The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

its monday…..
where to take this today….
so many memories in my head….
52 years of mementos n souvenirs
most days i thank my lucky starrs
that im no longer a slave to the gear….
somedays i feel like i still have all the time in the world
otherdays i feel the future like a rope round my neck
at times i feel so lucky
othertimes i wonder how i coulda got everything so wrong
bitter regrets
if only if only if only
i’ll be standing there doing yoga
my mind a blank….
then…..
wonderfully projected on that blank mind
a scene from my life
where i snubbed/sneered/cheated/fiddled/blanked/lied
exaggerated/embarrassed/hounded/nagged/belittled
etc/etc/etc
somebody
especially the ratbag the junk unleashed
one day
when it all doesnt hurt
well…
i have a book in me about my gear “adventures”
in sweden, easily
an australian junky negotiating the mean cold streets
of stockholm
getting ripped off
getting high
being chased, punched, followed, ignored
freezing in arctic stations
melting into the shadows of the long summer evenings
furtive exchanges on trains
sittin back at home in my lovely apt
blasted on the excellent svenska scag
watching fluffy snow swirling round n round
i could see statshuset from my window
thats like parliament house
i had a lovely modern kitchen
tiny but elegant
elli n minna would sit at my table
eating baked beans on toast
sitting on art deco stools
the kitchen was ,like, salmon pink
with deep blue tiles
bare polished floorboards
i slept in a little loft above the hallway
i crept up to my bed by a little ladder
oh it was so cosy when it was dark and snowing
my apartment was always a perfect temperature too
you could walk round in yer undies
when it was minus 30 outside
there were no draughts
no cold spots
it was heated by these radiators
which filled with warm water
(you couldnt even burn yerself…..)
all by themselves
and voila
the place was always cosy as toast
too stuffy..?
crack a window a little
let that fresh nordic air in then
my apt was basically one huge room
marty used to crash there all the time
when he was in sweden….
sometimes i stupidly felt sorry for other idiots
on the gear like me
and let em come around my rather upmarket apt.
one guy was freezing and hungry
i didnt have much
so i made him the sk staple in those bleak days:
semolina pudding
after this particular harmless but stupid idiot
had fixed up and dropped some pills
he was so blissfully out of it
he sat down his his semolina and then
went and sat all over my apt
with semolina pudding stuck to his bum
i got angry and threw ‘im back out into the snow
another idiot
after i’d given him shelter n food
i caught him red handed stealing 500 crowns
outta my coat pocket
i said lasse
how could ya do that to me
he says
i was cleaning up for you
and i was cleaning your pockets too
and i thought this was an old bit of paper….
the idiot was believing his tale
even as he made it up!
he stared up innocently
after he was about to rob me blind
another nassty ratbag called leffe
sold me 2000 crowns worth of raspberry cordial
that did NOT have methodone innit
and i was sick like a donkey
by the time i found out….
talk about a dog eat dog world
the swedish narkomen n women
could not be trusted
wow!
rude awakenings
cold ripped off dawns
empty handed in some station
silence of the snow
waiting
always waiting
at home
waiting for kjelle
a huge blond dealer
looked like an over sized matt damon
smoked ro-hypnol off an aluminium foil
before his shot
sometimes he gave me credit
i was the only one of his clients who was human he said
or there was dagge
i was with him once
he stole this car
he just had a little pick he use
started it up
picked up 2 other wretches
drive to this industrial suburb
there dagge n these other 2 idiots
shoot up in the car out the back of some factory
its cold n its snowing
one guy greedily has 2 much and nods off
the other 2 just roll him outta the car into the white void
but i protest
hes gonna freeze to death in five minutes
fukk himm man dagge says
i thought the guy was a goner
but
sure enuff
he turns up at the station a few days later
he doesnt even remember…
things were outta control
like it was dream
i become a character on the scene
i knew every fucking badde guy down there
i still got ripped off
bang a hundred bucks gone just like that!
someone sold you a cap full of nothing
and it was yer last money
and yer sick n cold
but yer cant go home emptyhanded…
oh terrible times
no rest for the wicked!
always running around
waiting here n there
waiting at home
almost lifeless
every smallest thing unbearable
believe what you heard
junk withdrawal IS the worst thing
a million times worse than a broken arm
it gonna get you and make you wish you never been born
think of every misery youve ever known
you gonna freeze to burn
your stomach is gonna try n leave yer body
you cant sleep n thats the worst thing
thats the thing that gets them poor wretches
back out there
hustling, dealing, prostituting, stealing, pawning
not the high
its the low
a low that no one can stand
you cant do it on will power baybee
it dont work like that
that stuff wasnt finished with me
until one day
by the grace of god
it was finished with me
it didnt work anymore
the obsession lifted
it exerts no attraction on me any longer
im disinterested
but up until then
nothing helped
beware fiendss
dont monkey round with that one
oohh! you’ll rue the day
you let the gear in!
its a bad bad deal
watch out tho
cos gambling, sex, road rage and gossip
are still out there
anybody could get addicted to anything
just gotta make that connexion…
or not
jus’ remember
when you see that fucking disgusting wino
or that sweaty skanky junky
think
there but for the grace of god
goes sk!

