The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

o prima vera !
italian suns burn hazy over me
wandering in these woods
for a thousand years
stumbling thru the warmth
the lovely girls and good companions
drink food laughter
wine and brown flesh
the clear rivers and their grumbling stones
sweet creatures lap from its waters
we paint our faces with masques
in the haze of an eternal morning
making simple music in the open air
we live at the centre of the world
at the centre of time
our rough bread and our virgin olive oil
our strength and our youth
our victories
the deep earth yields up her bounty gladly
the rain falls in gentle downpours
birdsong in the forests
harmony , melody
call and response
fruit ripens on the tree and vine
men and women slip off together
somewhere
the sun moves into midday
and shadows vanish
children dive in the river
blue kingfishers and skylarks
at dusk eventually
after the long afternoon
the sun appears red and huge in the sky
a crescent moon shortly follows
a tiny star at its southern point
under trees we prepare long tables
we sit and talk and drink and eat into the night
the night mingles in the wine
which becomes dark and sweet and strong
hands take your hand
leading you into the darkness
lips whisper at your ear
fingertips find you tenderly
in the warm black spaces
and you find your way home
while the spirits of the trees guard your bower
and the spirits of the night walk abroad
and in the black-blue sky
shooting stars arc across its dark face
music seeping from far away
celebration of springtime
this blessed planet
this holy night
this memory of joy

another cloudy morning
6.43
ipod on shuffle
cat power half of you
yeah its ok
kinda desolate
uh oh
coldplay white shadows
can i write blogs to this kinda stuff
maybe i gotta get back to oophoi
or eno
or something gentle n undulatin’
yep
sorry chris, you wont feel a thing!
ah thats better
peter baumann romance 76
i dont like other words intruding on my words
i love to paint to songs
but i need to write to instrumental music
unless its in another language…
that works for me
scarlet bumper wakes up early
so i got up n meditated
with her sitting in my lap
crosslegged on the sofa
she immediately goes back into a deep dreamless sleep
works every time
eve n aurora arrive at the table almost immediately
they start asking questions
i say auroras a “piker” if she wont come to the pool
with me n evie
then i have to explain what “piking out” means
i sound like some olde cs lewis codger
explaining the slang phrases of 40 years ago
do people still say “piker”?
theyre both sitting at kitchy table now
looking at me expectantly
like a pair of small puppies watching you eat
what do they actally want i ask them
they dont know
they just want to vaguely hassle someone…
ive sliced my right index finger on a razor
and its ahurting me to type
oh boy i hope its better before our next gig in eumundi
its my main plucking finger….!
(gulp)
its gonna be a real mess if it aint healed by then
but
as some loathesome greasy manager once said
the show must go on
and i’ll have to pluck more with middle finger
or use a plectrum
whatever, pray for my finger, my fingerlings
so that i may rock once again
due to xtreem racquet the band is generating at moment
i am wearing in ear monitoring
which is those things jammed in my whole ear
flesh coloured torture instruments
to block out le rackette
and
to give me feed of all instruments
unfortunately its hard to be chatty with them on
your voice coming back in reverb like the voice of god
filling up yer head with yerself
the audience aurally recede to whispers milesaway
its hard to be “natural”
just when i wazza getting my showbiz spiel together
long overdue too, it was
gee am i imagining it
or are australian audiences more hesitant n reticent
than the u.s. n europa?
whats wrong with ya?
are we actually scaring em into a frightened gawk?
they hang about
not that excited to see one of the best space opera bands ever?
whats wrong with em?
by now
the baby is on my lap
shes woken up n she wants my lap
and nowhere else will do
its flattering and annoying!
