The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

i fly to argentina
where my sister lives
but when i arrive
ive already split into a loada different people
my sister is waiting for us at the aeropuerte
dressed like i dunno what
i must say for an olde girl pushing 55
she looks pretty damn good
el maymi has flown down with me
because his dad is the argentinian minister for defence
and because we’re hoping to mix our new record
at silverado studio in a leafy little street
just off the main drag
that damn kathy who is my twin my double my opposite
she knows how to hurt me
needling me about things i didnt think i’d done
mentioning embarassing things
only she and i know about
of course kathys got twins
and their twins have got twins
so it looks like little scarlet k
is the only monozygotic kilbey extant
oh kathy it hurts to see you becoming old, my love…
you know steven you always know how to cheer me up…
steven if youre a vegan..that chocolate is not vegan my dear
kathy, if you were a vegan, youd look as young as me
steven as a painter youre a good bassplayer
kathy as a sister youre a good enemy
steven threw yabbies at our uncle ken, ricky
kathy stole dads cigarettes and got caught being sick
he was in the sea cadets!
she was a fucking brownie!
he dated carmel farquar
she dated moose bostick, the school bully
bullshit!
its true..
she reaches out from driving n flips me in the face
its bullshit!
ricky in the backseat : whoah!
we drop him off at silverado
he seems a little miffed with the in-fighting
and he hefts his guitar n suitcase of pedals in silence
and some guy appears to let him in
me and kathy drive off
nice fucking work you upset our mr ricky
no bullshit you upset him by going on
i didnt go on
yes you did
no you went on…i tried to ameliorate everything…
…and made it worse…
the conversation goes on like this
we arrive at the hacienda …gee…not bad….
but you didnt get this yourself…
what d’you mean by that…?
you married a rich fucking author n he got it for you
yeah…maybe he’ll marry you too…if youre nice
i laugh
i would marry the bastard if he’d get me a joint like this
we go inside
different mes go in different rooms
the angry nasty me in a gentle balcony room
the patient nice me has a room near the kids
the handsome straight up me is in the guest room
and the ugly crooked me in a caravan in the garden
kathys husband esteban
well he reminds me of me
what with his fucking white little beard
his freckly skin
the angles of his face
and oh no
i cannot fucking believe the dude sports 2 gold rings
just like….errr me….and errr kathy too for that matter
jesus christo i say
kathy you married a spanish version of moi!
you vain ninny…youre the whatever version of him!
and dig this
esteban has a twin sister too!
is she here?
no but shes coming!
how old is he…are they…?
54 she smirked
what star sign?
virgo! she said triumphantly
youre trying to do my head in!
esteban spoke pretty good english
i had read some of his books
and christ!
i had to admit they were pretty good…
kathy: why did you HAVE to admit it….?
esteban poured me some sangria
it had some chili in it it was delicious
we smoked some good dope
esteban likes the good things in life… kathy says
so do i …i say cheerfully raising my glass
oh but he can afford them says kathy winking at her smug hubby
oohh …i say..but cant think of anything much cleverer than that
estebans sister arrives…conesuela
jesus shes like the rest of us
freckly
fine brown hair
middle aged
angular
slightly rude
and slightly ok
only slightly
she rather got my back up to tell you the truth
much to kathys delight
the woman began needling me about this n that
have you read borges she asks in her snooty way
yes i say i love him
which ones have read? she asks
well that one where he has to ah..imagine..uh..
the 2 argentinians frown at me
the twin sister smirks…yeah you know that smirk…
the argentinians start to do me like a tennis table team
firing questions at me
and giving each other the answers
before i can even muster a wrong mutter
my status as renaissance man is revoked
we put on my latest record im working on
everyone sits there bored for a while
then they start to talk through it
in the middle of my new opus
fucking esteban gets up n puts something else on
astrid gilberto or something
fuck it
why cant things go the way i want
even in my own story
my own sister
my own flesh n bloody blood
kathy serves up some coffee
dont eat all the biscuits you pig! she hisses in my ear
i dont even like them ! i whisper back
then why have you eaten 4 already?
it wasnt 4…or…(a quick mental calculation) or sorry
she smirks again
she shakes her head
you see
kathy is just an old smart ass housewife
living it up in buenos aires
dabbling in whatever shes dabbling in
the kids are ok
the nice patient me doesnt mind em
the youngest is sixteen
the old horrible me doesnt like em
bloody horrible music he bitches all thru dinner
esteban rolls another perfect spliff
mind if i add little of this? he says
he taps something into it from a small bottle
whatever i shrug
the next day at the studio
thats today!