love ya

starcrack in the void
breakthrough
we pour through
silver grey metal # 40
the new air corrodes
we lubricate the apertures of space
we detect openings
we hide in veneers
spilling over
return to the earth everynight we must
the soldiers fight and nothing else
they absorb the enemy
infra-red and suddenly violet
a movement in the atmosphere
a tearing sound
the explosion of minds
we eat your horror
we will drink your lives
twisted trees frolic in the black wind
its not rain…its……
breathing becomes difficult
you never get used to the fire
wave after wave of nausea
the void finds its voice
its croons a cruel song
a whirling drone
oh you know those words
dont resist the turning wheel
fortunes blown
savage music
the sky fills with black birds
coming down screaming and burning
insect kings arrive
their conquest is absolute
there is no more music
no more unnecessary movement
we are locked in
on course
remorseless, revengeless
a river of one thought
in the dark night of incubation
in the closeness of the nursery
we have no differences
our numbers swell
filled with incessant life
wings sprout from my shoulders
and i rush and rise up
into the teeming night
held in formation
the air crackling with signal
we maximise our advantage
we hit
phalanxes of pitilessness
extinguishing strength
we eat into the barrier
we waltz through the gaps in matter
we penetrate
and
we interpenetrate
our sting is terrible
and we thrust it in
over and over
machine like mind
disengaged
beneath the carapace
i am somewhere else
even as i take your life
as i draw you out
charm your soul from its flesh
never to return
there is no stopping
there is no turning back
once this begins
sudden silent and inexorable
coming
coming
soon
soon
end

im sitting here
obviously……
im not sitting there….
the doodles are scribbling n drawing away
its meaningless for a father to say
his daughters are beautiful….
oh but my daughters are beautiful
oh vishnu, oh jesus
what an unexpected honour and treasure
to protect and guide these lovely female beings
money could not buy them
success could never replace them
is there ever a blinder man
than a father who loves his daughter?
well i been lucky in that dept, at least
5 lovely ninnies of my own to father
oh man if youre a father…?!
talk about responsibility……
i shouldnt talk…….
i am not the model of parental perfection…
im so relieved my kids arent scared of me..
like in the olden days (circa mary poppins)
when the kids were trotted out to their distant father
he inspects them briefly
the mother cues the hestitant kids what to say
the father is aloof, slightly impatient all the time
seems like a father has 2 basic options
stern distant patriach
or
dad, the human being
i guess my dad was the 2nd
in a time when there were plenty o the 1st type
my dad was a joker
he didnt wanna scare me
i’m glad the twills n doodles see me in a similar light
i guess
though sometimes
it would be nice to snap yer fingers
and get a little yessir, nossir
but how likely is that
unless im doing my block
but not just doing
block
well its a coldish rainyish morning here
marconi union playing in the corner
(thanks sirhc)
sculptures by the sea is on in november
again
it is as it suggests
all round the clifftop
framed against the blue pacific ocean
(today gun metal grey)
all kindsa “sculptures”
3 D art at any rate
free
when everyone makes an appearance
we’ll have a walk up to the cliffs n see
this years sculptures by the sea
i dont mind if it rains
i just hope the sun dont come out
and it gets all steamy….
a lovely soft morning actually
oh so quiet here in this little street
its rained overnight
and its like some artist
has gone round and airbrushed all the green things
greener!
elephants ears n chinese shrubs jostle with weeds
the concrete cracks n weeds push through
ants n lizards tentative in the cool dawn
passionfruit tree w/ pink flowers
cars slumber in the street
a strange bird that lives only on nectar calls mounfully
a persian cat with bright yellow eyes looks on
n licks its lips
all the lovely trees bounce n move in the gentle wind
pigeons black against a white sky
while i type this doggerel
eve starr hangs over me
and now aurora
trying to interrupt me
im not trying to interrupt you says aurora
but carries on leaning on my shoulder
eve fiddles restlessly beside me
aurora reading over my shoulder as i write these words
and reading it all out aloud
in a stop start 7 year old way
i wonder if i type aurora is a gooseball…
yep she said it!
herself
can you believe that i actually gotta
run the gauntlet
in this fashion
while im trying to work
2 little girls
who know nothing about blogging
or my planet-wide audience
subtley but surely
strong-arming me in their own way
like minders
or thugs
trying to deter me from my porpoise
which is…
oh god
ive forgeotten