everytime i leave the house for a while
she gets upset
she sits on my lap
gently wriggling
softly saying dad dad
it sounds very cozy
but what with my sliced finger
and big fat baby in ye olde lap
every letter becomes excruciating
such is my love for you, devoted reader
my imaginary companion
you who exist on a screen somewhere
a shadow , a flicker
aurora colours in
eves playing a complicated game
with a load of little animals
baby bumper slings her foot up on the table, imperiously
she sighs, a little bored quite frankly
but shes content too
shes like a little beast in some ways
and a little angel in lotsa others
oh dad
dont worry
i aint about to get all fucking sentymentle on ya
kids are kids are kids
like the dawn , n the trees n the wind
there will always be kids
i have a lot of kid left in me still
the little bugger refuses to vacate
and let olde mr avuncular wisdom move in
the kids are alright, i guess
someone hadda raise me
now its my turn
i guess im lucky none of my ones
are as obnoxious n precocious as i was
tho each can be shockingly naughty on occaisions
i was like having dr zachary smith join yer family
smart arse comments, mutinies, disappearances
setting things on fire,general ratbaggery
bullying small cousins etc
i couldnt stand myself
but i couldnt help myself either
i was the sorta kid that i would detest now if i met ‘im
i have only very very recently become even vaguely nice
and if they hadda had bloggs way back when
you woulda seen a different manne…..
actually its very nice to give the bumper a cuddle
shes warm n smells of vanilla
she digs kraut rock too
baumanns sequencers keep her jigging about
although shes also trying to kick my lapptopp
she wants to do some typing with her heel!
nice one bumper
now i have to constrain the foot w/ left hand
i leave ya there
e n a furiously colouring in
bumpr riggling on my lap
soft grey clouds
bridge n tower obscured
romance 76 going in the corner
flowers in vases
ganeshas n photographs
fridge magnets
fruit
finish

lord have mercy
a beautiful spring day
“weekend shoppers still swarm to the games
they burn their bridges
and they fan the flames
alone in the crowds forgetting their names
and fade on the way to the exit…….”
oh thats just some lyrics to a song i wrote 30 years ago
years ago living in canberra writing on my teac 4 track
getting my whole trip together
formulating my approach
you see
i knew i needed to know how recording worked
the few times i’d been in recording studios
the engineers had talked down to me
and dismissed all my suggestions
i heard sounds in my head
but i didnae have the vocabulary to communicate
nor did i yet have wherewithal to execute it
according to my plans
all i had was ambition
and a feeling i was surrounded by idiots
let me tell ya if i’d been living in london
instead of canberra
things mighta been different
but nobody could really dig my vision there
they didnt believe that i knew what i was doing
fair enough
getting underestimated toughens ya up
it is a very peculiar trip that i’m on
i dunno how to even describe it
its escapism, i guess
but on a beautiful day like today
the otherplace hovers within our reach
ive always rejected the commonplace n ordinary
my mum read me alice in wonderland when i was 4
it was a taste for the dreamlike reawakened
things that could transform or be transformed
the search for music n films that took me where…?
somewhere i need to remember so badly
im looking for clues
ive got my ear to the ground
and my eyes on the sky
i know youre looking for that place too
or why else read this stuff
which pours from my fingers like manifest ash
music is the last resort
its the 1st resort too
and all resorts between
the unusual combinations
make it sad n triumphant
use all the words from your one thousand lives
put some fucking love into it for gods sake
if its gonna be obvious
make it gloriously obvious
give me something for my heart
let my feet tap
let my mind quicken
let the blood flow to certain veins
dischord can be theatrical
but beauty n harmony are the true goal
to uplift yourself by your own strings
in the orbits tremor
the slightest string is pulled
ah fiendss
im having you on
no
im definitely not having you on
ah fiends i love you all
no
i definitely dont love you all
your breaking up
the outside falls away
the facade rebels
you wonder whats he on about
whos the biggest hood wink?
sittin inside on yon sunny daye
hunched over a screan
typing this doggerel
meanwhile the holiday is very quiet
the suburbs lie silent
birdsong muted in the springtime trees
i will go outside again
feel the sun n wind on my skin
the air is so clear n clean today
blowing across the vast oceans
bringing the antarctic ions to me
i also love fiji water
mmm its really good
drink up that lovely stuff fiendss
if ya wanna get to 52 and still rock hard
if ya wanna jump thru them fiery hoops
if ya wanna transmit the message
about the search for more space
if you understand the need for travel
outward n inward
if you desire the feeling of immersion
if you can ignore all the nonsense
if you can dig it all
and dig you must
and delve too baby
cos delve rhymes with twelve
and ya never know when ya gonna need a rhyme
so you put words like delve carefully away
in the back of yer mind so to speak
the lure of outdoors is almost irresistable
i should go out on the balc n do some yoga
stretch out my olde bones n sinews
pour some power back into my batteries
open up my heart so it has more space to beat
drawn down energy from above n below
yoga …what a cliche, huh?