wow you look awful! laughs our mr ricky
musta been good right?
its kinda soft n rainy outside
its real kathy weather
she must love it here
i write a little instrumental piece
im gonna call it kathys cloud i say to her later
ugh! she says
and pours out more sangria

our stupid blog no one ever groks
our stupid blog with its thousands of names
our stupid blog justifying nothing
our stupid blog signifying whatever
hey listen you
why are you reading me?
howcome i aint reading you?
hey im the slipperiest one
hey i hold 4 kings plus me makes five
what are you holding?
one shabby queen three sixes and a 9
or ?
see!
i dunno
i make anything mean anything on here
i juggle time
i wriggle out of death
i suckle vipers at my bosom
my sacred calves propel me forward to my doom
everybody trying to bring me down
trying to break my fucking crown
steven..does it mean loyal or royal…i forgot…
yeah i was a kid once
you shoulda seen me
cruel n horrible…oh things aint changed much
i get so much conflicting advice
i get so much disinformation
they all chatter chatter chatter
like the birdies in the trees
suddenly my children tumble out of bed
voluptuous nine year old spirits
aurora like some northern italian goddess
and beltane eve like an oldtime princess from connaught
they come in and kiss me
oh god i am real…after all
in bondi its dark cold and rainy
the kinda day a mad olde hippy idiot
could slip into some dope induced reverie
how hes this n that
some ancient whatsis come to life
the only renaissance man still kicking tiny goals
some lancelot du lack
some christian wolf
slavering after his rosy crucifixion
and snarling at the bastard moon
but really
i’m as gentle as a little kitten
with a big rat in its mouth
and i’m as gentle as that fluffy cloud( which is full of hail)
and really
wont some great patron step forward
and provide me some Great Comfort
i cant afford the air that i breathe
both my kidneys will be repossessed friday if i dont pay up
and jesus
cocaines gone up to a thousand bucks a pinch
i have no car i have no engine
i have no washing machine
i have no antelopes with gilded horns
i have life certainly
maybe too much or too many
but c’mon
life is a temporary thing
and ive moved into my time-on period
and fuck
the rats ARE running faster this year
and i cant even remember
that i am a man in a mansuit
being dreamt up by maha vishnu the preserver
while his rather attractive wife the goddess of fortune
soothes his sleeping brow
so
i digress
i know it doesnt matter what i really say here
you read in whatever you like
as you rush down yer corn flakes
and hurry thru some blizzard
or real casual in some franchised cafe
knocking back yer long black n yer short white
ooh pay yer mortgage
ooh pay yer palimony
ooh pay yer taxes
ooh pay for yer kids hap kiddo lessons
(but wheres my subscription then?)
oh my oh my
me?
i knock out 3 thousand word articles on songwriting
i paint a gallery of past lives
i imagine buddha down in the city on miracle street
i swim in the cold icy ice bergs
an olde olde digger
(to whom i am a bit of a kid)
says
hey steve-o
howcome the fuckin water temp is 16 degrees
in the middle of summer?
i say
i do not know o olde n venerable swimming digger
perhaps verily
yonder continent antarctica
is really melting down
hence all this cold water…
he says yes
yes youre right
this world is saying
ive fucken hadda nuff of youse cuntz!
and the good digger
with the rude vocabulary sauntered off to do his thing
i swim in the cold almost deserted n violent pool
(a description of yer humble hero perhaps?)
i have found borrowed stolen a new pair of gogs
with yellow lenses
and i feel like i swim thru a giant freezing berocca wee
the waves pound down
seaweed sand n jelly fish
decorate your scribe
i retire to la baby pool
where i do my breaststroke (ooh errr)
and practice my crawl
in the sauna
i speak of many things
whether pigs have wings
why the sea is boiling cold
but mostly cabbages n kings
unfortunately
there was no one in there listening
i am i said
to no one there
and no one heard
not even
my towel
then i said
i am i am i am i am i am
the great god pan is dead!
a man looked up from his newspaper n said
oh do shut up!