beware fools
one fool can sink a ship of wisemen
fools are bold
theyll try to get everything
some fools know theyre fools
some fools are so fucking foolish
their own idiocy is obscured from them
some fools want to do that same old dance
other fools think eating duck liver pate is “civilized”
i knew a fool who fooled himself
and then he turned around
and fooled a whole lot of other fools too
a very big fool imagined that his “rebirth”
(a kind of metaphysical “get out of jail free” card)
in some phoney hokey localised bullshit religion
could justify a coffinload of war
he imagined his “sins” were wiped from some slate
he had never really understood the word karma
but even if he had been able…he would have rejected it
another confederation of dunces thought they could unleash mayhem
because they thought their “good book” said so
fools say where is god?
i cannot see god!
god is the perfect proportion
god is the silence as the earth revolves perfectly thru space
god never says kill
god says let it live!
if he says anything……
god is the perfect healthy child
god is the old kind man
god is in healing
god is in beauty and symmetry and harmony
god is within the system within the system
god is everything…
but the fools say
yes but you see……
and yes
ok
i am also a fool
i let this petty world drag me down and in
i listen to fools
i talk to fools
i am swayed by fools
this foolish swaying world of men
money money money
i love it
i loathe it
what the hell is it even?
the potential to own stuff?
i just walked into all this accidentally
i was born
and then someone had already decided that
i would go to school
i would learn this and i would unlearn that
i would write cursive script with my right hand
and sing god save the fucking queen everymorning
someone had decided that i’d wear a uniform
and someone decided to feed me meat everywhere i went
before i was old enuff to really understand the true HORROR
of the animal corpse industry
someone decided i had to learn mathematics
and sit for permanent-nightmare inducing external exams
someone decided i should do an iq test
and even when they realised i was “genius”
they still decided more stuff for me
and then a succession of dentists
decided it was ok to fill my fucking mouth up with quicksilver
onlyone of the deadliest poisons there is…!
(hiya freddy mercurial!!)
and then someone decided that the stuff i liked was illegal!
do you mean theyll deprive me of my liberty if i smoke dope???
yes sir,
ask the thousands n thousands in u.s. jails right now!
oh but you cant…
cos theyre locked away…
for their own good
you see
smoking dope might be bad for you
we’re not sure actually
but in case it is
we gonna lock you up if you do it
and we gonna take away the electric cars
and we gonna give big fat contracts
to big fat nasty men
secretive furtive rich men
men who make more in one month
than everybody here will in all our lifetimes
and everywhere
the fools
blowing up synagogues and mosques
saying guns dont cause DEATH
saying” fuck 2030, cos i’ll be dead by then”
fools dream up things like smart bombs
and then drop them all over suburbs of foriegn cities
killing any old body till they get the “terrorists”
fools really believe they are right
fools believe they know whats best for you and me
fools are often very bossy
fools are often very cowardly
but they like to say big tough things
if its other peoples arses on the line
what a shame what a shame
same old same old same old
william the conqueror
napoleon bonaparte
lord kitchener
all just fools getting other fools killed
and some of us fools
well
i know its a cliche
but we just wanted to live…
everytime i think of ww1
all that pain
all that agony
all that blood
all those tears
all those widows
all those cripples
all those corpses
why
why
why
do you know?
i dont
but some fool was real sure
once upon a time
this now we live in
will be someone elses
once upon a time
and some fool in that future
he’ll talk about us
and he’ll ask
why was it like that?
why did those fools do this?
and they’ll all say
i dunno