oh but it works, it works….
so subtly you wont even notice
but you gotta do it every day fiendss
no days off from goode things you lazy fiendss
pursue it as you would pursue sex n drugs
pursue it as you would pursue money n power
this is the important thing
this is where you might find out
this is where it used to be
this is this
and thats that
over n out
happy holiday
ha ha
sk
1 30 sunny holiday arvo
nsw austraylia
bye bye

is everyone sleeping
sleeping on a sunny afternoon
lazy sunday afternoon
got no time for worry
type my blogge n drift away
sunday afternoons fiendss
nothing could be better or worse
sunday afternoon has a way
of calling a spade a spade
(in spades)
sunday afternoon can be light n bubbly
like a glass of champers
or it can be cold n gloomy
like a hangover
sunday afternoon i know ya!
all the sunday drives with my family
yeah thats when dad ‘d come into his own
drivin’ along , cracking jokes
singing n whistling
commenting on the “geezers” on the street
“look at his bleedin’ barnet, slim…”
(look at his hair)
“youre not bloody havin’ yer hair like that geezer!”
up until i was sixteen
my dad didnae want me havin’ long hair
“if it aint cut tonite , i’ll hold ya down n do it meself”
he’d say half joking
then he bought these comet combs
they were one of the first tv market campaigns we ever saw
and the giant food chopper which could chop thru a boot..
youd see someone getting a really groovy hair cut with comet comb
but uh oh
when yer dad used it on you
it took great hunks n chunks out of the sides n back
leaving you wandering round bully high
with the other comet comb laughing stock-outcasts
whose parents had recently mutilated their hair dos
then
one day
when i was lookin like prince valiant
i was about 16
my dad just looked at my hair
he said
“i thought i told ya to get that bloody lot off…!”
dad its not even long, you should see roger caputnicks..
“he aint my bloody son….”
gee these conversations seemed to follow a course
like a river in its bed
but this time my dad just said
if you want to bloody look like that
you bloody well can….
and
that was it with the long hair bit
i bet these days hippy pairents are beggin their boys
to grow it long and not the spiky n product look
how times change
my dad was slightly miffed when i dyed it red however
he just didnt get david bowie at all
nor did my auntie lu lu
“he’s sick” she said
when i showed her the middle foldout in aladdin sane
trying times for the oldies what with glam rock n bisexuality
jesus tho
what a lot of olde toffee it seems now
the moment marc bolan 1st donned a glitter jacket
is when i stopped liking him
i dont like glitter
or tinsel
or stuff thats sposed to fix up something drab
but in those days it seemed almost de rigeur
i was still slapping on the olde eyeliner in 1984
olde glamours die hard
i see mr gary glitta himself is doing time in thailand
for general deviancy n disgustin behaviour
he was always a lewd olde fruit even when he first appeared
i never even knew it was a wig he was wearing!
how naive am i?
the funny thing with yer glam rock was seeing macho brutes
donning blue eyeshadow n lippy
over the topp of grizzled features n lantern jaws
bolan looked so much better without the makeup
it never suited him
he went from being a tree spirit
to a ninny with some glittery stars stuck on his dial
overnite
the sweet were not so sweet either
check this lyric out
you cant push willy where willy wont go (!?)
of course chin n chapman wrote that for em
the same pair of guys wrote for
suzi quadroped
the mudd
the sweat
oh a whole bunch of idiots
they churned this glam bubblegum stuff out
like max martin does over in sweden nowadays
knocking out hits for everyone
gee i wish i could do that
i’d be hard at work right now if i could
writing a power ballad
called
a stitch in time ( saves nine)
i’d get wretchie samborer to play guitar on it
i’d have the huge muscly guy playing that wild sax in the vid
id have some really cool dance routines too
and someone holding up wads of money with a clock round his neck
and i’d have a girl rampaging thru her “x”s house smashing up stuff
(in slow mo we see the fish tank explode..
