The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

some mofo is now stealing money outta my bank accnt
in fact he got my last fifty bucks
thats right
i said to wife
at least we have fifty seven bucks in accnt
but
2 hours later
no she says
no
we have 7 bucks
ah clever criminals
now gotta wait 21 days to get my fifty back
hopefully by then will not need it so much
somedays ya get up…
fuckin’ conflict
everybody everywhere wants a piece of ya
fair enough
if you caused it yerself
but im wading through everyone elses problems
i wish i was a monk tending a garden
a vow of silence
i am like a parent waiting for my paintings
so i cant face the fact they are truly gone
today i will try to confront the slacker who blew it with the tube
up at fed ex
whats the best outcome i can hope for…?
an apology?
hah!
who cares
everyone offloads the guilt elsewhere
thats how its done
ah you dont need this today
lets try again tomorrow

i see some you think the spider killed me
but you know
im tougher than spiders
tougher than heroin
tougher than plane crashes
tougher than….
ow! i just stubbed my toe
well
nk n girls drove me to airport
tibor our car is having overheating problems
(the falcon is named tibor(pronounced teebore))
and an unfortunate set of (hopefully temporary)circumstances
has rendered us broke beyond belief
anyway
everytime i say goodbye to my family
i get worried case i nevva see em agen
i really do love em to bits
and today
the woofle seems so big n bouncy
evie doodle seems so robust and energetic
aurora doodle seems so laidback n humourous
and natalie mcwife seems so……
well this sposed to be a family blogg…
and sydney itself seemed so warm and soft and home
the airport bit was ok
i heard a guy in line saying
“oh i love airports”
i swing round n say
“how many times’ve you flown?
he says
“oh this is the first time”
gee
i tell thee very straight
there are many many many gay men around
everywhere
its gay mardy grah
in sydney
and bondi beach is covered in fabulous beautiful bodies
all men…
a lot of these guys have perfect worked out muscles
the heteros on the beach are all saggy flabby skinny weedy oafy
but these gay guys (most of em)
theyre an amazing glimpse at how the human male body
has the propensity to be sublimely gorgeous
like a stallion or a cheetah
how strange!
when i was a kid
it seemed that the muscley guys were the uber-butch hetero-types
and the skinny effeminate types got sand kicked in their faces
and their girls stolen
but on todays beach
the butch guys are mostly in bad shape
i think the reason for this
is complicated
n
beyond the scope of this blog.
being a sydneysider for a long time
with the largest gay pop on earth
i neither love em or loathe em
theyre part of the scenery just like us breeders
we coexist mostly in harmony
so with that in mind
the punning side of me
always wants to yell out:
remember visitors
bathe between the fags…
but i guess that would get more than sand kicked in my face
so i just sit n stare at their abs n lats
(cmon bring on yer closet gay diatribes anon)
anyway the plane to melb and back was very gay
and so what?!!
it was a smooth flight both ways so im happy
met at airport by nice geezer gary
not yer stereotypical vegan
but a real aussie locksmith bloke
tells me sad story how his wife had ms then died breast cancer
(he called cancer jimmy the dancer)
she was 42
i felt very teary
feel impotent with rage that this happened to this man
why lord why?
then we discuss ways of tumbling safes and picking locks
get to gig
they told me northcote town hall
well it was
but i was playing outside…
note to everyone who ever wants me to play
NO MORE OUTSIDE GIGS EVER AGAIN!