something i been meaning to talk to you about
detachment
its a strange thing
its a subtle thing
it might be well beneath your radar
but lets spend some time here
to think about detachment..
last nite i gave an off the cuff speech
at a book launch here in sydney
outside in a little garden
the place filled up with people unexpectedly
i was nervous
there were writers n fellow musicians
and reg mombassa who is one of australias
greatest n most recognizable living artists
i spoke to him briefly about painting
he smiled broadly
“mate, every one can paint….”
yes n no, reg
everyone has the ability to do almost eanything
but most people dont do hardly any of it…
aha professor yebliks theory of detachment
so im at this place
im launching this book
its gotta be good
my peers n the cognoscenti have all rolled up
(and my my, what a warm romantic sydney evening it was…!)
the editor of this issue, mark mordue
gives a little spiel as intro about me
i suddenly get very nervous
my mind alternates between blank
and all my voices
the tb,
sk,
ny
all screaming instructions at once
i step up to the mike
i take a deep breath
good evening, ladies n gentlemen
im pleased to be here to endorse this wonderful
blah blah blah……
a speech magically unrolls from my mind
it dances off my tongue 95% perfect
i stumble over the occaisional tongue twister
but i never falter
i never um n err
i go slowly when i need emphasis
i get louder n softer
i get closer n then move away from the mike
the audience laugh at the funny bits
they empathise with the sad n serious bits
and im just standing there
a vessel
letting my detachment unravel this very nice speech
that my subconscious is putting together on the fly
ya see i read a thing bout tiger woods
this writer reckoned although obviously the tiger
is an excellent technical golfer
what really sets him apart
is his ability to detach
and ive thought about it
n ive thought about it
n i believe it
n im sharing it with you now
cultivate detachment fiends
ahhh……..
uh-huh…..
oh, it aint so easy as all that , mr yeblik
no it aint, my fiend
otherwise we’d all be as detached as hell
you will find detachment in yoga, chi gong n swimming
thats where im getting my fucking abundancy from
but i know surfing, martial arts, dancing, hang gliding
diving, marathon…oh lots n lots
you get the picture dontcha
n jaime ll tell ya devotion to god will bring detachment
and thats true as well
cos that guy next door with the golf clubs
who has a hit every sunday arvo with his mates
he might be as good or even better than the tiger
bullshit mr yeblik ,you say
no fiend, the detachment is the thing
put mr next-door in a big comp n he’ll wither
the tiger might be playing for a small island
or a million bucks
but when he takes that big amazing winning shot
well fiend you gotta believe hes detached
his mind has gotten outta the way
so his tigerself, the real him, the one who can judge
the one who implicitly understands distance n velocity
and can translate that into a swing and a drive
(or whatever, what do i know about golf lingo?)
so ive been onstage at important or strange gigs
n i havent been able to detach
the band hasnt been able to detach as a unit
uh oh bad news
all my experience exhausted as i struggle with non-detachedness
im playing the bass too hard
plucking the strings like im plucking a soy turkey
im pushing down on the fretboard with a million pounds per square inch
instead of tickling n caressing it
my voice is caught in my tightened up larynx
nothings flowing
nothing can get thru
ah sweet detachment…
wherefore art thou?
anyway
practice it fiends
detachment
its gonna take ya a while
but its real important
if ya gonna speak in public especially
anyway
i also met bobby flynn last nite
wow
im impressed
hes got the x-factor in spades fiends
he could still possibly blow it
or some mother in a suit could still blow it for ‘im
but hes just got this feeling about him
that hes generating music all the time
even if ya cant hear anything at the moment
and hes detached, baybee
he verily doth know the great n subtle secret of performance
bobby, i hope you go all the way, olde son
and when ya get there
please
tell em, that the time being sent ya!
and ya got his blessing!