guppies suspended momentarily in the air)
i’d have some homies who are down with it
some boys with the chronic who get jiggy w/ it
i’d have some beautiful girls with artificially enhanced bosoms
hangin’ around as if that was jus’ the way it always was
i’d have jokey bits that made me seem human n wacky
i’d have risque lyrics bleeped out
i’d have tim burton direct it or gus van santaclaws
i’m gonna get the guy whos job it was was to make that lady
in heart look thin
while she was actually getting bigger every moment
im gonna get him to put the squeeze on me
give me the full vaseline lens treatment
soft lighting
blurry focus
computer out my beard n wrinkles
i’m gonna find gary glittas olde wig
(or is it in jail with him)
i’ll get a butt double if they tell me too
im gonna scmooze n network too
this idea is solid gold easy action
“a stitch in time saves nine
and then i shalt bee thine
many hands make light work
and every cloud has a….silver lining…!”
its poetry, pure poetry
aurora is painting one of those cardboard drink take away things
its her weird hobby
as soon as ya bring one home shes painting it
evies sittin’ there in her damp rashie
i say take that damp rashie off eve
she says ok ok i’ll take my damn rashie off…!
tomorrow is a holiday
things are very quiet on the backstreets here
a few tarted up old rich bitches in jewellree n gas guzzlahs
a few lunatics muttering to their bag of bags
a few skateboarding layabouts…put em in the army
cars with families looking for a car park…good luck folks!
pigeons gulls n mynahs
sunsinking behind city
harbour bridge in stark relief against golden blaze
ooh its so quiet
has everyone gone to the moon?

adder-laide heirport
eating asian stirfry w/tofu
yum yum
(cept for capsicum!)
jimi our roadie says free intanet
and bang
here i am just like that
i reckon we were pretty good last nite
except for a foul illness
which swept upon me about an hour before i went on
shiverin’ n shakin’
my nose blocked
a fever
a sudden unbearable weariness
i take 2 codral coldes
get jazzy
the old ones with pseudo ephedrine
i knock back some red bully
and some copious jagers
i pull on earphones n receiver pack
we go on
voila! the lights n sound anaethetize me
the music begins
i dont care we in some pub in adelaide
transcendance project intitialised
bass guitar engaged
lyrics begin transferring to mouth
unrolling from wherever they normally hide
in my memory….
despite everything
we play pretty ok (i guess)
the musics playing me these days
the music plying me these daze
i just hanging on
i tickle the strings
i open my mouth
someone singin’ out there
someone singin’ therein
oh dig those lyrics
what the fuck is this all about
miracle streets n ionian blooze
the guitars writhe n beg for release
the drums pound bang boom crash
the airport intrudes with its announcements
people stream past
adelaide could be indianapolis
oh i cant wait to play again!
i walk on and a portal opens
i step in there
and i lose myself inside it
music suggesting everything at once
we strafe the audience with possibilitees
we rock n we roll
oh my my
space rock electrique
the mellifluous slipstream of the planets
sucks me into motion
wave particles
pointillistic music
colour washed music
pixilated music
my flight is announced
i guess im gonna go!
i love ya
sk

all the tiny things speaking to me again
i cant get out of my head
i cant get it out of my head
the outside is oppressing
the inside is tired and rapidly emptying
david sylvian sings we used to do things my way
cold feet
cold heart
stifle a shiver
silver morning blues
a jet passes overhead
more separation
the leaves sway impossibly
someone or something must be shaking the tree
ugly birds in its nests
sharp claw n beak
streamlined feathered for the dive
when it plucks some other bird fresh from thin air
or plucks up some scurrying thing soundlessly
the sun is ashamed of itself today
it has let its solar system run down
it hangs quietly behind a cloud
like a soft over ripe peach
now sun
show yourself
reveal yourself
dispel the shadows which remain
names fill my mind
faces of school mates
and where they sat in my class
all of them olde now like me
fallen victim to years
their youth fled forever
theyre out there
wandering this world
someone else has a turn at school
someone else is born
someone else passes away
the circle must be completed they say
the wheel of karma inexorable, fiendss
you make your bed
you gonna lie in it
or tell the truth?