i walked home listening to all my new records
the church
k/k
gb3
davey neil
and a few records of nineveh bops n boogies
i channeled during a thracian bonging session
(we bonged nepenthe cones with ambrosia sprinkles)
so i listened to myself
singing all these new songs
chortling with delight
because i couldnt focus in on one word or note
so wrapt up in the misty dark day
that swirled around me
like the underworld
and i thought
gee
i wonder how my dad wooda liked my new songs
n i wonder what kathy’ll think
when she hears em all say i gone mad
probably jus’ laugh
and i wonder why
why my sister married that south american magic realist
and i wonder if he ever read my story
i sent him
about a reincarnated king priapus
who comes back to this sci fi world
of computers n simulation packages
and boo-teak hotels
and bottles of water that cost ten dollars
and scarlet kilbeys
and west virginian women
and scars n xrays n credit cards n hollywood endings
and recriminations
n regrets
n oh sorry i got carried away with myself
and i keep on writing songs
a guy says yesterday he could write twenty songs a month
are you kidding?
i could write twenty months a song
i could sing the body electric during a power cut
i am i am iam
voice in another room : there he goes again
i am almost outta time
therefore i have too much time on my hands
you can see it
tick tick tick but never tock
i remain
i am the eternal
we all are
we all are me
we are
we are
we are
OUTBOUND
baybee can ya frickin’ believe it?
we are we are we are
ok you had yer fun
now donate some money
and go back to whatever it was
you were doing
before you red
this loada olde tripe

none of you know me
nobody
none of you
i am king liar
n my nature is to type type type
in my mind i am so free
i roam around n i do what i like
i pick any fruit i want
and i make up these stupid stories
sometimes i put them to music
sometimes i paint em
sometimes i tell you about the imaginary life
of fictitious people
like david neil
like steve kilbey
like whoever else
sometimes oh my oh my
i embroider and embellish
and i tell myself so many things
that i start to believe i really am neil or kilbey
and i make imaginary records
and i do imaginary gigs
for imaginary audiences
all over my imaginary world
in reality
just like the wizard of oz
i am a decrepit phantom
hiding behind a series of shallow personae
manipulating my fantasies
with dodgy sleight of hand
and some clumsy verbal prestidigitation
i put myself thru some bad times
just so i can play the martyr
i reach for my trusty guitar
and i moan on
about how hard my cushy life is
and how i paid my dues
(when was that?)
and i reinvent my nebulous self
as some kinda romantic crusader
or some kinda ancient king
good just and wise
but oh my god
aint it all just showbiz?
sometimes i paint myself as an artist
sometimes i act like an actor
sometimes i imitate real singers with my crafty throat
sometimes i rail against something
that i’d jump at any chance to do
i am sour grapes
i am prejudice
i am envy
i am jealousy n scorn
i am a stab in the back
i am me me ME!
othertimes
i am not me
i am not myself
and i hit some vein
and im rushed and on my run
and the lights all come on
and i walk in the sun
and i find a door back to fucking ithaca
or wherever the fuck
i dunno
maybe its just more of the great lie
a lady says to me
are all your songs true or do you just make em up?
a guy says to me
why do people lie?
a childe says to me
daddy is this real or make believe?
now its funny to ask me, aint it?
seeing as how i am the unverifier
i am the most fictional character you ever saw evaporate
i have no substance
i have no real meaning
i learn to reorganize language at a meta level
simple words i use in combinations i have planned
continue to impress n affect you
but as i sit here
i wonder if i do truly exist
outside this page
if i have any other being
outside time being
as you read me i live
as you switch off i fade
as you forget me i die
whatever you think of me
i assure you
i am not even its opposite
but some diametric negation
of all your expectations
i am i am i am

hanging out with david neil yesterday
yeah yeah
hes a ghost
well i aint holding it against him
david tells me what to sing
he tells me what to write
oh we write some beautiful songs together
david whispers the words in my ears
as fast as i can write them down
some of them are different to what i had thought
sometimes i stand there singing
i open up my throat and davids voice comes out
sometimes its just my same olde voice
sometimes david tells me how sing
sometimes i imagine i’m david
and i picture his lonesome death
when he was shot
and he o.d.ed
and the plane crash at the same time
mr ricky is there
playing up several storms
i guess david had some words with him too
cos hes got all that wah wah going
and ricky already knew a lot of davids tricks
davids girlfriend lois comes in looking for him
they go off for a coffee
and when david comes back he looks real taken aback
so he bids me write a “so long, i’m a gonna ramble off” song
i can hear david ad-libbing in the corners of my headphones
a dead romance comes to life
flowers briefly
and withers under the weight of the terrible past
lois is looking for david
but hes gone
he vanished back into my fucking head
and he pulled in this whole universe with him
the kids are outside crying
davids kids
my kids
lois kid
new kids on the blonde
unborn kids reach to david
but he aint ever gonna be anyones father
david says steve write me something sweet
so that damned woman will cry for me
and write me something bitter
to put in my bloodstream
to replace all that heroin
and all that love
and all that white alberta snow
and david opens a beer
and he slumps down on the floor
saying
jesus fuck
fuck jesus
he sucks in his breath
and he moans
ricky takes me aside
davids losing it man he says
i get angry with all of em
nick the engine ear ducks outside for a smoke
ricky fiddles with an a.r.p. sequencer
david tries to roll a smoke
his pale spirit hands all a tremble
we both break out in a sweat
fuck it david
i’m going through your withdrawals now….i say
david grins grimly
you channeled me, brother!