it was that worst melby weather
burning sun n cold wind
i made sure i could rant as long as i wanted
i asked the organisers
go for it they said
i did my first couple of songs
the guitars gone outta tune outside here
the sound is weird
only halfway through gig does guy find reverb button
n it comes on real suddenly
i get him to demonstrate all his reverbs to crowd
anyway i rant n rave bout vegism
from all angles
the spirit enters me
and i rant n rave loquaciously
im fucking good
i aint no dry proselytizer dishing the facts
n i aint no militant nutcase either
im a fucken renaissance manne
whose speciality is the eng lang
and im holding forth on a subject
i have been pondering for almost 40 years
eventually i dont wanna play very much
its feels stupid to go from impassioned plea for mercy
into
oh and heres a little pop song too
so eventually i seem to be just talking n talking
the main organiser of this whole she bang
an american lady called patty
was standing right in front of me
and shes smiling and giving me encouragement
a blonde lady even older than me
comes up n asks me to announce a meditation session
i ask her old she is
sixty
are you a vegan? i ask
yep
you know the crowd cheered
she really looked good for her age
slim n natural blonde hair
i mean you could see she was sixty if you looked close
but if you knew her when she was 18
you still would have recognised her
she still looked like herself
thats veganism folks
the only real solution to ageing gracefully
anyway i continue my rant
suddenly another tap on shoulder
a short squat woman is telling me
“you got ten minutes left
youre preaching to the converted
play some songs instead”
i just fuckin see red
(rightly or wrongly)
i do a horrible shortened stupid milky way
n i fuck off from their non stage
the organiser hastens after me
and assures me im the best speaker she has EVER seen
after 6 years of these gigs
ok
but that other womans got me in a cold rage
all shot through with self doubt
i mean maybe i was raving….?!
person after person comes in to reassure me
but that short wide bint has ruined my day
ah the fickleness of ego
and the achilles heel it has given me
i chat to a girl pastelling the pavement n get some tips
i meet my youngest fan outside the woofle
who was karla(carla?)
then i had vegan waffles n an iced stimulator
(phwaargh!)
actually it was vanilla cashew milk
thanks to con n kathy (cathy?) n luka (luca?)
nice to see md n donna
n princey n her friend whose name i always forget
even after all these years
fly home and im knackered
karin comes over
twillies have been misbehavin’ theirselves
oh my oh my
go to bed n sleep like a log
today is today
funny bout that

“

every morning is perfect
how could it not be?
maybe not perfect for you…..
but still perfect
i’m sitting here at my ibook g4
eating shredded wheat with rice milk n raw sugar
i wake up early after a wild day
including talking nk into having a swim in sea
cmon im saying youll feel so refreshed
cmon i say i’ll watch scarlet
nk goes in
shes frolicking around in waves
suddenly
oh steven i’ve been stung
sure enough
a bluebottle jellyfish has wrapped round her arm
stinging and burning
shes very brave but in excrutiating pain
we get home after a nasty windy walk
even the air is making it hurt moans my poor baby
only after hours does the pain disappear
nk recommends hot water as most viable remedy
but once yer stung….yer fuckin’ stuck, mon
anyway then i start noticing spider references
a guy from sweden writes to me
in a band called the arachnophobias
then we see and talk about spiders all day
at nielsens park in the changing rooms
finally last night
after a lotta love n intoxication
i sit out in the darkness on my balcony
sitting on my backstep naked
its 2 oo am…its a balmy nite
no one can see me
anyhow im sitting out there
im watching the moon cast delicate rainbow aureoles
on fleece like clouds who were inching their way across
a black night sky
i must admit i was pretty vacant
then…
(theres always a fuckin’ catch!)
then a red station wagon comes slowly up my street
and this dude just stops in the middle of the road
jumps out and is running around with a torch
looking at stuff
he starts walking down my path…
and oh no i cant fuckin’ believe this..
hes walking up my steps
im frantically waving my arms at this idiot
“what you want mate?” i ask
is this number 11 he says
“its seven mate” i say
not 11 ?he asks like an imbecile
(in case the number to my house changed but i aint realised)
“its seven” i say very definitely
i mean you shoulda been able to tell by the tone of my voice
a man uses that tone that means no more discussion, right?
the guy backs off n runs around with his fucking torch
after a few minutes hes back
jesus!
im wasted im tripping im out of it
im sitting on my step in the darkness
trying to get some peace
and im naked…
wheres 11 then? the idiot asks
” down that way , i guess” i say
my tone now is downright aggressive
i dont wanna see this man one more time
i realise dimly hes lookin’ for a noisy party
that fizzled out ages ago
the guy must be so out of it
he doesnt have a clue
he gets in his car and pisses off
i sit contemplating my lost paintings
i sit contemplating art and music and the moon
im reaching some very satisfying conclusions when..