small things spook me
whats hunting me down?
time?
age?
failure?
big black nemesis
anathema personified
with plenty of kudos
tiny insects gather in clouds
christmas beetles at easter
a bucket full of starfish
a punnet of angelfruit
in season unseasonably early
the soft flesh melts in my mouth
its dark juice stains my lips
its seeds i spit with disdain
its aroma of heaven
its taste of miracle
my guardian angel appears
apart from that busted arm
you aint got nuthin’ to complain about
he/she says
i perform the ceremony of combustion
the pool is closed today
our day of rest says another swimmer once
the breast strokers sabbath
my ears sing the body electric
and something very wicked this way comes
harry houdini in negative
the man who gets you all into a trap
meanwhile
in a beachside suburb of sydney australia
the sun struggles feebly in the sky
the children cough n sneeze with colds
the baby sees me
oh wow she says
gum trees bow n scrape to the wind
white clouds fill the firmanent
a huge dead cockroach
reanimated by the dismantling ants
a lizard trusts me within arms reach
its trying to catch a tan in this mist/smog/cloud
small stupid dogs occaisionally bark hysterically
woof woof woofsy woof
the unfortunate don their costumes
and hit the trail to work
a huge fluorolit room
cubicled off
computers flashing figures
cups of coffeee
n ciggie break
boss an angry shape n voice looming
yeblik, wheres that report on the humphries account?
sorry boss
but i been looking at the sky?
yeblik, have you seen these figures?
sorry boss, i been writing poetry
yeblik, im having you fired
sorry boss, im going to leave anyway
im going to sydanee
im going to start a rocknroll groop
we’re gonna go on n on non
for yearsnyeahs
yeblik, youll never amount to anything out there
oh yessiree mr boss how right you were
my reverie fades
my shoulders aching from hefting the bass for hours
and from typing this letter to you
well thats more like it
the sun heaves itself free
sydanee puts on its sunny funny face
yeah
just like surf city
the models n alternahunks
the xpensif restaraunts
the wine n seafood n ha ha ha
put it on the account eh, darling?
coming out for lunch down the pier, gang?
no we’re off on percys yacht
we’re having a long weekend down at cyrils n prus
champers n oysterfeast
the pearls are real
and forming in the sea
rehearsals closing in on me
incessant racquet n argy bargy
im too olde for it all
i want to sit in my caravan
and drink a mug of grreen tea n paint
i dont want to be anywhere at a particular time
i dont like traffic
i dont like sittin’ in cars all day
i dont like the misery n citys ripped backsides
i dont like the tunnels full o’ fumes
but i like you
and i dont like to say goodbye
but i must
thats it
xxxx

we were talking…
georges lovely within you without comes on shuffle
then coincidentally
eyes smeared with the ointment of love
a track russell n i did for guilt tripes 1st alb
and yes its got that melting into the lords effulgence feel
rustys harmonica bends a note
the synths arc up and on into the blue skies
the drum machine hisses
perfectly in time
scarlet starts to sway to the music
children…at what deep level do they dig music?
as she gently rocks holding on to a chair
she looks into my eyes
and her soul wordlessly communicates with mine
oh music is good isnt it? she thinks to me
you betcha kid i send her winged words
sometimes shes says oh wow out loud
its like shes tripping 24 hours a day
everything fills her with delightnwunder
she lays her forehead on my knee
and goes very still
then she looks up
with her dark blue eyes
and then puts her head down again
and
bites me
4 sharp tiny razor-teeth nipping on yer leg
no i say
the mere mention of the word no
her face crumples
the bottom lip comes out quivering
her very bolan like corkscrew curls trembling
on her big baby head
it seems like shes enjoying herself most o the time
but one really silly thing about babies is
they dont know when theyre tired
just like a lotta people dont know when theyre drunk
tired babies
drunk turkeys
very similar if i come to think of it
and i do
they both are doing it to themselves
and thats what really hurts
i mean baby, if ya really so tired
lie down n have a bloody nap why dontcha?
