The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

only we werent walking through trees
we were walking past buildings
we were walking through the busy streets of some city
some heartless cruel city
which had sprung up in the darkness
a city driven by a tyrant
a despot
an impostor
men appeared out of doorways
whistling at my sister
then as i watched kathy started to grow
i was still a boy
but kathy began to grow up
swarthy faces appeared grinning
a sailor spat in the gutter
an old man made a suggestive gesture with his fingers
no kathy i said please dont look
kathy was no longer listening to me
as i watched her breasts sprouted and grew
her clothes changed
her hair became lighter in some strange style
she wore high heeled shoes and carried a handbag
her lips were red
her eyes were huge and dark
no kathy i said…stop this!
she wasnt even listening
she couldnt even see me anymore in the hustle bustle
i pulled at her hand
i noticed her nails were painted a bright pink
she wore gaudy rings
kathy! i shouted
she turned to me slowly
as if she had great difficulty in seeing me
she looked down
oh kathy whats happened to you
she regarded me with some distant pity
go home now she said…this is no place for a childe
she let go of my hand
and she drifted away through the crowds
already talking to some gentlemen
in one minute she was gone
i was alone in this terrible place
where every face was hard or sad or angry
the people all pushed past me
wherever i stood i was in someones bloody way
the people cursed at me and each other
they mumbled and stumbled
they limped and struggled
they wandered mindless
madness was in the air
the people clutched their dirty cloaks
and shivered in their greatcoats
they smoked foul pipes and drank from metal cans
the women were all brassy artificial and frightening
the men were all cowardly misshapen and brutal
the few children as i saw were miserable wretches
hiding in shadows
running out to snatch up bits n pieces of refuse
this is bad magic i shouted out
no one heard me
no one cared what i thought
i looked in a window
row upon row of people sat
working away on screens
that flickered in front of them
i saw columns of numbers
i saw naked men and women doing unspeakable things
i saw pictures of buildings coming down in flames
mountains spewing fire into the sky
waves rolled down on towns
the wind and rain lashed out like tormented fiends
i saw men fighting and people cheering
i saw men arguing in a great room
i saw the usurper upon his throne
smiling kindly while his eyes were dead
i saw beasts devour each other
i saw a lioness eat her young
men spearing huge fishes that screamed in pain
a pack of men chasing a disc and battering each other
horses reared up throwing their black riders
things fell from the sky
the people kept touching the screens and the pictures changed
a grim looking man got up from his seat
he walked out the door
he said to me
pointing at his screen
go on boy
i have twenty minutes left on that
go on you can use it….!
i went in and sat down at the screen
i touched it
and it sprang to life
a black screen with white letters
the dark picture of a man playing a strange instrument
in greenish letters stood
BEING IN TIME
underneath that
a heading
expelled

everything was happening too fast
the countryside moved by like a mechanical backdrop
when will it stop? whispered kathy
i couldnt answer her
i didnt know and i was feeling too sick
we were travelling over mostly empty terrain
scrubby trees and sparse yellow grass
we saw a fox pass beneath us once
and an old man walking a dog
we saw a river suddenly loom
then snatched away by the distance
we collided with a hill
and both tumbled together
the breath knocked out of us
we sat up
looking around
gasping
we were engulfed in a juicy black night
out of nowhere
evening had ridden in
warm and spicy
are we in wales? kathy asked
i took her hand in mine
i squeezed her soft little fingers
i looked around at the palms softly moving
in the most delicious breezes
just over the ridge
the rolling surf gently pounded
we could hear exotic birds calling
in the falling darkness
yes
i said
this must be wales….
lanterns hung in the trees
the sound of a fiddle and laughter
we walked through the trees
kathy and i
magicked i supposed
someones put a spell on us she said
soon enough we came to a table of little men
they were sitting and drinking and arguing
all dressed in green and grey like the trees
one by one they became quiet as they saw us
and they sat still and wide eyed watching us carefully
kathy said
good evening little men
my name is kathy and this is my brother…
i bowed low
my lords….