the fucking car comes back
the idiot jumps out and is walking down my path
up the steps to my first floor balcony
this is supposed to be 11 he says
i stand up and grab a towel hanging on the railing
i coulda chosen a number of towels
but i chose this one
i wrapped it round my waist
oh fuck whats that ?im thinking
as a burning gravelly strange pain starts up on my hip
just above my bum
this is supposed to be 11 he says again
i stand up with my towel
and i move into the light
a hot and dishevelled bricklayer i am
disturbed in his own fucking house at north bondi
at 2 15 by this prick
“dude ” i say ” this is SEVEN!!’
my voice is telling him
that our next contact is gonna be me decking him
the australian male in me is aroused and im fucking angry
i guess he finally got the message
cos he got in his car and pissed off for good
gee my hip is sore though
i go in and show it to nk
she says oh darlin’
theres 2 puncture marks like an inch apart…
we then both realise
i been bitten by a bloody spider
who was in the towel
ouch oh
now im sitting here waiting for symptoms
of fever headache deleria
muse: sounds like a normal kilbey day
my paintings are lost for good it seems
i did yoga n i feel better
i see old nepali woman next door in sari
lighting incense to ganesha n buddha
the girls are on the balcony
all over me as im trying to do my poses
i let go
fuck the paintings
fuck the jellyfish
fuck the spider
fuck the idiot
whats next?
bring on the sharks!

steve fuckin’ kilbey man
yeah i remember that guy
i loved all that stuff man
what did he do again man ?
oh yeah i remember now
i met him a few times ya know
during the eighties
he was working at the markets
selling t shirts
he was getting a band together oh yeah
nice guy nice guy
not really
actually he was ok i guess
hard to fuckin’ get to know
if you know what i mean
sometimes he was kinda quiet and angry
othertimes he was ranting and laughing
he had a t shirt of richard hell with sequins on the eyeballs
he had skin tight crimson cords and brown boots
he just moved up from canberra or something
i’d see him queuing up for a stall
he was still young then i guess
we all were ,man
boy there was simon reptile
and the kung fu guy who sold candles
and the norml guy with his legalise dope stall
and white faced punk girls
and hippies and junkies and alkies
rod stewart breezed through the markets one week
with belinda green on ‘is arm…remember her
australias miss world
kilbey followed stewart round the market
at a discreet distance of course
he was trying to figure out how rod got his hair like that
“i mean, i know” kilbey said but he just wanted to
“see it up close…see how it all worked”
kilbey seemed to be disappearing regularly
he’d take off with other guys
walk back up oxford street to some clothing shop
was it gary wolfes?
theyd go out back of shop
and smoke dope in a leafy courtyard
the owner of the shop n his wife would come out
happy to supply the premises
for a smoke of richard westahofs good “caterpillar” pot
anyway then
when i saw him telly a year later
hed lost a lot of weight or something
he was wearing makeup
he seemed paler too
not like the freckly faced bloke at the ‘kets
my girlfriend at the time said “he must be on the gear”
but it wasnt that
he was just sweating a lot
playing every night of the week
sometimes two shows a night
suddenly he was all over the place
best songwriter in australia he said
what a bloody big head!
they were playing bloody great beer barns in the suburbs by then
we saw em one night
you couldnt hear a bloody word kilbey was singing
my girlfriend thought that was a good thing
the guitars were really loud
and uh i dunno
sometimes i couldnt figure out what was making all that sound
i got backstage
but they were all sitting around stoned or something
we didnt like the vibe so we split
i saw kilbey in the carpark having an argument or something
i dunno maybe they were just mucking around
kilbey had this eye make up on
“i bet hes gay now” said my girlfriend
no no he sure aint gay i said
but he sure fuckin’ looked a mess
we sat in the carpark watching him for a while
he seemed really cranky with somebody
eventually a ford ltd rolled up
and kilbey and the drummer got in and pissed off
we went home and i put on the blurred crusade
“i dont like em its depressing “my girlfriend said
and went to bed
i sat there in the darkness listening to his record
how strange to think that i knew him
kind of
sorta
yeah
he was a great guy
no
not really
he was ok
i guess….