FORGET THAT IM 52 COS YOU JUST GOT BLOGGED
how strange
that i was thinking of a blogge about bowie n reed et al
that certain moment those guys made it all seem
like it could make sense
1972 -1974
poor billy dolls
overdosing on mandrax
mick ronson
boy he could play guitar
easy to underestimate actual impact at the time
youve had 30 odd years to get used to all that stuff
but in dull olde 1972
ziggy was space manna from hevven seventeen
of course its like watching an old episode of doctor who now
you can laugh at the tinseliness of the whole thing
and all the gay stuff seems kinda silly to me now
at least all that preening pouting posturing
n occaisional absurd get-up…
wow! do they really wear their mums blouse on mars?
but there were some great life altering bits too
like the guitar solo at the end of moonage daydream
it made me want to burst outta lyneham
i wanted the real thing laid on me
and the church of manlove
or the church of man, love
careful with that comma, eugene
thats a big distinction!
anyway these strings come in at end
they sound kinda weird n thinned out n speeded up
and bowies going in out in out
and oh yeah
hes reconciled the great opposites of space n sex
in out
the guitar climbs higher
its like theres all this squeaky stuff hanging on to it
the guitar moans n howls in deep echo
wow
it made me feel like i was in on something important
i realised pretty soon that bowie had booted bolan off #1 position
bolan was already losing his vitality
while bowie oozed possibilities
there was no contest
i was hooked on ziggy
i got all the rest..
space oddity n man who fell to earth
although i loved em
i didnt get the same hit from em as ziggy
hunky dory was close tho
tho i didnt like cover that much
at heart i guess im fairly butch
n too much men dressing up as women
quite frankly bores n eventually pisses me off
i doonae see any appeal or entertainment in that bit
listening to ziggy right now
its all very squealy n camp
anyway eventuall along came alladin sane
which i loved almost as much as well
and then diamond dogs
which i loved more than ziggy
and the bad reviews at the time were BULLSHIT!
bowie revealed what a fucking cool guitarist
n keyboard player he himself was
playing virtually every note on here
bar bass drums n some chucka chucka guitar bit
sweet thing was my fave
“i’ll make you a deal like any other candidate”
boy i rolled that phrase round in my mouth
then young americans n david live
which i liked some n hated some
then station to station
i loved golden years n word on wing
but the rest left me a little cold kinda
i dunno i guess that opening track like the train is ok
wild is the wind is bowie singing in that affected way
which i liked then but i hate now
aint that strange
the older i get the less artifice i want
then low
i love low
i still do
the instrumental stuff is gigantic
especially considering the times
singing in his own language too
its colossal its genius i reckon
or as close as we get in rock
i loved heroes too
but not love lodger…..
i hated that remake of sister midnight
bowie i felt
was starting to show the 1st signs of not caring
and if they dont care i dont care
thats what its all about
caring
and it shows
whatever you think about what i do
at least its obvious that i care
some of its good
some of its probably rubbish
but its all been cared about
and loved too
scary monsters..
a twilight album
between bowie as he was
and the bowie after lets dance
the only thing i like about lets dance
was the cover of criminal world
n china girl too
after that bowie n i part ways
tonight except for loving the alien was pathetic
then its just a bit of a blur
i mean i had em or blagged em from emi
but boy
talk about not caring
seeming lost
unable to tell good from bad
listen to never let me down
one faintly good song
i cant even remember its name
the one about the migraine
tin machine…i dunno
i hated it
both of em cept for that one song on the second one
ok theres been the odd thing since then
under pressure etc
hallo spaceboys pretty good
thursdays child too
i mean i want to like bowie
i really do
im already predisposed to it
but that silly affected singing
and seemingly random lyrics
that dont really make feel…anything
but dont get me wrong
bowie is one of the big ones
for me
and everybody else
even if he’d only done ziggy he’d be immortal
as it is
hes innovated and paved the way
for loadsa loadsa people
me bigly included
hes up there in some dumb pantheon i guess
eventually however
i just felt he wasnt caring about it
as much as i wanted him to care about it
which is his business
i realise that
if he wants to just toss stuff off without care or love
if he wants a orrible bleeding guitarist like reeves whatsisname
ruining all the songs with his cliched heavy tripe….ok
just dont ask me to be interested
but god
i will treasure some of this stuff for as long as i live
crystal japan
subterraneans
sons of the silent age
rocknroll suicide
“gimme yer hands cos yer wonderfull!”
gimme yer comments cos some of ya are wonderfull