the little men laughed at this
emboldened kathy went on
we believe we have been magicked here
and we were wondering if this is wales…
the little men talked among themselves briefly
and one of them stood up
his voice was rich and musical
he spoke with a strange lilted accent
no childe this is not wales
nor is it any land you have ever heard of
and yes childe
you must be magicked if you are standing there
as you surely are
because i can see you, cant i?
he sat down again
and the little men seemed to lose all interest in us
we wandered on reluctantly
kathy thought it was rude to linger any longer
she pulled me after her
we walked away among the trees
we thought of dad
waiting for us to come home
we thought how worried he would be
tiny tears shone in kathys eyes
dont be scared i told her
i’m just thinking about dad she said
we walked on
we felt we must
away from the sound of the rolling sea
away from the sound of the little men and the fiddle
into the trees
until we were deep
inside

for a free piece of time being cake
send 1000 dollars to me now
inside stamped addressed envelope
your cake will be delivered c.o.d.
or maybe w.h.i.t.i.n.g.
do you have call whiting?
all that sweet green icing flowing down…..
wow
its a windy day here at the wo-mansion
well blow me down with a feather
its sunday
i am still alive (somewhat)
travelling in another place
in the middle of the night
fleeing romance for a breather
i stood n saw
the stars soar across our midnight sky
the moon harnessed to a chariot of clouds
she bestrode that black night a pink empress
the moon rolled thru the night
and appeared naked and unashamed
before all her subjects
an excerpt from a reawakened life
a seamless join
like real upon real upon real
life rewards and punishes
winning streaks
losing swirls
gaining n losing its all illusion
figures moving in columns
numbers
one for the angry sea
two for the burning tree
three for the black n empty hole
four for the fading names
five for the crying shames
six for the fix you nix in the mix
copyright greedy sod publishing 2012
dec 21
gonna end it
the two towers
the planes are…..missiles….
the people scream why ? why? why?
the puppetmaster understands their need
will we collide with mars?
voice : yes
what will happen to all my plans?
voice : your plans…ha ha ha….
just over 4 years to go then…..?
voice : 4 years stuck on your eyes
the falcon has been taken from the falconer
the centre cannot hold
the arms cannot hold
the eyes cannot see
what will life be like without us?
voice : who can tell?
stunned i sit backstage caressing my axe
yellow fingers reach out of the sun
the stars seem to pitch and fall
and lo :
the first angel appeared blowing a silver trumpet
and the angel said : see…..i am come….
and he reached into the ocean
and he summoned out the serpent
which came out of the depths in living fire
and it vomited out a black cloud
and the cloud squeezed the sun
squeezing out starblood
and the people still prayed to mammon
whose name is lush
represented by number 11
originating in the east a great storm
and the angel shuddered
crying :
oh that it had to come to this…!
nostradamus sitting in a bar reading his stars
no more queens
no more popes
no more…..
i weep for rome
i weep for babylon
i weep for berlin
i weep for los angeles
i weep for the children
our children
waking up one day without a world
whose fault is all this?
voice : yours!
i should have done something
i should have done something
i must not let the world die
i must not let the world die
next time i will see
next time i will see
will our souls disappear out of this world?
will we the living get the same deal?
will i burn or freeze or freeze to burn?
where can i hide?
voice : nowhere!
what can i do?
multitude of voices : help us help us!
bang! we’re all gone
swallowed up
unmade
done in
put down
over n out
is this true?
voice : it is inevitably true
man….that really sucks!