stead of a’cryin’ n wrigglin’ round on big daddyos lapp
and if yer so drunk
that ya talking a loada bullshit real loud in some poor bastards face
go n have a little lie down too
if youre drunk please avoid me like the plague
no point beyond this alcohol
i dont mind a stoned rave if its inspired
but a loada booze fuelled toffee bores the beard offa mee
some bleary beery bonzo promisin’ ya the fuckin’ moon
loudly n aggressively showing off
touching ya and stuff
a drunken woman once in nebraska
backstage
she says
to me
“why dontcha smile?”
i shoulda said
lady, do i turn up at your job n hassle you?
maybe i aint smiling cos im exhausted n stoned n jus’
played for 2 hours n im sweaty n shy n tired n wired
n my meters expired….
but i just ignored her
so she grabbed my face and showed me how to “smile”
by sorta pulling my lips upwards
she was so drunk n obnoxious
she got thrown out
and she stood outside on the street
still screaming abuse at me hours later
you know
i dont think pot smokers carry on like that
i mean
ya just couldnt be bothered could ya?
anyway alcohols a poison
but i guess i’ll still have a drink or 2 in addy-laid this fryday
yep im a hypocritto
so sue me
babies n drunks
alternahunks
byzantine monks
in swimming elephant trunks
these are a few of the things that perplex me
robbie williams is a loathesome gnome
oh how i wish he could go away for a while
he fills me with embarrassment
so obvious n cliched his showbiz mannerisms
n ‘is cocknee dodger “persona”
you want the obvious you get the obvious
says toddy r
did it have to be someone as awful as williams?
hes like a spoilt brat showing off at his own birthday party
cmon this dude sold a million tickets in one day!
am i crazy?
i would leave the country to avoid seeing him “perform”
maudlin,randy, winking,cocky little git
its a disgrace
anathema!
let this all be null n void
let a darkness appear n swallow me
i must now drive across sydney to re hurse
thats it
the end
goodbyee

tuesday
garbage day
6.56 a.m.
cloudy cool day
cosmic jokers plays quietly in the corner
feet feel cold n milesaway
a bamboo plant moves softly in the breeze
man of troubles
man of many small niggly worries
that scurry from sight
avoiding the light
preferring the night…
ears ringin’ like reverb chambers
clock like metronome
60 beats per minute
a quiet insistent rim-shot
tickin’ my life away
bit by bit
second on second
the streets are quiet
i imagine the horror
of heaving myself outta bed
pulling on my suit
and exiting quietly……for work!
thank you lord
i do not have to “work”
but i cant work
i dont work
and i dont do work
work aint working for me
if ya dont work it
it wont work
so work it yer worth it
study….hah!
i can only concentrate on things i like
then im a daemon
but study, work, decisions
everyone knows im useless
i’m the guy sprouting songs
but cant change a light year
im the guy who could knock out some bullshit onna blogge
but doesnt know how to download a mp fucking 3 fyle
i only just yessaday discovered shuffle on my eyepodd
dont go camping with me…
well, you werent planning to
its for certain we’d be eaten by bears
or busted by rangers
or maybe vicey versa
i am anathema to organization(s)
i’m a perpetual scruff
im casual all year round
if ya see me in a suit ya know its serious
i wish it was like that
for all those like me who are uninclined to work
the beasts n the birds dont work
and theyre all getting by
eating, having sex, roamin’ about
look at humans
struggling away in fluoro lit office-jails
just to get what the beasts get for free
if you dismantled the milly-terry
you could just pay us bohemians n hippies
to stay at home n goof off
not clog up ye olde werk faucet
not waste the “straights” time
trying to process us
you see
there are people who wanna work….
(yes, its true!)
people like me shouldnt stand in their way
i retired myself for their sakes
so they didnt have ta fit a starshaped peg
into their squaare hole…
everybodies different
i know that
viva la difference
i just want em to let my people go
but my people still get paid
the leisure society
sure sure the “straights” can have all the beemers n gold
as far as im fuckin’ concerned
just pay us ‘orrible ‘ippies to stay ‘ome if we want
itd be better for everyone
youd apply to the govvyment for a hippy licence
thered be an interview
are you a pothead?
do you like kraut,space or cosmic rock?
have you ever at anytime worn paisley or floral?
do you consider strawberry fields forever says it all?