kilbey sits in 1982
dangles his fingers in the water in a pool
the ripples move away in silver circles
he watches these little swimming beetles
diver beetles he calls them
seem to be able to survive the chlorine
they flit about like tiny turtles
he admires their speed and grace
how i love swimming pools kilbey thinks
but he notices hes changed
i love swimming pools
and i love backstage when our class does a play
and sometimes i hide under tables and look at ladies feet
some girls and women ive noticed have lovely shaped feet
at 7 years old i am a connoiseur of female feet
a fetish hanging over from my past decadent lives
perhaps
anyway
i seem to be in love with many girls at my school
i see them and im filled with strange feelings
i see the other boys dont seem to feel this way
they play with toy trucks in the dirt
but i follow that girl around
the one two years older than me
the one with the shapely feet
the one i saw at rehearsals playing an angel
in the nativity scene
oh to me she is a real angel
angel oh how i love that word
oh how i want a real angel to love me
to see the real me beneath this boysuit size 7
a lovely angel with wings like a swan
blonde like my angel at school
with nice feet even if theyre a little dusty
and beyond the tin fence which bounds our paddock
there is a wild world of sin crime and alcohol
johnny lennon n sir paul are prob’ly in hamburg
right about now
taking uppers and feeling up some chick called gertrude
johnny kennedy got not much longer
already people muttering in florida
in las vegas
in texas
camelot in smithereens
but here in dapto
im in love with too many young girls
some remind me of animals
sandra steele looks like an eagle
julie webb like a little mouse
some remind me of the daughters i will have 40 years on
by some common consensus
the girls have been ranked top 3 prettiness
wendy fuller # 1
shirley urban # 2
jill hurst, robyn brown equal # 3
the boys rank by fighting
brian jarratt # 1
garry simpson # 2
gary edwards # 3
garry simpson likes wendy fuller
but can a 2 have a 1 ?
i love shirley urban
but i dont rank at all
all the other boys fancy wendy fuller
but i like her handmaiden shirley urban
wendy walks through the playground
with her retinue of female followers
a real elegant dapto lady of 7 years in 1961
we learn some dance
in which eventually every boy n girl must dance together
at last i dance with shirley urban
and hold her warm soft damp hands
love up close is intoxicating
i wonder if she likes me….why would she?
her front teeth are missing…she looks so lovely
hair in plaits blonde like milk vanilla-y looking
the world seems so big
my father says stuff that makes people laugh
sometimes i dont understand why its so funny
he always tells me a little bedtime story
sometimes he works shirley urban into the story
i think its funny that dad knows her name
sometimes i see or hear things
that send me to a funny delicious place
it could be the sound of a mans voice explaining something
or a warm evening in a garden
or some ladys perfume
or a piece of music
two colours together
a story
a girls name
a girls face
anticipation of a holiday
oh anything
it starts to come on
that dreamy feeling
memories dreams feelings
ive only been alive 7 years
but it seems my life has gone on forever
i have impressions of other times places and events
the world is full of significance
everything means something to me
gradually this feeling will fade somewhat
my adulthood filters will narrow the band
on which i receive info about the world
i feel as if i am wrapped in a powerful ongoing mystery
i struggle in all kinds of ways
thrash about in chemicals
starving eating sleeping not sleeping
read him
read her
evolve
surely but slowly
i am no longer who i was

kilbey move deeper into time
the race nearly run
goodness n mercy still ahead
bad olde days behind
one of lifes stillpoints
a haven of calm
then
on the way to the airport in the eighties
pick up ploogy from balmain
flying off somewhere
ploogy lights up in the taxi
hey can i have some of that !? says driver
we drive off with driver somewhere
we sit at an industrial estate near airport