i feel his puny little body inside my skin
all the coffee all the cigarettes
i feel his aching love for lois
and i feel all the weight of his heartbreak
and i feel all them punches someone landed on his face
and i feel the bad hits and i feel the sloshes of jungle juice
and i feel the blow jobs and i feel the rattle of an aeroplane
and i feel sick
and i feel nervous
and i feel different
and i feel davids hands strumming my guitar
his fingers pick the strings
his fingers undo the locks
his fingers scratch my head
his fingers point the way
his high reedy voice
all smoked out
his hot tears
now all shed
david steps up to the plate
and he is the master of all he surveys
a couple of amps
their standby lights glowing red in the semi-darkness
a piano still sitting in the corner expectantly
a load of guitar pedals all willy nilly
some baffles
some lyrics i wrote out for us before
david tells nick to switch on the music
which song do ya want? nick asks the ghost
lets sing cockpit now david

i gently suggest
david says ok
nick fiddles about for a few seconds
getting the song up n ready to go
a piano starts up tentatively
some acoustic strums
some slide guitar moaning away
the drums stutter into life
the song lurches away
a hesitant and unsure song
david leans in to the microphone
and his ghostly voice comes out
filling the room with its weak keening sound
baby i’m all confused
see me landing
i’m landing on sea
please come up to the cockpit
and rescue me
and tonight we gonna soar
and tonight we gonna get some more
and tonight we gonna really live
and tonight we gonna try to forgive…
david breaks down
and the music stops
i find i’m actually crying myself
and i say
jesus
fuck
fuck
jesus
oh jesus…..

david neil “the wilderness years”
restored remixed remastered
coming soon on karmic hit records!

sometimes
i dont know what to say
the words rush into my mind
and get jammed as they fall onto the page
beauty still staggers me
lovely music moves me to the other place
dylan or bolans words move through me like ‘lectricty
gods grace…..oh pray for it unceasingly
i ride the rollercoaster and i go up
kilbey down is a deep sordid horror
but kilbey up…..ah …i wonder have you ever been this high, childe?
when someone shuts up that nagglng voice in my head
when someone in the next room says
steven you are cleared for liftoff
oh to have this head without all those voices
i spent twenty years in an asylum in france
just to escape these voices….
nevertheless
and notwithstanding
i start to ascend the great arc of a mood swing
its the paint you see
the cobalt blue
inhaling its deadly vapours all day longer
i have gone quite quite strange…oooh rather!
and now
i lick the cobalt straight from the tube
and guess what?
MY FUCKING TONGUE NOW GLOWS IRIDESCENT BLUE!
aside from making me completely crazed
i feel much myself at home
you think i only got this one mansuit?
yeah
well youre right actually
but
god i’d change it if i could
change it for something more a la mode
you see before you the ravings of a ghost
a ghost in a suit
a ghost of a chance
wholly 100% ghost
spirit come and take me now
in some other un-universe
k/k is finally done
a thing of gentle love and beauty
a thing of subtlety and wonder
a thing of such exquisite charm
2 of the best doing what they do best
mk with his panoramic vistas
his attention to detail
his many simple things which imply a cosmic complexity
his honesty and integrity
his own original one-off take on music
even the simplest things sound like him
of course i always mention glenn bennie
another melbourne guitar wizard
these 2 guys whatever they do
and completely different to each other
IT SOUNDS LIKE THEM N NO OTHER!