people complain n complain
this was this
that wasnt that
i wonder what really happened
people say i’m leaving……
leaving where?
there is nowhere here to leave
its just the words of an old n weary rocker
tattooed on the black sky
my little diary if you please
type type type
foolishness
nescience
self obsessed twaddle
why read it?
why read it?
why read it?
what do you expect from kilbey?
this is all he gives
words
words
more
words
if kilbey didnt exist
a random word generator
programmed up on kilbeys vocabulary
could spit this stuff out
just like all them computer programmes
where they fed in the beatles
but i’m still waiting to hear the song that came out
aint it incredible
its 2008 n i write this stuff
and guys all round the world read it 2 seconds later
sitting here in hyper downtown virtual nth bondi
it rained hard all night
this morning is warm tentative n tender
this smorning hollow like the trojan horse
filled with some invasive future
thats gonna jump out n sack my city
king priam says we can get back in the game
but man
that helen is a hot number if you like spartans
yeah we all gonna die for some pretty ladies face
did you guys know that
aphrodite appeared in the thick of battle
to spirit paris out of the fray
diomedes saw her and stabbed her fucking wrist
he stabbed the goddess of loves wrist
i wonder how well he did with the ladies after that
i bet he could walk in a brothel covered in gold talents
and he still wouldnt get a root…
ah those were the days
i pray to the goddess saraswati
goddess of art and tempeh burgers
i pray like this :
oh most gorgeous goddess
please allow me to become
the most successful artist since
salvador muhammed dali…
i was in sauna the otherday
there was a woman in film industry
i say oh i’m watching such n such a series
she says: oh i could have done that better
and
oh yes
i could rewrite shakespeare so much better
i couldve written all that stuff by mozarthoven much better too
n all them beatle songs
yeah i could have
its all academic
its all fucking moot
anyone could do anything
you might write utmw again if you like
or do what i would have done
given other circumstances etc
me …i’m kilbey
i do what kilbey does n no other
i am the best n the worst
you know all that jive
go n look around
there aint no others out there
theres no comparison
theres no reason to get all excited
yeah
i just write whatever comes into my head
and a lotta stuff comes into my head
i got my feelers out
people come n go
thats ok
use what you want n leave the rest
the whales sang on my song
gee they made a mess of the studio
all those fuck-ing plankton dealers hanging abaht
the whale said killer
killer : whale…?
whale : ok before we start singing mister, know this
some of us get paid in krill
some of us in fish
we are not gonna sing unguarded dolphin
or use any japanese microphones
and er…no sperm whale jokes, ok?
but bloody polinski
he had dugongs n manatees
all of them cetaceans
crowded in a vocal booth
the right wales were so self righteous
the humpbacks parked in the disabled spot
the blue whales were kinda sad
the sperms all called moby dick (!!??)
the bottlenosed whatnots were all pissed
the big one with the horn…whats ‘e called again?
(someone somewhere else : a narwal)
he was doing the falsetto bits
just before the five hundredth drop of rain hits
i was down in some sea
dontcha see?
i was in the ocean
i was swimming along with my pod
i was big and cold and serene
and ya see
we were all singers
and we were all singing these beautiful songs
one off improvisations around a theme
how i loved my little she whale n my lil calf
how we sang n we dived n we listened
we listened to other whales far far away
their voices flowing thru the resonant etheric water
their songs mingling with other songs
once sung it goes on forever
we pick them up
amend them
bend them
make them an ode to bliss
or an elegy for a gone friend
and i’m steve kilbey inside a whale
yeah you know that story too
i was jonah
i still am
why cant i do what it seems i must do?
i dont even fucking know what it is
someone in next room :oh yeah you do
meanwhile
its 10 00
i would like to knight sir david r
and sir john t
arise good men n join me round the round table
guineverre is in a frisky mood
and i dont like to lance a lot
the key to the chastity belt doesnt fit
i already tried
the saxons are invading whales
the all sing n bear gifts from greeks
kilbey writes his diary
there is no right or wrong
i can appropriate jim morrison
or lindy morrison
or apollo the far-sighted
i can write whatever i like
look
uh….
well….
anyway
thats how it all happened
thats why if the australian navy
sent a fucking torpedo right up the next whalers botty
well…i for one would cheer
one just doesnt kill whales anymore
theyre singers!!
i mean
WTF?