smoking pot with cab driver
we get out and wander through debris
when its time to piss off ploogys gone missing
neither me or driver know the time
and i cant remember what flight we’re on
or even where we’re going
i fumble around in my suitcase
which explodes in paisley shirts and cassettes
dont worry i switched the meter off says the cabbie helpfully
finally we arrive airport
somehow ploogys there…
by the time we hit our seats we’re fried
i pull out my worksheet
its like every town on the east coast of australia
we land somewhere
someone hires us a car
the other 2 drive off somewhere
me n ploogy get a cab
we try to check in to the wrong hotel
eventually i get into my room
ploogy comes bursting through a connecting door
his ghetto blaster is blasting dub reggae
and he stands on my balcony smoking more dope
we regard the city and the sea beyond
it seems these days will go on forever
people scurry around in the streets below
we have escaped that world
we are indolent intoxicated and spoilt
a plate of toasted cheese n tomato gets delivered
and a couple of banana smoothies
theres a knock at the door
ploogys friends arrive to take him out
his friends always piss me off
n these are no different
but they produce some thai buddha sticks
this was a ten dollar commodity
that consisted of some heads of marijuana
kinda tied or stuck to these little stakes of wood
after a while they produce some little square bits of cardboard
on each tiny square is printed a blue dragon
ploogy rips one in two
cmon i’ll go ya halves
as he pops his into his gob
and washes it down with the rest of his smoothie
he and his friends laugh and depart
they leave a trail of cigarettes and empty coke cans
in my room
go in the bathroom
have a piss
check myself in mirror
pale thin
long dark hair needs a wash
black stubble on my chin
i’m standing there
when the whole mirror starts to ripple
and i remember that ive taken some lsd
i stumble out
down the corridor
the other 2 are checking in
hi they say coldly
as i pass them by
out in the courtyard is a swimming pool
i walk over squat down and dangle my fingers in the water
how long do i stay there
watching the sunlight moving in the water
reaching but never quite grasping
some huge elusive truth
its eleven oclock in the morning
who am i?

re uptake
greenwater swirl down
pastel drags across paper
manifested love
love infested man
photo shoot today
kids chatter chatter
bus changes gear in the distance
hash totalled
singersong
drive bridge accelerate
listen to islands of the dead
let me take you to firefestival
smoke and ash
laughter in the air
sweet laughter
hereafter
everafter
in the islands of the dead
thoughts flick on n off
the paintings…still out there
elli n minna in high school
eve n aurora in primary
scarlet kilbey sleeps and dreams
shes in greece at a gathering of the worshippers of apollo
go woofle go
shes a mythchild
her eyes are aegean blue
in her dreams she dances with fauns
she sings utterly forlorn but beautiful words
in some unknown lingo
she drinks red wine and laughs out loud
she marks out the seasons
she colours the flowers
she presses the grape
she conceives a heroic son
who drinks moonblood and
fights outside the walls of troy
scarlet queen in silver chariot
calling to her son from the fray
her ringlets and curls flying in the wind
natalie sleeps and dreams shes 4 years old
on holiday with her grandparents
shes safe and warm in the back of the car
as she hears them nattering away up front
they stop at a motel
and she has a swim in the pool
she makes friends with a dog
she watches tv in their little room
outside its sultry
in the dream
in north bondi
a woman from the paper rings up
and we do and interview
steve…?
yes
whats it like to die?
it will be a sweet release, child
steve…?
yes
will everything be ok?
ah, how could it not….
we are all actors
when this play is done….
but steve i dont want my play to end…
no none us do so we must learn to let go
let go let go let go
think it do it
let go of that lump in your throat
let go of those tears in your eyes
let go of the life you had led
steve….?