no thats no easy feat
to sound like no other
in this world of imitation
originality is number one in my book
out of all those geezers n gals
who pick up that guitar for the first fucken time
to those who persevere and learn to play C
to those who go on to play in bands
finally culminating n people like mk n gb
who let the universe speak through them
when they play n compose
they are great artists manipulating the palette of rock
they cant help being themselves
both serve up scrumptious backing tracks
fit for me
yes me
and i dont sing on any olde thing
but when i hear mk n gbs music
the words go winging into my heart
saying sing me you crazy olde hippy sing me
and my voice wraps around those words
and in my mind i see it all unfolding
i walk through mks muted world of fogs and sighs
stripped of any great racket
the walls are transparent
you can see n hear n smell the great ocean
oh such clean songs
oh such simple inevitable songs
oh why hasnt someone written them before?
mk works at music like a watchmaker
fitting tiny parts together
or like a fresco painter preparing a wall for a master
a man who appreciates great music MUST contain distance
to these intriguing pieces
i do my thing
you know by now what that is
ambiguity
dislocation
melancholy
allusion
my voice croons intimately in your ear
i’m in the room
with you
so close
i am so close yet that music is so distant
and what i’m saying is kinda sad
but yet you feel so happy
and…
oh
being pulled in all directions here
the artists are stacking up juxtapositions
you strive for reconciliation with these various mixed emotions
you are elevated as the emotions tighten pulling you up
you reach the end of a song floating in yer disbelief
there may have been better lyricists before me
i do not deny
and to them i am truly indebted
but i do here n now
declare myself
the best in the world at what i do
no other has my depth my subtlety my vocabulary
nor my deep humilty (HA !)
no one exploring my field of melancholia
all to bring you that strange happiness
only an olde master like MOI can dream up
unpopular i maybe
but on my own excruciatingly high expectations
i am getting better n better
i mean its hard when youre as GOOD as MOI
its hard to get much better but….oh…gotta push that envelope
gotta try to….
gotta hold on to my tradition
gotta use all my tricks
gotta use all my voices
voila
in the least amount i will imply more
i am an implier
i imply this n that
you infer this n that
you do all the work
you imagine it all
i aint telling you much
you gotta lotta room to move
mks givin’ya even more
go ahead
buy all my new records n weep
cos i hit the mark everytime
and baby
aint that what you expect from an old master bastard like
me?

whatever you say i am
i am
sam i am
i am i am i am i am
look at me
all angular n red
look at my brain stuffed full of disinfotainmentalism
look at my fat little fingers aw….how cute…
look at my tour
oooh i’m treading the boards
ooh im going to some distant city
ooh i’m on a plane going up in the sky
hey its saturday aint it?
hey wheres my mate ricky “whoah!!” miami?
hey wheres my guitar n my pipe n my bowl
hey wheres the audience and the global warming
hey theres only a thousand zebras left….aw it’ll do, wont it?
hey wheres that song with the c#minor?
fuck
i dunno
rummaging around in my brain
find terry n terri
find kathy
find my winning ticket
find my little unicorn…..ah…how sweet…?!
find my feet
find the strength
find out
i chuck my heart in my mind
it doesnt fit properly but who cares
sometimes they overlap
sometimes my brain throws out
what my heart would easily accept
sometimes when my heart is too proud
a niggling thought in my mind
can lead to a repossession
i wander on down through my blog n my life
i pick up relics n souvenirs as i go
a tear here
a tear there
(tear to rhyme with there)
tear along this line————————–
kilbey just stumbles along
all rubbery and docile
he plays his dna hand
he meets the commentors on a frozen tundra
he blooms one more time before he fades away
he smokes yet more dope
he does more yoga
he swims n swims
he paints n paints
he listens n listens
my hands hurt
my back recoils
i work like a bohemian slave dog
sweating over a hot pastel
i compose music and words while i cook my toast
i pray to god as i squash some ants
they ran out of triple sec
so i just had orange sec
and i tried to forget all the things you did
i tried to forgive you your trespasses
but i’d rather have you prosecuted
and i kept turning the tv off
its eating up your life
and i pick up another paintbrush
and i pick out another colour
and i submerge myself in a hundred faces
staring out dumbly from gallery of my life
ooh you lovely ladies
ooh you handsome devils
ooh you whining harridans
ooh you manipulating little sObbers
now i am so weary….