uh huh
i cracked the sea
it looks a little like draped material
but it is the sea
i just looked long long long n hard
i started in a corner with a solitary ripple
n i drew each bloody line or i erased it away
my sea will do
my sea will be just fine
phew!
tibor got dragged away to his death
by a scrap metal man
nk n lil sk watch teary eyed from the window
dad…? says lil sk…whats wrong with tibor..
well darlin’ …i say
as they pull his hub caps off n thread a huge ugly chain
through his soft familial cabin…
well darlin’….tibors been a good car…
…and we all loved him….
…i loved ‘im more than anyone….
….but you see …
theres this highway in the sky….
and by tea time tibor will be cruising it
his cd player will be pumping the gutter twins
where cars never run out of petchrul
n never over-heat
n never blow their head gaskets….
there is a groan as they winch tibor aboard
the big truck
he swings uncertainly in the air…
oh god his wheels go round searching for purchase
the men struggle with tibors mighty bulk
pushing n pulling him
at each new insult nk n lil sk softly moan
finally they get him lashed down
a man walks around doing something
oh no exclaims nk
there is a hiss n tibor lurches down…
theyre letting down his tires…she says teary eyed
the truck drives away through the rain
tibor bound n defeated….does he still feel pain?
i see my stupid bumper stickers disappear for the last time
“no fat blokes”
cleverly driving around pissing off half the geezers in australia
although bondi contains many fine specimens
the hinterlands are populated by lotsa blokes
eating lotsa cheesy wheezie
n drinking lotsa beery weary
n doing no exxy-size at all
they have become fat blokes
in other languages rendered thus
der grossen schwine-belly
los bastardos de blubbero
or simply
le grande splodge
anyway no insulting stickers for tibor 2
if there ever is a tibor 2, that is…..
ricki came over n i showed him some of my jack frost in usa 1991
i have 8 hours of vid im threatening to make into dvd
i play ricki the bit where our hapless t.m.
is hopelessly lost in the middle of some sorta turnpike ballsup
hes trying to make a call on a call box but the phones arent working
or he cant find any change
or he keeps dialling the wrong number
(no mobile phones in 1991, folks)
i’m filming him
i’m filming him on the side of a huge freeway
cars n trucks whizzing by in the rain in all directions
i’m laughing and cackling like a fiend from hell
at all his misfortunes
the guy is a strange lugubrious guy with thick feminine lips
n blinking hurt eyes like a cow
but he cant take a fucking trick
he sticks his last quarters in the last phone box
the quarters drop
he turns to me n winks
ah success…
hello …says a voice
the t.m. nods at me n smiles
hello he says
is this radio knqr point 99?
(we were sposed to be doing an interview there)
he waits confidently for the answer
it comes
no!
oh…he says
they hang up
but he goes on saying something to the phone
i start cackling like a 3 year old moron
mclennan sits in the back o’ the car
so fucking imperiously
he smokes a cig
and waves the smoke out the window
in small precise hand movements
like a prince dismissing an unfavourite courtier
i report on our lack of progress
giggling n carrying on like an obnoxious prick
“we’re lost…giggle giggle
none of the phones work
hes got no more quarters..giggle giggle”
mclennan is not amused
he sits in a cold rage
disgusted by this jokers lack of wherewithal
is that camera on ? he hisses at me
as he puffs furiously on his peter stuvyesant
the dopey tm gets back in the car
grant is sitting looking at this huge fucking map
of new york phiilly n baltimore n all its highways
do you know where we are ? asks the dopey one hopefully
yes… says grant pointing to the middle
where a thousand complicated lines n symbols converge
..we’re somewhere here!..he says jabbing at the confusion
n thrusting the map at the guy as a wrinkled up ball
me?
i go on filming n giggling
the guy goes on bumbling n stumbling
grant goes on silent n fuming
finally i try to film from the car
through the miserable drizzling rain
as the hapless tm in a booth
bashes a dead telephone down
over n over n over
in a senseless bloodthirsty rage..