yes
im alone and frightened
ah yes childe
the human condition
so alone
alone we go into the unknown
without maps or gimmicks or self defence
trusting it will all work out
the woman hangs up
from my window i see the opera house
as it sinks in the harbour
the towers all opening and closing
the hydrofoils mount the land and hump the earth
the shops retail spirits
all the “straights” in the big end of town
are busy schmoozing backbiting and jostling
i had a hundred bucks once…gee what colour was it
mum and dad have stopped in cooma cos russ got carsick
i told you boys not to eat all those bloody chocolate biscuits
snarls my mother
dads worried about the carpet in the back of the car
watching in the rearview
he winces everytime russell heaves
the miserable kid is clutching his guts and retching
it occurs to me how much braver russell is than me
he never complained of feeling sick
he just sat up and cast up his accounts
me…i woulda complained all the way from jindabyne
till i finally did it
and then i woulda been all fragile the rest of the day
russell finishes vomiting and carries on as if nothing happened
up the front mum n dad argue over the carpet
and who gave out the biscuits in the first place
meanwhile in 1990
a horrible brassy old strumpet writing for an english rag
who fancies marty but hates me
writes a very nasty article that sinks the ss church in blighty
grunge comes along
followed by boy bands
followed by emo
and lollapalooza
and mr white knocked at my door
ohh mr white
you were such a good friend then you hurted me good
and in north bondi they build a duplex in the fifties
and on sultry days a mad woman living there
peers into the future
she sees a brown n freckled medium man
in his late middle age maybe
its hard to say
and hes typing at a little white oblong thing
with a screen
and he listens to strange music
from a white shoebox looking thing
and his room has a picture of a silk screened buddha
gold he shines beneath the bodhi tree
the leaves and mountains gold tinged
his silver halo radiates around his holy head
the end to suffering
wanting is suffering
desire is suffering
or leads to suffering
be content whispers buddha
everythings ok
is everything ok now? dad asks as he drives
yes everythings ok we say
the radio plays apache by the shadows
or is it shadow by the apaches
everything in flux
everything constantly changing
learn to love it
love to learn it
soft rain gently falling outside
soothes the hot surfers
the hot surface
the path is clear
neptune arises
scarlet whirls like a dervish
a machine powers down
the day drones on
and on

my wardrobe is concealing things from me
my slippers are slipping
my carpets low self opinion
my fridge is cold towards me
my fans just wanna blow
my mirror comes up with nothing original
my windows unopeness
my music all unheard
my paintings lost somewhere
my kids acting like children
my wife behaves unmanly
my mother no fraternal feelings for me
my brothers never in the sisterhood
my father waiting waiting patiently
my work is play
my words are just words
my sing-speak voice no choice eh joyce?
my relatives no relationship
my friends who needs enemies
my enemies cant be bothered
my festival the moons birthday
my sex sometimes it owns just random gender
my goodness ha ha ha
my garden…..tar and cement
my weight worth itself in fools gold
my teeth and it was all yellow
my eyes grey brigade
my nose red and straighter than “straight”
my mouth like a rivers
my beard of neutron stars
my jawline like a clean sweep
my neck swan rake
my hair wispy whispery and soft
my brain insane in the men-brane
my mind unwinding not minding
my money shot
my clock feels temporary
my time is at least 3 quarters gone
my ears hear ringing humming screaming
my legs were made for walking
my soles mates
my feet not centimetres
my calves bulge like guppies eyes
my knees crack and buckle
my thighs ironed out
my groin groin grone
my loins lions loins sir
my belly abdominable snowman
my chest sunken in the sea
my armless harms
my handy hands, duane
my fingers which keep touching things
my nails are nihilistic
my freckles oh how i used to hate em
my wrinkles olde man look at my life
my chances slim, slim
my hopes hopeless
my dreams zzzzzz
my my
my
*

in 1983 and a half
i was dating a mermaid called marina
i was hooked on a drug called glass
i often had that glazed over look
sometimes i felt shattered
sometimes i felt transparent
i was on a tour in south america
the magic realists tour
cocaine was 5 cents a gram