world weary
whirled wary
i turn again
to face the onslaught
of patent madness
impending olde age
and unbearable grooviness
i am the being in time
i am always
and i will always be
thus

so many levels
so many sobs
i weep for lemuria
i weep for atlantis
i weep for a little boy crushed by a truck
at the bottom of baines place in the sixties
i weep for a boy i saw once with no ears
i weep for myself because i’m old and washed up
i weep for you because of your isolation
i weep for the finders and the keepers
i weep for the ugly awkward ones who need love too
i weep for frustration and self loathing
i weep like a willow
i weep into my pillow
some melancholy that i follow
has left me feeling so hollow
so i weep for the sleep that will never come
and i weep for the people
i never met n will never know
who might have loved me as a friend
and been my solace in this 21st century
because i’m not at home here
i’m on the lamb in these days
trying to lay low
with occasional bursts of transcendent prose
kilbey is mad
was mad
ever mad…?
i dont think so therefore i’m not
madness has no glamour on me
ill-starred maybe i am
but still clean
still sharper than one micron
still unbowed before the wall of sludge they call fun
i hate fun as a concept a justifier
i dont make music for fun
i dont write this poisonous bilge for fun
i hope you have some fucken fun reading it
but i dunno about fun
i’m burning up with some terrible malady
my eyes can hear the future clearly now
is that a symptom of my fever?
right now
if you wanted
i could imagine something fantastic for you
or instantly write you a song
about how cool you verily are
my instruments are arraigned about me
the muses hover at my fingertips awaiting instruction
a wonder to myself
i pluck my loot
i bang on my base
i drum up some thing
i enter the studio
i fling violins at people
i murder the engine ear
with a conductors baton
i hammer the faders home
i turn red and i yell at the music that does not transcend
transcend what ? gasps my stupid laptop
transcend this fucking mundanity! kilbey shouts
i am an alien
i am on the wrong planet
i dont wanna waste my precious time being here
who am i? i screamed into the e-void
and answers came back
you are this
you are that
i love you
i hate you
i do not care about you…
i turned trembling
the doctors had shrugged
the lawyers shook their heads
the generals turned away
the actors were merely actors
the leaders all stood behind us
only the poet dares to go there
where where where?
(the clamouring voices)
there is where ecstasy and sorrow collide
in some contradiction
a poet will suspend you vibrating
to some new groovy truth and….
aw shucks
i’m giving away the trade secrets now
anyhow
where was i
i weep for um…..how does cauliflower sound….?
….no no…uh..i weep for uh….concupiscence ….uh..
yeah …thats better…..oh look a glimpse into my brain…
oh…is that how he does it, dorothy?
guess so harry guess so
oh look no on a mat appear
oh no look theres a cute little allusion
oooh hes a clever olde bugger dorothy
ooh hes a bit of a treat to us olde deers
oooh dont know why he aint as rich as bohno hughson
oooh my daughter valerie went to school with him
what she say then
hes an arrogant SOB on every level!
whats a sob?
its a little cry or gasp
how many levels are there, dorothy?
many many many, harold, many many many
how strange life will be for kilbey i still be saying
poor olde steeve he never gets it , right…?
look its a new church album…..
whats that all about then?
i bet its got some nice new songs on it
songs about the time
songs about the distance
songs by the man in his mansuit
songs of hiding and pursuit
songs of gliding and gah-loots
songs about other songs
i sing the causal and astral bodies electriques
i sing a certain song you have been waiting for your whole lives
here dive in
there are many songs
look
many new songs
all songs are guaranteed to contain LOVE
all songs will last n last n last
all songs guaranteed to make you sob
all songs contain traces of music
all songs contain traces of ancient greece
all songs contain traces of arrogance
all songs contain traces of ….mystery
mmmmm mystery
mystery baby oh mystery
dont you love a lover a love a love a mystery
dont you just wanna loose n lose n loose yourself
in a good mystery
well my songs got it! he says triumphant
voice in next room says :jerk!
voice in another room : get on with it
mystery mystery
cant explain
musnt explain
am i mad? its a mystery
am i sad?
its a mystery
am i really so fucking bad?
its a…ha ha..yes …yessa ….mystery
what will ever make me glad?
its a mystery
government warning :
these songs will make you wish steve kilbey WAS the p.m.
government warning : kilbey is an icon
he needs considerable repair and reconstruction
DONATE GENEROUSLY TO THIS BLOG
or risk total isolation
cos if this man goes down
you will be all alone
IMAGINE THAT
a kilbEy less world
imagine that
youre on your own now
NO KILBEY
are you imagining it?
its bleak
its terrifying
but childe
please try
a world devoid of ME?
oh ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
(this blog is suddenly interrupted by a knocking)
mr kilbey?
mr kilbey?
its time to go on….
mr kilbey its time to fucking go on now sir
mr kilbey wake up youre having a bad life
mr kilbey the orchestra is waiting
mr kilbey the audience are patience (or patients?)
mr kilbey
you are an arrogant SOB on every level
and its been a pleasure to know you sir
good luck sir
bon voyage sir
over n out sir
into the ether
i commend my spirit
spirit come n take me now
spirit come n fill me now
ooh
wonder what the weather will be like today?