nevzzy killdust

childe,
know this
in the beginning there was nothing
nothing like it
the music had not yet formed itself into rock
in the long dark night of the 1950s
hideous schmaltzy monsters dominated the landscape
oozing foul doo-wop n corny dance routines
in the darkness the ancestors of rock raised their heads
and cried out in the wilderness
a new voice
a new cry
soon the ugly fifties monstrosities would crumble n wither
deep down in memphis elvis presley took shape
chuck berry was writing rocknroll
his little finger walkin’ up n down the guitar
as the common era (1960s on) dawned
the corn n schmaltz seemed set to prevail
until the beatles
n then rolling stones
and bobby dylan i guess
and then the floodgates burst
and the who and all the rest
and lo rock was created for the people by the people
no tin pan alley cynical hit job
or advertising mans con-dream
rock was urgent wild unpredictable tender strange destructive
satanic holy loud peaceful violent
and its main voice was the electric guitar
and for the first time the possibilities
of amplification distortion echo reverberation
phasing flanging leslieing panning whammying
etc
for the first time man had an instrument which could bleed
for him
it could express rage
urgency
decay
panic
emptiness
it could be as sweet as the sweetest kiss
or blow yer fucking head off in squall of feedbacke
armed with our new instrument
aided n abetted by the new souped up drums n drummers
a more primitive approach to drums
bang out that beat like a savage
cos this music can get out there mister
let that bass guitar throb n push this thing along
and when we do get in a studio
lets see what that thing can do
lets experiment with this mess
hey maybe ya can turn a sows ear into a silk purse
a little reverb, a little strings, ride it a little there
you see
you can do anything in rock…
as long as its good that is
you can be whoever you wanna be too
if you dont wanna be who you are
it seemed like the people finally hadda voice
goodbye pleasantville n yer square bullshit
cos we got jimi hendrix n now anything is possible
when i hear pete townshend n ent n moony play underture
i feel like impossibility has been negated
this music appealing to something that other jive dont reach
ok ok
some good tunes in classical music
cmon theres some great stuff
but it dont fuckin’ bleed for me, baybee
neither does it take me up there on mt olympus
when spaceship hawkwind lifts off
the guitar strings scraping, the sax squawking in dim ‘verb
the oscillators falling through space in a hiss
as they part the etheric ions
the bass grimly pulsing, the synthesizer going up n up
well…
there is no other music that can or even wants to do this
its our music
its the peoples music
precious n quicksilver stuff
explosive n narcotic music
thats why us olde rockers keep on rocking
we’re hooked on our own medicine
viva la rock, baybee!
is it love that makes us rock?
you can bet yer life it is!
and that,
*
thats for sure

*this anachronym remains ambiguous
even to me who am the only one and only one
it oscillates between
frequently unasked questions
foolish useless queries
and a mysterious phrase in hebrew
which could give unlimited power to he
that uttereth it……..

FUQ : i have recently bought a number of time being products.
what do you recommend for maximum enjoyment of my tb range?
ANSA : the time being personally guarantees all tb products
when you have finished with tb simply rinse off
roll up and ready to re-use
those with tb nevets yeblick compatible interface should consult
the tb factory at 1 8000-ANATHEMA
before adjusting the implication mechanisms
model 13.9.54.sk can malfunktion
always turn off after use
dont let overheat
no ironing makeup microwave gossip