when we finally arrive at the station
hours n hours late
its a little cottage in the middle of a fucking forest
im giggling
grant is fuming
the guy is bumbling
wow
this has gotta come out
in between you’ll hear us playing some songs
and goofing off
grant regaling us with tales
me being me
a real turkey….before my great fall
gee
my hair looks good tho…

painting a picture
painting a picture of me n eve on a boat
sailing outta sydney
yeah yeah yeah
me n eve are relatively easy
evies characteristic eyebrows n eyes
her thick curly hair being blasted back by the wind
she grimaces almost as the boat moves thru the chilly air
me..i got my raybans on standing behind her
all well n good
the city in the distance
yeah
represented by a few vertical splodges of pastel
give em some windows n some doors
give em some light on one side
some differences in height
try to make it seem that some buildings are behind others
i guess thats the trick
to imply depth
to imply life
to imply a complete story
if this painting ever hangs on a wall
and if people ever stop to ponder it
it should have a few things up its sleeve
a few surprises
some eye candy
some inspired technical prowess
some different looking surfaces
i’m not sure what any of this will be yet
i’m just trusting in the process
(new agers can call this the universe)
i believe the process will reveal bit by bit
a map of how to complete the painting
i will muddle away until i think of something
now not having done lots of skies
n not too many seas
i see
how hard skies are
n how much even harder is the sea…or water generally
at first i had a pastel sea
my sea was green n grey n white pastel
swirled together “intuitively” to look like the sea
it didnt look anything like the sea
there were some nice patterns
soft patterns
the pastels can be smudged around with yer finger
some really juicy creamy ones will go a long way
you just move it all about with your fingers
go out n buy yourself some pastels nice paper
n a little soft rubber (thats eraser to you, mr humphries)
rub the pastel about on the paper
now put your finger in it
and smear it around
now take yer eraser n rub it away
oh ho
you see
you can rub into it
you can adjust how much you wanna take away
by how much pressure you apply to eraser
et voila
i reckon this is the easiest way to do a painting there is
but
yet
my sea was lacking
bigtime
my sea did not look like the sea in photo i’m painting from
my sea was kinda mellow
the real sea was choppy n sharp
with this certain pattern of light n shade n waves n ripples
that characterizes the sea definitively
i was failing to get in the hard egdes n sharp shadows
the pastel couldnt/wouldnt give it
picking up a slightly wrong sized paintbush
and after having fixed the pastel
i attempted to paint in some choppiness
the marine blue dried much lighter than it had looked
the shadows became too colourful
they were the wrong shape
why did i have the wrong sized paintbrush
in the mess of my room
i couldnt find the right sized one
a tiny little transparent detailer
i picked up another strange brush
one i have only recently begun to use
a long thin brush with very few hairs
i tried to do some white foam
i had the white gouache paint quite watery
i naively hoped it would form some watery pattern
but it just looked kinda messy
n unlike the sea
which was quite precise
you can stare at the sea or a photo
for ages n ages
but it wont mean you can crack the code of its pattern
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
you can stare at the sea but can you paint it?
my long thin brush had wrecked the havoc
i even tried some iridescent pastel
hoping you know
it would glitter like the water
but nope
and it schmeared all over the place
coating everything in a dull unsealike razzle
i decided to paint the whole sea in
marine blue with a little black
to darken it up
(im sure thats not a good way to do it)
so i fixed it
got out a big thick brush
splodged it on
covered it up
a greenish blueish solid thing
well yes
this has potential
the sky is all soft shapes
mauvey grey n lemon yellows
let the sea be hard…or something
my eyes fall on a paintbrush i hadnt ever used before
about 4 years ago i got a set of brushes as a present
some i still had not got around to using
this one is the opposite of the the long thin one
its got a fan shaped wedge with numerous stiff little hairs
(simmer simmer)
i paint a little patch of marine blue on some olde cardboard
i put the strange brush in some white
and in up n down strokes i do a naive wave formation
it looks good on the cardboard but alas
on the big patch of sea on my painting it looks rotten
and thats where it stands right now
i gotta consider the sea some more
work harder on understanding its pattern
its very elusive

steve klee-bee

(in a bit of a bind
no one understands me
so why am i telling you….?)