who am i?
i was born in 1954 in england
my mum n dad were called mum n dad
i was an obnoxious little childe and had no friends
at the age of three i took up the bass guitar
and penned many songs that were……yes?
steve kilbey!
no…i’m afraid youre just guessing now…
but…uh….i thought steve kilbey was….
no no no
steve kilbey is not the correct answer…
who am i?
who are you…who who….who who…?
i really wanna know…..
well who the fuck are you?
i say i
cos i is used to saying i
but who am i really?
am i who i was?
am i who i will be, kilbey
i’m sometimes so sick of olde kilbey
CANT I BE SOMEONE ELSE
yes i look good for a very olde codger
but i want some real youth
i want the agenda-less day of a faun
i want the raining pleasure
i want to get drunk n you wear the hangover
i want stick my fingers in white chocolate
while somebody else can lick them clean
i want reckless thoughtless aimless nights to arrive
i want more than that
i want to see my past lives all trailing
like a distorted afterimage on a huge screen
kilbey will weep to be a mere shadow one day
another ex-life
oh you heard of steve kilbey
yeah…i used to be him…
oh how was he to be?
ah….ok…up n down i guess….
yeah…i heard that…
a grumpy olde renaissance man
renaissance man my arse
jus’ cos he wrote some same stupid songs n did some ropey paintings..?
well err yeah thats as good as it gets these days…
so in the lack of vinnie van google
and leonardo di caprio-vinci
i guess guys like olde kilbey move up
i guess so…
like best of a bad bunch..
dude…it is a bad bunch out there..
how many blokes could explain the iliad to ya?
kilbey
how many could explain the mahabharata or the kalevela
kilbey could…
how many blokes can merge a diary into prose poetry
sk
how many blokes appreciate space noise AND frank sinatra
how many blokes do so many good and bad things at once
how many….
STOP!
this endless list of what i can do does not define me
this also endless list of what i cannot do does not define me
who the fuck is inside here now dictating this to kilbey
this is the sanest question a mad man can ask
all my life people say
steven youre this
steven youre that
steven you should be a lawyer a priest a rear admiral a star
steven you should see yourself
steven youre a handsome/ugly bastard
steven youre so young/old
so masculine/feminine
so friendly/rude
so stupid/brilliant
GET AWAY FROM ME ALL YOU…
how voyeuristic you all are to witness this breakdown…
the centre is not holding
does anyone have a tranquillizer….?
ah thank you….a glass of brandy
let me get my breath
oh the years catch up with me
oooh i am a poor old man
down on his luck
misunderstood by the philistine hoi polloi
who wouldnt know a renaissance man from a removal man
and anyway
i know who i’d rather have on my side
when i finally have to quit this fire trap
and relocate to infernal melbourne
where it buckles in the rail
and there are no shadows
yet
whispers reach my ears
i am locked in a tower cooking up my exhibition
i slap on paint like a tart slapping on make up
i smudge n i rub n i stand back n say
fuck thats fucking awful
i make records like you would make toast
stick in a song for me, ta
thats it a little jam…and …presto
dont you ever get sick of reading about me?
because in reading about me youre reading about you?
huh?
do you really believe that?
yes?
does everything end in a question mark?
does it?
look
tell me who i am
tell me in less than fifty four words
why you think bondi beach would be a great vacation spot
for you and your family
and you may win
3 weeks at my place
my family n i waiting on you
HAND N FOOT
in spades baybee
yes
a dream vacation
complete with me as your servant
bringing you the sydney morning herald every morning
and rewarming up your hot water bottle every night
just tell me in your own words
your own words mind you
WHO AM I?
or
WHO I AM
or even
I AM WHO?
send your comments to
time being
15 nefertiti street
west nineveh
666-1313
i will moderate them carefully
with my big olde moderator
(it makes me feel much greater)
n
(in austrian accent)
I’LL BE BACK !!

