re read it
he looks like a homo says fernando
my mother would hate it if i looked like that
said my half spanish half irish friend
but i didnt care
we went back in the garage
and tried to play some dismal savoy brown blues
shes got a ring on her finger n a ring thru her nose
sang the boys
but they had already started to lose me
i went home and i listened to bolan
his effeminate warble did not seem to disturb me
he was like a faun come to this dull world
and he sang of marvellous things
but he was starting to fuse it to this chuck berry simplicity
ah here were the twelve bars that fernando n angelo n mark loved
but not as some moaning boring old whinge going on n on
but as sprightly ramped up n declarations of intent
not the old i woke up this smornin’ n baby was gone stuff
see marc didnt see the contradiction between myth n modern
he just put it all in there
but you knew in yer heart
that in the dark
marc bolan could please the ladies
more than some old grunter singin’ the interminable blues
bolan wasnt all caught up in no paying yer dues bullshit either
he fused narnia n rock n corinth n berry n dandy n delicate
he finished songs on strange ominous chords
he had a song called the wizard
and at the end
he was screaming
and his guitar was distorting
and this little orchestra arranged by t visconti
is jamming along
and it was like being at a dionysian rite
(if you were 16 n lived in canberra)
a little later that year
i was sitting in a chair at a party
when some incredible song came on
it was the first time i had ever heard” get it on”
wherein the imagery n berry n sleekness
all came together
in the most perfect song ever
no one had reassembled rocks ingredients like this before
childe, bolan had a number one hit mentioning
the teeth of the hydra…
can you believe the significance of that to me…?
at the same time as i was hearing this new rock amalgam
a girl i’d never met before sat in my lap n began kissing me
this must have imprinted something on me i guess
rock became my mainstay n everything else seemed a waste of time
why did i need to mow the lawn or go to school
when there was rock…?
and all i had to do
was spin the record
and there was marc bolan
ready to take you off to some super eleusinian woodland scene
full of elvish babes and silver plated electric boogie on
and everyone there spoke in mystic poetic jive lingo
and everyone was high on love n magic
and the guitar was king
but always a little strange
like a grimms fairy tale all gone wrong
and bolan drove round in a roller
and he was a millionaire
and mickey finn was the first guy
i ever saw wearing that t shirt that said cocaine
instead of coca cola
and i didnt know what cocaine was of course
but it had to be better than getting bullied at the lyneham shops
by some teen neanderthal in a flannel shirt n his jeering flunkies
i knew in bolans world i would cut a cool figure
but out here in can-fucking-berra
things were bleak n dead for a cat like me
people in canberra in 1971 could not grok a proto-genius like me
it was a crucible to forge my identity in
in london or l.a.
i woulda been a dime a dozen
but here in the a.c.t 2602
i was at the centaur of my own uni-verse
i sat at home
i deconstructed bolans every last whisper
every last bubble of phased distortion
his pronunciation
his choice of instruments
i figured him out
and i figured myself out
and i figured out
that i WAS right
and all them planks in canberra in 1971
were wrong
and i would
aided n abetted by rocknroll
escape canberras tedious monotony
and escape the sludgy seventies
and in 1982
i materialized on a stage in london
at a 2000 people sold out gig
and i actualized my understanding
from the humble beginnings in a garage in dickson
i had sussed out a masters style
and just as he did
i was reapplying it for my own schtick…
in 1982 i visited the tree adorned with flowers
where he died in 77
all that to end up here….?!
bang a gong

is it love that makes us rock?
oh i love rock
oh i love love
oh i love drug
lets see now…..