is it wednesday already….wow
is it december already….wow
is it hot enough for ya?
gee its been a great year here at ttb
bill higgins won employee of the month
and mrs newton in accounts daughter had a baby boy
congratulations to all
reggie n the boys in the service department
had a great family picnic day last week
it was no coincidence reggie won the spoon race :
his mother janet tompkins ran the cutlery section at fossies for years!
some olde ttb staffers got together at the bull n cricket pub
and over a shandy( or 2 !) roger muller
entertained us with stories of the old storeroom on watkins st
while
mrs colin ferguson regaled us with tales of serial number mix ups
(before computers made her redundant, that is!)
and lizzie n some of the other typists tried their hands at darts
(maude got a triple 6)
now its the crazy season starting here at ttb
everyones wearing santa hats as we count down the days
lets have a safe holiday:
all ttbers are pointing their scissors at the floor
and not running if carrying them
(or a sharpened pencil)
this year we’ve only ordered 2 christmas trees
and pleased to say we’ve nabbed a rare type of pine for the office do
once home to the now extinct jub jub bird
which sadly died out when its natural habitat
was knocked down for christmas trees
young william in the mail room
is a fierce “eco-warrior” insisting on recycling his paddlepop sticks
and brad and gerald from internal affairs
have put their eggplants in a nursery
some big nights on the calendar coming up
the 22nd of dec
i’ll be hosting my traditional drinks with the chairman
in the board room (second door to left after laundry)
please rsvp my secretary or give your pledge
to mrs jenkins in reception
young sally shirley needs a ride to do kinkos
cant young simon in the mail room give her one?
jackie davis in the library has a doily for sale
and my goodness me
look at the time
7 30 in the morning here ttb time
gosh!
we’ll be opening the doors soon…
have to get my uniform on
cant be slack you know
an example to set
rah rah rah!
ah here comes our first customer now…..

you know i could be happy
if that damned shark hadnt bitten off my leg
if that bloody snake hadnt poisoned me
if that eternal revenue hadnt repossessed my son
if that bastard hadnt stolen all my songs n
repaid me by burning me at the stake
if i hadnt been braised by a toothy beardless wag
if i listened
if i watched
if i’d applied myself more at school
headmaster : why dont you apply yourself, boy
kilbey : with what applicator , sir?
headmaster : youre green and wet behind the ears, lad
kilbey : am i a pleasie-o-saw, sir?
headmaster : are you a half-wit, boy?
kilbey : no sir, i’m a full one
headmaster : you need the cane, lad
kilbey : yessir! research has shown painful impact
on the fingers including burst blood vessels n bruising
can improve cognitive function and neural response time!
headmaster : hold your hand up,BOY!
hold your hand up, BOY!
hold your hand high!
kilbey picks up his aria violin bass guitar
and el kabongs the principal (on principle)
the head weilds the cane like errol finn
hes quite a fencer
kilbey leaps about destroying the heads memorabilia
with mighty swathes of his guitar
smash go the old photos of the head as a boy
in his winning rowing team
smash go the trophies from eton
bash goes the photo of his porky grandson
the deputy rushes in with his cane
kilbey is now fighting off 2 senior teachers n the janitor
single handedly he manages to get the MC5 on the school p.a.
UP AGAINST THE WALL MOTHERFUCKERS sing the MC5
which must have been the 1st time most people had heard
the oedipal conjunctive
(this really happened at lyneham high, someone put
that record on the p.a….it played full blast
for about 1 n a half minutes
before it was switched off;
the perpetrators were expelled)
then
with my swinging bass
i liberated class after class
who burst hungrily from their classrooms
swarmed to the music room
and arming themselves with instruments
reeked havoc
kilbey kilbey kilbey! they all roared
i leaped up on the podium
in the ass-emblee room
and i boldly took the mike in the jim
or was it the jim in the mike
or was he on the tramp at the time
anyway
this is what i said
o children of a lezzy god
we are the fewcha
yes today we have won a small victory
(is this its taste?)