… the bullets hit me in the heart
it is a shocking pain
i am thrown backwards
my eyesight grows dim almost immediately
confused thoughts n memories rush into my head
in truth
i have often longed for death
not the pain n fear
but the cancellation
the nulling n voiding
the wiping clean of the slate
the great zeroising
the rest n reset
the big sleep
i want to merge into blackness
have no more cares n concerns
this whole damn world hanging round my neck
i have wanted off so many times
sometimes i have seen death
like the extinguishment of a flame
one simply ceases to be
blown out
gone daddy gone
now your life is gone
no more bills arguments noise cruelty pain humiliation
no more responsibilities
no more expectations
no more nothing really
but in your real real heart
you know
you know
it aint gonna be like that
you may obtain a little rest
you may get a little respite
hell
everyone deserves that
even whoever the “you” i am addressing here..
whoever the “i” is or am…
the bullets have done their gig well
and i’m dying
look
i’m frightened
i’m struggling
i’m bleeding like a dog
then
then
then
what is it?
ssshhh!
i’m trying to put this into words…
ok….
i leave this all behind
the execution
the men
the small dirty yard where i was shot
the city where i was held
suddenly what does it matter…..?
why should i care about anything
and then i rest
i rest out there
in here
deep in here
far out there
far out in out
deep rest
while i rest
i am aware
who is i?
i is the awareness remaining
i is the finger who types
i is the you i share with you
the me in me
that makes me want to reach the you in you
i is the eternal
blissful sleep
sacred slumber
i wash the years from my face
i wash that kilbey right out of my hair
no ones son or father
no man nor woman
no ghost or angel
i simply am
i am iam iam i am
my doing is all done
now i am
am what ? says a voice from another room
i am i am …i reply to myself
i am the thought
this is delicious
this feeling of “i” ness
detached unlocated anywhere
no more agendas
no more trips
no more sleight of hand
no more ambition
endless peace
no
not endless
says another voice
from another room
agitation begins subtly
your calm begins to fracture
why was it ever thus?
you
(now its you not i, thank god)
you
yes you
yes YOU
who do you think i was talking to?
YOU YOU YOU YOU N YOU
all of you
all of those yous
you wanna have another go
you wanna have another shot
you said
hang on a minute
maybe i will give life another try
but the struggle the pain the fear i say
no no no
you say
i will give life another try
maybe it…
maybe it wasnt so bad after all
maybe it was ……
JESUS now!
why did you wanna do that?

i’m being questioned by some guy in a uniform
i’m being led away to some cell
i’m escaping dramatically
digging tunnels with spoons
or leaping over electric fences to my freedom
i run down lonely streets in dead of night
i sleep in abandoned cars
i eat berries and drink rainwater
i am re-captured and beaten
help me
this is no joke
i am being held against my will
i am being brainwashed
i am being reprogrammed
a guard comes in my room
we struggle
i crack his head on a wall
i see my chance
and i slip into the darkness
i roam shanty town in the shadows of night
hiding in the alleys and warrens of this place
i lie low for a while
until one morning i swim across a canal
on the other side i climb up a bank
and run like hell into a dense wood
i forget my own name
i live in a cave like a hermit
i live off pure air and the crystal streams
i grow slowly invisible to all but the most careful eye
i am friend to the small birds and creatures
i am friend to the serpent and to the bear
i move through the woods silently like the wind
i eat the honey the bees willingly give
lovely little wild apples i roast outside my cave
i learn the languages of the beasts
i learn how to bring the rain on down
i learn to manipulate the clouds
i send my mind out
out out out
to the great cities of this earth
to nineveh
to sydney
to l.a.
to rome and athens and anywhere i want
i am there now
all around you
everywhere nowhere
wherever
i explore your dreams
i float through your nights
i appear behind your eyes
and then i disappear
i sing in the loneliest night
i dance by myself next to my fire
i read books unwritten at last
i invent a million stories you’ll never have time to hear
i test my bonds
i scream at the jailers
i rattle my cage
i pound my chest
i mate with a female they have captured
i burrow under the walls
i climb up into the sky
and pull my rope up
i want to be gone
gone again
real gone
help me
theyre holding me here
this is no joke
they got me
n they got me good
i am being executed right now
oh god
they missed
oh god
theyre reloading
theyre aiming
and