FUQ : can you explain the relativity between sk, nevets and
tb characters? my girlfriend and I are quite curious to see
how it all works….
ANTSA : its all quite simple really
see them as a trinity
nevets yeblik is the son
he is the mercurial, the maverick
the most human
the one who makes mistakes
the trickster,
the sacrifice in the wilderness of entertainment
the union and uniter
and then theres sk
hes the father
the creator
the ancient of days
an old man with a white beard
the serious side
the aloof detached locus
the prime fucking mover
the big daddy
and finally the time being himself or itself
the wholly spirit
the essence of all time beings
the essential emanations from but not including sk
om tat sat a mat
the time being is neither nor either or
if you can dig that subtlety…
the time being will exist forever in different forms
the time being is the continuum of time beings
including sk and nevets but not necessarily
the 3 are aspects of the one
steve kilbey
any apparent discontinuity
is perhaps merely the flux
as the various aspects recombine
each always present in some quantity
always a mixture of the 3
is it starting to make sense?
FUQ : i’m trying to contact nevets yeblik…
can you give me his contact details?
ANS: nevets yeblik is an imaginary character on a blogge.
are you crazy?
FUQ : I eat meat and i vote for the right.
I enjoy drinking beer and watching the football
with my friends Brad, Mike n Jeff.
I have a gas guzzler 4wheeldrive
a hairy chest with a leo pendant
and a key to the vip bathroom.
I pull down 400k a year
as a IT consultant in a fluorescent lit office
in the big end of town.
ive never heard of hawkwind.
despite all this i dont feel like
a “straight”……can you ask the trinity their opinions
please…..i wont be able to rest till
i hear what they have to say….
ANSTA :
nevets says: you “straight” bastard, you running dog capitalist
bastard , you yes-man, you cog in the machine, you…you…
oh shuttup
sk says : could you get me a job in that office,
i used to be good with computers….
time being says : i am you as he is me and we are us and
they are untogether….om sat a day man, i mean, ..
actually i dont think vishnu does like you….

FUQ : i wish my husband was more like the time being….
can you give me some simple hints as to encourage him
to be more like the lovely tb?
ANSA : madame, 1st of all ask yourself this
do i have time for my own time being?
could i satisfy his peculiar dietary needs?
could i regularly execise him and play with him?
if he gets hurt will i just chuck him aside like an olde rag?
if he needs me, will i be there 24 hours a day
with my cheque book open if he needs alone
will i agree with his every utterance and worship
unquestioningly even if i hear or see ludicrous things, which
quite frankly, might make me doubt his omnipotence?
if the answer to all this was yes we can pro-seed
with the hince.
1st of all
he’ll want nut cutlets n soy bon bons ever nite
just after he finishes contemplating his navel
and a quick bit of pie-laertes
then quick light that sandalwould josh stick
and put on some eno
maybe music for sea ports
then i guess a jaeger/goji/redbull cocktail
(shaken AND stirred!)
a bit of tantra or tarantula
or tanto in stockholm
time beings enjoy being time beings
panda to your hero
shower him in rose petals
run his bath of asses milk
(donkeys or mules will do in a pinch)
nurse those vipers to his bosom
have his chariot decorated
unleash the kraken
and no eggplant cucumber or capsicum!
your prototimebeing is now ready for testing
have fun!!!
FUQ : i dont believe you can be bothered trying to squeeze
any more laughs outta this lame turkey.
ANSA : thats not a question
FUQ : ok, …..i dont believe you can be bothered trying to squeeze
any more laughs out of this lame turkey…do you?
ANSA : no