voice in crowd : no, that was half a vegemite roll…
kilbey : ah…but we must be alert
(we need more lerts)
(coughing…becoming serious, now)
i will lead you to the land of milkshakes n honeybuns
i am the teen mess higher
i am the nazgulrene
i am i am i am…
the crowd : are you?
kilbey : yes i am
as i stand here
with the flower of the education department vanquished at our feet
amidst the busted euphoniums n ruined bass drums
yes i am sent victorious noble and quite quite glorious
but
the sickroom is filled with our injured
and
we have seized the tuckshop
fryer tuck has been deposed
here…free half vegemite rolls for all
(cheers)
the teachers common room is awash in the tyrants tears
oh we have crushed babylon…!
the boys roared and stamped
the girls fainted and screamed
such was my personal empowerment on that day
now
(i said)
now i must go up onto mt ainslie
to talk to g.h. over
to obtain the deckalog
the tencom mangoes
alone i walked for many minutes
up up up into the cloudy heights
where no man had ever trod
past the scenic lookout
past the j.m. waddlespoon memorial picnic tables
past the dumping of rubbish strictly forbidden sign
(and all the rubbish under it)
past the carpark full of stationary bouncing panel vans
past the slippery when wet sign
(ritchie sambora shooting holes in it)
and up
to
the very
summit
1,778 centimetres above see level
in the pines
(in the pines)
above the twee line
and i called out
show yourself
i must needs see your face
voice from heaven : hang on, hang on….!
sound of toilet flushing n kettle boiling
kilbey : god!
god : yes, my son
kilbey: no i was just saying god! cos a mozzie bit me
god : a moslem, my son? then dont blame me….
kilbey : why didJa make em?
god : no that was Al R. ……
kilbey : no…the mozzies….!
god : oh…uh….well it cant be all good, can it?
kilbey : do You love teenagers, God?
god : i am a teenager myself, my son
kilbey : then reveal Thyself…
god : you are not ready for My glory, sunshine
kilbey : c’mon….
suddenly the creator filled the sky with his visage
he was a handsome hip cat with a feather cut n skull earrings
he was smokin’ something n sloshing down orange juice
he had on a heavenly zigger jacquet
n real anti-lopes
he had a fender 7 string bass n a handpainted paisley strap
he had grown a nifty little beard that was slightly out on the left side
he had a few blackheads around his nostrils
his eyes were slightly bloodshot n dilated
he had a bit of a nasty cough
he had a trial subscription for a sunday newspaper
he had bits of lolly wrappers in his pockets
he couldnt remember his mothers phone number
what was it he was going to say….?

aw i’m getting old n cold
i’m slipping out of the charts
i cant pull a crowd
i cant take a fucking trick
where am i going wrong?
i got nothing
no authority
no sell-a-bility
no presence
no profile
no mojo
no oooomph
muddling along
everyone switching off
like lights in a city at dawn
the more i try to prevent it
the faster it happens
a losing streak
like a poker game where i cant even get a pear
i sit n stare at my cluttered desk
a packet of nag champa
it says warning
INSIST
FOR
THIS LABEL
TO AVOID
IMMITATION
BUY FROM
REPUTED
DEALERS
ONLY
gee i hate grammatical n spelling mistakes
on packets, menus, billboards etc
like in a cafe a sign says : smokers this isle only
a sign at ice bergs : swimming conditions idyll
phew
at least that got me outta my funk
i mean
complaining about your falling ratings
dont help the ratings go up
its like waving your hands about
as you go down in the quicksand
(and i aint got the power, anymore)
its hard when things go wrong
but you never learn anything if you just win
except how to be a good winner (but most never do)
winning is just there
as a contrast to losing
cos you gotta play every part
some people seem to never lose
but you dont know what goes on in their hearts
today doing an interview w/some guys in here
will have to clean it up….sigh….