and you could get a five course meal for a smile
orphans hounded us
they kidnapped our then keyboardist
a czech needed cash
he turned up 3 years later in memphis
wearing a skirt and saying he was malcolm fraser
i was in a hotel room
trying the local glass
it came in clear sheets
it had no odour but a sharp taste
we were playing in the forests
in the glens
down by a racetrack
in the market square
in my bathroom wine flowed from the taps
red wine from one side
white from the other
my feet were screaming
my songs were still in customs
being inspected
the south americans slept all day
i roamed the empty streets
thieving from unattended bazaars
an old lady told my fortune with the cards
she smiled and then cried
and she smiled again
she smacked me round the head
and told me in to fuck off back to montevideo
the orphans caught up with me
joined by a load of urchins
ploogy had a friend called bbbob
who was a albino herm with esp
and a ford aurora
with creamy bucket seats
and a console made of jet and obsidian
the car smelt of sandalwood and indica cigarettes
bbbob picked us up in amazon street
just round the corner from the brazilian bank
where i saved a gazillion pesos by feigning interest
the glass really kicked in
a window of opportunity
the coppers were keen to interview me
let em get in line behind los pop hits i thought
and some tv show on after midnight in rio
where things got real magic realistic sometimes
i’d watched it before
when some shaman with a crow had been on
and some author who claims to change into a jaguar
(or was it a daimler)
the glass was letting it all through
the mermaid had swum a long way to get to our next gig
which was down in some bar in chile
but she was netted by japs for re-surch
an ugly business
they stood on her scales
she was tanked to the gills
holy mackerel!!
the sub-mariners own sweet sister
angled like a perch
with baited breath
flounder about
it really cut her up
and that is why i dont drive mazdas or fiats
in my hotel room
condensation was forming on my glass
i gotta get outta here i called my evil manager
roger u centsless
theres a boat leaves next week says centsless
its bound for joppa……
be on it he said
our last gig at the old brazilian was a failure
ploogy gave away his snare drum and his microphones
and then he gave away his kidneys and other organs
our trombonist was arrested after a scuffle in a nightclub
involving an incan prince inkin’ prints
and some hookers booked by the bookers for the cookers
by hook or by crook but look……
they were all shook up
jimmy jim jim our californian zitherist
who came on for universal chord
fell into some glass on santiago blvde
i can see everything he said
before he got all misty
the tour lost a prophet
the loss was sustained
our record co satan lucifer records
funded by bad corporations
trading in naughty products
well
they bailed us out
after i promised i’d write another
over the mrilky lei
of course
i did
that song was called
rock lil honeybun (cos big daddy gonna gitcha) (pts 1 and 2)
and the rest
as they say
is
hystery

my paintings have gone missing in the fed ex
my intuition said oh sk watch out for yonder slacker
who doth handle your paintings too casually
and behold! the knucklehead has verily gone and
stuck em in a tube which came undone
somewhere south of antartica
please dont let em be lost
oh please dont let em be lost
including the family portrait which i slaved over
and all the rest
keep yer fingers and toes crossed fiendss
not justa the money
(fed ex no re-fundy on original paintings)
but the love n work
oh no dont let it all just disappear
like the “good” version of ripple
erased by a knucklehead in 1991
or my book of poems chucked out
when i went on holidays from public service once
by the way a book of my lyrics n things is on ebay
please spend confidently as some of the proceeds may come to me
theres some unused unseen stuff in there too i guess
i dunno i couldnt afford to buy it thats for sure
but someone said theyd buy and give it back to me
but i dont want it
what use is it to me?
i chuck all my olde schlock out
moving around the world has necessitated this
i was shocked to find the amount of stuff
i had accumulated in my house in rozelle
particularly in the basement
spare renault engines from when i had that stupid floride convertible
sewing machines from russells old girlfriends
silk screening paint long congealed in the buckets
screens of all descriptions
boxes of mouldy cassettes
contents ?
video cassettes
contents?