i see baby tapping her feet to the beat
i see her eyes flash
i see lava
elemental right to rock
igneous pop
i love it when the guitars are crunchy and marine blue
timpani rolling in like waves now
the fire that burns underwater
the fire that flames in neptunes green glass
the fire that warms old lucifers slippers
then you must harness yourself
the grind of the great wheel
the planets strain at the bit depth
who can unleash them from their courses
who can channel england
who still has a bus ticket from lemuria
who can rock like a bitch then sleep like dog
my rock is my contradiction buster
i aint afraid of no paradox
i perceived i penetrated and i pissed off
i am animal i am soul
i am obsessed by rock n roll
grow up…i cant
slow down…not me
act your age…..never
what will you do…i will rock
what will you sing…the body electric
what will you say….thank you
what will you expect…nothing
what will you incorporate…everything
yoga and rock….hand in glove
does yoga make us rock
does swimming make us rock
does qi gong make us wok
i reckon achilles was a rocker
young n glorious n golden
dipped in a river of heroin
wielding a gibson les paul
fucking with the “straights” all over the aegean
quarreling over a chick with that old agamemnon
he turned up at troy with his sound and lights
he slew em baby
he brought the house down
live fast he screamed
he reached the chorus ablaze
he hit hades town like a flamin’ wraith
boogalooing in the elysian fields with some sexy ghosts
you see rocknroll is eternal
it was re-discovered in the 1960s
fender basses were dug up in south american jungle temples
those cats down in peru were banging out their 12 bars
chewing their coca leaves n stumbling thru louie louie
one million years ago some giant in africa
some winged love god blazing away on a hammond organ
of course he was
rock permeates all times n places
bolan told ya bout the ballrooms of mars
i told ya bout the statues of sharon stone
i told ya how the killer was on the road
yeah thats when i stepped thru jims mirror
yeah i met brian jones there too
and he gave me his blessings as he wanders unseen
through the eucalypts and sycamores
i hang out in laurel canyon with hannibal barker
and he is a savage gutter rocker
he keeps singing in phoenician though
and the child bride sacrifice is somewhat over done
makes me wanna pick up my own plank
and thump away beneath the surface of treble
makes me dream of genie
makes me dreamaround
makes me dizzy with rush
makes my moodswing velocitize
makes my devonsheer t
makes my equal oppa-tunity
makes my resolve harder
makes my green sea go turn a deeper blue
ballerinas guys on motorbikes
a dancing baby elephant
the whole she bang
i wanna conquer some dark continent
i wanna go electric at newport
i wanna hang with the red baron backstage in london
i wanna listen to mozart tuning up
i wanna see genghis khan punch out europes lights
i wanna see vivaldi fire liszt for being stoned again
i wanna see billie holiday on vacation
i wanna score over at scott n janis joplins
i wanna jam with nero at the imperial
i wanna fiddle about with that crazy god-king
i wanna redeem my soda bottles in a gomorrah 7-11
i wanna rock and then i wanna roll over easily
thats enough
thats enough for one day
one wonderful day
day of wonders
everydays
anyday

music….
what is it….
what does it mean to write a song…
the way it all fits together
first there was just a bass guitar
boom boom boom boom boom
it was going
it was pumping eighth notes
nothing very hard
there was a slight anticipation
it was relentless yet a bit sloppy
it sat on its 3 or 4 notes exploring nuances
from out of nowhere white noise appears
its being filtered
it wriggles and pops in time with the bass
snatches of conversation
short wave
pink distortion
movement barely tuned in
the tick tick tick of machine
the drums flail in
bang bang bang bang
electric guitars appear chop chop slam crunch
electric guitars in reverb and echo
like whales wailing
like women weeping
like animals crying
sirens inside a fog
push and push
burn up and disappear
cherish and forget
the instruments work upon each other in synergy
thunder crackles and threatens
electrical disturbance city in the jungle
a piano tinkers on a cavernous emptiness
the bass ominously growls
it swells to mingle with the thunder
the bass swallows itself leaving shards of splintery scrapes
another piano teeters through the background
drunk or falling apart
all sound slows down and elongates
cymbals whistle on into infinity
the piano grows ghostly choirs
things zip past
things in agonizing slowness
all moving towards inevitable silence
that waits at the end of any piece
silence like the songs picture frame
another song begins
another picture in the gallery
a voice sings some words
it doesnt matter what they are
it doesnt matter whose voice it is
everyman sings his own songs
the voice picks up rhythm n assumes a metre
the voice punctuates
it floats over the top
it is apart and a part
voice and music
a marriage of convenience
the voice modulates and drones and intones
the music swells under it and drops away
echoes flurry away and hurry along the grapevine
why does it
why does it do what it does
who decided that it would
it has no meaning only follows internal logic
it does not say what it is
does not announce itself as fact or fiction
the snare fits in the place the kick isnt
the hi hat keeps going regardless
the bass finds the kick
they combine
a melodic punch that hits you in the guts
the voice splits into a pair
something smashes like glass
is this even music
when does music become noise
at what point can noise be called music
the music is processed edited mixed n mastered
a sonic sheen is constructed
the feeling is left intact
the pump of sex
the swoon of drug
the struggle of man
the elation of life
the darkness of death
the possibility of redemption
all inclosed
all enclosed
a fix for a world in pain