do you ever read “eastern” stuff?
do you like trees?
do you hate huntin’ and the fuckin’ footy?
do you disdain killed food and corpseburgers?
do you hate caked on makeup n perf-fume?
do you enjoy poetry?
do you enjoy kids books still?
do you love yonder oceans n lakes n rivers?
do you wish things could be more peaceful?
do you disdain yobbos gettin’ in yer face in pubs?
do you ever wish for a bit more understanding?
do you think bushy n the rest are pathetic?
do you ever look at the idiots in charge down here
and say what the f…….?
look
if you answered yes to more than 3 of those quezzies
you may be eligible for the hippy benefit payment
which means you stay home
we give ya 50 grand a year
you do whatever the hell you like
as long as you promise
not to ever darken the work-faucets doorstep again
you see now that every army on earth has been sacked
and all the weapons melted down for playgrounds
and all the money redistributed to the bohemians
theres been a big boom in the art supplies sector
and in instrument shops
the florists are doing well
as well as the veggie cafes
the beaches are full of bathers
the countrys full of picnickers
the libraries are full of readers
everyone is happy forever n ever
ah men

urr…time to wake up now nevets
you old youtopian daydreemah
it’ll never work!
work?
yep
work.

you woulda thort a songwriting competition
was gonna arm yer olde humble scribe
with some bloggy ammunition
you know some arguments
or some aweful songs
or someone mind blowingly amazing
some angry contestants
a clash with other judges,perhaps
but no
it was a very very mild day
and relatively poor trawling for “incidents”
i left syd-knee at about 10 30
it was about 28 degrees celsius
(look it up on yer computer all you americans
who dont know what that is in fahrenheit
i cant be yer metric converter ferever)
after one hours smooth flyin’
ye olde pilate says the wind in yon melby be 80 knots
(whatever the fuck a knot is)
(but 80 of em is quite windy)
suddenly descending from the royal blue sky
we encounter the mellbinnish weather
the plane bounces around
plunges and shakes
olde sk got cold sweat coming
capitan in cockpitt
says
everyaone sit down now
oh im praying to vishnu
take this mother-ship down
finally after a loada
plummetting n jerking n swaying
we land in a huge spray of silver water
“welcome to sunny mellbin”
intones capitan joker pilate
“its 16 degrees”
i hurry thru aeropuerte easily
having no baggage
other than my rubber skin ipodd
and book
walk straight out the door
jump into yon cabby
i check to see if good sir cabby
wants a convahsation
nope
he dont
he doesnt speak the olde inglise that well
and hes happier if i stick me ipoddy back on
(how all this ipodding must be further fucking up my ears!)
i listen to a compilation cd a druid in italy gave to me
years ago in 2002
its got a little opera lite kinda stuff
italian amore amore romantic ballads
one track by lisa gerrard which sounds like
a song someone wrote in nineveh or carthage
in another language she only understands
this song is unbelievable
its simply unbelievable
and shes australian
its a bit like the singin’ she does on the glad-‘e ate ‘er
when croweys enterin’ the elysian fields
n mrs maximus is awaitin’ on him
to soothe his troubled brow forever n ever
lisas vibrato n control are fuckin breathtaking
just her n this string machine
the song swoops n glides thru strange pastures
at the end we hear an audience applaud
n we realise it was live!