daylife saver
vegbourne melan day
blue virgin starflite
space rocker afraid of the liquid air?
we now begin our inflight servitude
judy-free gods
a deselection of whines n light smacks
up n down riding the wayward breezes
a role for u-sir
perhapps a bockle of water
swipe at your credit carp
look the latest gnus
naughty korea with avuncular possibilities
gorge w/brush n saddem alladin sane
oily praises to rise
more wars n poors
less piece of pi
narstier barstdedts comin’
yawn pete yawn
unsettled contents shift
oh not millburn again
4 thymes once a month
gimme syd-nei
plain wheels down tar, mack
take me to veegan day on planet veega
shore of rain
i bet u now
rayne, rein, rain
ha ha ha
blame nevets
my shapely calves flex n the bull flows
my twelve dig n delve string
singe that songe olde bouy
that songe you rote about the skeye
w/starrs n white chocolate starrs
w/ the twinkly firm a mint
w/ the a minorbird cord
but the base is a sharp eff
that note bort me my bunny rabbit
if you no thatslang
d. cypher
at will
if thoust darest
herein lies
mi see krette
ardour n ardour to understand
izzit love?
that maykes us wrocke?
how many nevetses in a yeblik?
how many hours in a orange?
but paye clothes attention
dont missathing
its tyre in….eye-no
y botha?
not 4 mysaik
now
im outta thyme
easy baybee
soon
soon
soon
whatsit 2yah inny wei?
rong wei?
middleweigh?
high rode= saliva testin’
bust mee….o no?
crash nevets gone
hchcru mustfynde gnu nevetss….?
contest
but twinner nevar an ounce
nevets imp ostler
not reel
not jig
under stan?
ring ooo
too layte mayte….
their hear
woe no
NO!
NO!
NO!

i was born one stormy september day
in england
a small island off continental europe
my mother
who co incidentally was english
had been warned by a soothsayer
“sooth, sooth” the sayer had said
my father whos name was dad was pacing the corridor
“hurry up with that bleatin’ baby, joy” dad called from the hall
seeing my lateness was irritating dad
i decided to be born
a minute later i popped out
“hello, mother” i said a minute later
after the doctor had slapped me round
and i’d pretended to cry
“whats occurring?”
life in england
with my dad n my mother was ok
mick jagger was my baby sitter one day
he played me some chuck berry records
only recently available in england
“its all done with the little finger” he would mutter obliquely
as we proto-rocknrolled by micks tiny record player
i was 2 years olde by now
i’d written almost with you the year before
the xylophone part on el momento
was in fact conceived on my baby xylophone
“do ya think ya can get an english angle on it tho mick?”
i asked from my pram
mick was smoking some hash
and not being too careful about not blowing the smoke on me
he frowned proto-coquettishly
his evermoist lips forming an androgynous pout
“you cant always get what you want”
“you should use that one mick”
i said
leaving off on my bottle of formula briefly
“what?”‘ mick said puzzled
“”you cant always get what you want”” i said
“nah” said mick
“since when ave you been a songwritin’ expert….?”
and then
more fool me
i showed him a proto-version
of a song i was calling
“paint it blue”
about how everything in my nursery was painted blue
jaggers thirteen year old eyes lit up when i banged out
my rudimentary version on the xylophone
(this would account for my later marimba prowess)
i see a pink pram and i want it painted blue…i warbled
missing some of my teeth…
some of the consonants were hard to make…
i wonder if he could have mis heard me…?
that night as my mother paid him his 6pence
and rebooked him for next week
he asked her if she minded him bringing his friend along
“hes real good at baby-sittin'” mick said
perhaps with a slight smirk
it was hard to tell…my bonnett gave me blindspots in my vision
that week whilst waiting for micky n his friend to come back
i rolled other bits of random dialogue around in my head
i read something about lady jane seymour n it got me thinking
hmmm
my sweet lady jane….i crooned from my cot one evening at twilight
i set to work on the xylophone
i had a rattle to keep time
and set to work on some proto-elizabethan malarkey
the next day i heard my dad n mother arguing
over my dads piano playing which had taken a boogie woogie bent
whats wrong with mozart dear asked my mother
dad said
and i still hear the words hangin’ in the air there
i wished you liked …..honky tonk,woman!
bang it hit me
i set to work
i tickle n stroked my xylophone
becoming one with my little wooden mallets
“i met a milksoaked wet nurse down in dartford
she tried to pick me up for a burp”
i could couldnt get it out of my head
all that week songs poured outta the universe to me
that sunday mick arrived with a scruffy little sod
with black hair n big ears
“ere, stevie” he said
after mother n dad had split
“play summa them songs on that xylophoney
for my mate keithy, willya?theresaniceboy!”
ah so naive
so naive
how was i to know…?
i was only a little over 2 years old
soon to migrate to australia forever…
“ok boys listen to this
its called” milk sugar”
a familiar riff emanated from the xylophone
da da dahdah
da da dahdah
da da da da
da da da da

xxx me