things people had left
meaning to come and get
but never did
books and magazines
cardboard boxes of church fanmail slowing yellowing
and becoming damp
old shower curtains
old sea grass matting
old bits of rolled up carpet
old pots and pans
dead plants
suitcases full of damp mouldy weird clothes
old pairs of shoes and boots
boxes full of photos all fading away
bits of timber packets of nails
horrible old paintings all mould encrusted
boxes of old music rags full of nasty things
cans of fixative and engine degreaser and whatnot
i first moved to rozelle from canberra in 1979
my house underwent many changes
from dark intense acid den
thru to a light n bright house for very early twillies
with a little deck out the back
and a little house for em to play in
and a modern gas heater
and lovely floorboards
people moved through that house
like fish drifting through coral
russells mates and girlfriends
plus his girlfriends girlfriends
a bunch of whom went to an art college
on our street
which meant the place was always full of
noisy young women smoking bongs and cigs
drinkin coffee
and plotting their rise to the top of the fashion heap
there were always stencils and pencils and cans of paint
developing fluid blueprints patterns scissors full ashtrays
and a general squawking giggling carryon that i fucking abhored
once i came back from a tour
and the girlfriend and her girlfriends had given my clothes away
she was actually wearing one of my shirts
that she’d cut up and sewed stuff onto
she was nonchalant when confronted
i was enraged
she spilt some kinda gluey muck all over my red carpet
meaning a plantpot forever had to stand on that spot
russell n his friends were a lot more casual about the place
than i was
but i always felt like an old dictator at the time
russell and i had lots of silly stoned adventures
involving losing keys and money and locked out broken down
paranoid frightened laughing hysterics
we tried to make opium out of lettuce leaves
we read books from the esoteric book shop
we tried to become magicians or whatever we thought it was
we quoted crowley and regardie and buddha and nick kent
we listened to mighty wah! and freur and deux filles and big star
we saw films at the valhalla
that were mainly about sex or drugs or world war three
or all of the above
we went to lismore and swam in waterfalls
we went to the national park with ploogy or evo
smoked joints sitting on the edge of huge cliffs
we mucked around in the bedroom studio
trying out pieces of new equipment
we had begged borrowed or sold
we made friends with next door neighbours
who were raving pot-heads too
we knocked down the fences between
so we could get into their kitchen easier
where one of the sisters was usually passing around her bong
the 2 houses were an epicentre for hippies
crystal healers
fashion students
musicians
girlfriends
boyfriends
their friends
and their friends
there were lots of impromptu parties
lots of dope smoking and munchies
ie me and russell watching telly at 3 in the morning
walking backwards n forwards to kitchen
for an endless supply of toast and cornflakes
as we smoked on in lounge room
marijuana was endemic to life in those days
it was not questioned
roadies
managers
musicians
guys in record co
agents
punters
everyone smoked dope
it was almost a given
in sydney at least
it was not an exotic illegal thing
it was a “normal” part of life
everybody smoked day and night
of course i was a pot apostle
i turned everyone on
and ranted at the ones who didnt wanna do it
i took incredible stupid risks (in legal terms)
i ate hash and went blind for 3 or 4 hours once
i came home from tour and always someone
at my house
some party some gathering
some couple of layabouts crashing on the couch
calling overseas n using all the hotwater
ploogy hung around
smoking bongs and getting slowly but surely
more wound up
he was always up to some prank
he was an amazing energetic blur in those days
81 82
everybody liked him
everybody didnt like me
i was the old gloomy one
the famous one
but seemingly pissed off
about something all the time
gee
the layabouts thought
i’d be happy if i was him
i suddenly earned some good money too
in comparison to all the other types around but
i felt unhappy and isolated
russell seemed so much more bohemian
and in the thick of things
i didnt like his friends and they didnt like me
but which had come about first ?
everyone shoulda loved me i thought
cos i was a star
but it had the opposite effect
i was embarrassed to play the church at home
or even mention them that much
i should have been enjoying myself but
the other guys in the church started to avoid me
as i was assuming my nasty dictator character
it wasnt really that
it was just that i wanted things done my way
as revealed to me through creative insights
and they wanted to rebel to see what would happen
although i am obviously an ideas man
i also have a nasty antisocial streak
that seems to negate my insights
i am often ignored
there was no right or wrong
everyone was kinda against everyone in a way
yet we were united against the world
go figure