this music being directly channelled
from another time n place
another track is by brendan perry
who was also the other half of the
super fabulous n medieval dead can dance
his track called the voyage of bran
is also a bloody beauty
close yer eyes
and yer in a coracle gently winding
a river in ancient britain
birds twittering n cawing in the soft engish summer
yer a celt
dressed in skins
and living in a world of deep beltane magic
perrys resonant voice and superb guitar
+ a few strange instruments i cant recognize
anyway after this song we arrive in northcote
where theyre havin a festival
trouble is the weathers havin’ a festivalof its own
called the cold windy n rainy festival
i make my way into this cosy little venue
out back of the town hall
very civilized indeed
the people running the show are very nice
the other judges are very nice
mick thomas from weddings parties anything
now with the sure thing
i dunno how to describe his music
sorta aussie colonial stuff
hes pretty popular down here in melb
and hes an honest friendly kinda bloke
the other judge was a lady
with a complicated non anglo name
that i dont wanna mispell
but she was v. nice n reasonable too
we were given these sheets
that ye olde real big songwriting contests use
they hadda loada questions on em
like
does the chorus differ from the verse
do the lyrics suit the music
do the lyrics have an emotional response
etc
and you had to give it a one to 4 rating
plus comments
the place was packed with family n friends
3 categories:open, junior, n a theme of celebration
yeah they were all pretty ok
a lady who sang a song about men
“i dont understand them n they dont understand me”
easily won the open
the under 18s were a bit harder
i said one
the lady said another
mick had the decider
when he said the one i said
the lady was very gracious
no argy bargy
which is great when yer there
but gives ya no “incidents” for yon blogge
the theme section was won by a dude
who didnt stick to the theme one little bit
but he hadda lovely song about money
that he sang in a lovely sad way
we decided to give him the prize
everyone was happy
organizers
crowd
other judges
even me
i made a little off the cuff speech
about the importance of songwriters
along the lines of
did ya know that it aint those
red wine swilling fat execs in their
vip bathroom skyscraper offices
who earn a million bux a year
workin for the xyz monopoly record co
that make the music biz go round?
nope
its the humble songrighter!
like moi
yer humble correspondant
anyway after gig n photos with winnahs
i drop in to visit the lord of misrule
and her white animal familiar
but only for about 20 mins
time for a cuppa n a smoko
then a cab driver from turkey
“sydney = istanbul
melbourne= ankara”
almost runs us into the barrier on freeway
about 3 times so engrossed in conversation
with yer humble reporter
(who has the gift of the gab n straddles all walksa life)
i have to say
yer a lovely man
but yer drivings atrocious
safely arrive at aeropuerte
buy roast vege fuccacio
but its all the fuckin veggies i hate
eggplant n capsicum…..yechhh!
big winds mean delayed for ages
finally come home
go to bed
get up
write this blogge
which leaves us
here
now

thats all

your beloved leader thanks his people in advance
for all your good wishes n love
n future gifts of space* music
many of you have asked
“where are you leading us?”
when you know my way is to meander
here n there
there n here
round n about
wrong way up one way streets
pointing at the sky but earthbound
wild goose chases
telepathicistic voyage
why
im taking you to n bondi
im taking you to cythera
im taking you to my heart
im taking you to each other
im taking you to yerself
im taking you to a little place i know in babylon
king nebby recommended it
its called the lions den…
im taking you across little egypt
im taking you to the cleaners
im taking you under with me
im taking you down the garden path
im taking you back
im taking you up on yer offer
im taking you off
im taking you on
take on me
take me on
ha ha a ha ha
white hippy moses aint got no clear destynation
i told ya we was lost years ago, milesago
prepare ye the way of the druglord
eo hippus
dawn horse
the long night of the “straights” is coming to an end
cant you feel it in your aerials n antennae
the hippies will burst back in a floral megasplosion
we will seize control of the infrastructure
even tho we dont even know what it is
we’ll live in solar powered wigwams
travel by thought
we’ll contact the nature spirits again
who will shower us in fruits n veg
we will live in the shuddering trees
we will ride the astral wind on the back of a dream
lives will be lived
stories will be told
magnificent chambers defying description
we will call down baal n zeus
cos olde g. hovah aint doin’ it for me no more
we will transcend our starflesh in orgies of organioid compounds
we will swim in skyriver
we will make love during the 1000 year andromedan nights
we will burn our noses snorting cosmic joy dust
we will be sore from caressing angels
we will traverse the endless spaces and never despair
we will all be geniuses
we will be young forever
we will all be as beautiful as the gods n goddesses themselves
what are you waiting for?
can you dig this mess baybee face?
i am the grey eyed pied piper of hammerin
the mountain is openin’
tir na nog
the garden of earthly delights
the back alley of unearthly delights
pleasure domes
decompression chambers
ensuites with jacuzzis
gold plated parking space
asteroidal vacations
immediate opportunities
vacancies for staff
openings for the right spirits
white spirit gate
have ya got it yet?

*if its not space , its disgrace