have lists of things to do
mundane troublesome things
this n that
figure out how im gonna do it
knuckle down, knucklehead
get humble , numbskull
apply some elbowgrease (yuck)
put on yer thinking cap (makes me look silly)
pull up yer socks (the elastics a bit stretched)
turn over a new leaf ( i need a new tree)
smell the roses (an aphid bit me)
pull yourself together (mr humphries)
the show must go on
and on
and on
apparently
i once said to a colleague
you think youre right
and the rest of the world is wrong!
he said I AM !
and oh
for that kind of naked belief
because i’m floundering around here
in this sea of nescience
sick of all my dips
dismayed that the hoi polloi
cant dig my groovy trip
surrounded by philistines
n phools
pressure pushing down on me
pushing down on me
so hard
casting swine as pearls
getting it all mixed up
a right old jumble
woe is me alas alack boo hoo
maybe thatll knock me back up the charts
a mercy read
an open letter to the universe:
i’m ready to roll a double six

maybe i really am fucking mad
maybe i just dreampt up all these people
did i dream up martin krall?
did i dream up terry n terri?
did i dream up david neil or linda neil?
did i dream up natalie dalton or miranda jansson?
did i dream up ploogy n banga pearson?
did i dream up peter kopf n jamie west-oram?
did i dream up steve kilbey?
today it all feels so unlikely
simon polinski mixes the soundtrack of my life
he rolls in the thunder
he catches the radio signals n mutates them into riffs
he turns slowed down calves into whales
he spins in the watery elements
he allocates the distant shouts
snatches of conversation
n vice versa
he takes my words
sends them deep into a one way night
with all the chattering madness in my head
because kilbey is tuning in everything now
the future is happening
oh gawd help us!
the future is happening right now to me
a combination of drugs
sin
yoga
age
natural predisposition
feigned madness becomes real
real life becomes faint
no anchor to hold me here
i remember the night
me n david neil had the girl on the balcony
i remember the christmas lights n the purple sky
the taste of coffee n wine n sex in my mouth
the girls name was really mountjoy
david kissed her chest
kilbey kissed her back
i kissed her mouth
i kissed her white feet
as she eventually slipped off her black boots
cars sped by in the street below
it was a hot night man
we moved with some urgency
i lay on my back looking at the stars
david was whispering in her ear
the girl giggled in the dark
one hand reaching out for kilbey
one other hand reaching out for him
david looks up from what hes doing
steve?
a gentleman in everything always
steve? says the girl in her west virginian accent
where you from miss mountjoy ? kilbey asks
i’m from morgantown sir..she says demurely
as she writhes in davids lap
wheres morgantown honey? someone else says
why morgantown west virginia sir! says mountjoy
shes wearing these kitten ears…i only just noticed
thats a nice touch kilbey says sneeringly
you like those baby? says mountjoy
and david closes his eyes and moans so softly
and it sounds just like his record
on that song “a world where strangers trod”
just after the crescendo
a slight pause in the music
before the high hat taps it all back in again
n you hear david murmur something just like that
n now a couple of irish guys hefting a case of beer
had to stop below our balcony n were gawking at us
fuck off ! david hissed at them
but they just stood there watching miss mountjoy
how do you like those guys watching us ? i said
i like it just fine, sir said miss mountjoy
and kilbey n i watched
n the stars watched
n the 2 irish guys watched silently
reverently
mountjoy was speaking in tongues
what did you say? said david astonished
i dont know that was my kundalini talking she said
her soft drawling voice was extremely provocative
mountjoy seemed sent from some planet
where women were created soft n sweet n deliciously immoral
kilbey said
we’re gonna miss you miss mountjoy
yes sir…i do believe you will she said
twisting around
so as to distribute all her favours even steven
it was just me
kilbey
david neil
miss mountjoy
2 irish guys on the street below
the stars
the night
the twinkly christmas lights
a plane flew overhead
maybe they all looked out the window
welcome to david neils dream says the captain
as the passengers all touch down down down
the passengers are all making out
and everyman is neil
neil:kneel!
and everywoman is mountjoy
a song comes on the intercom
davids song cockpit
he wrote this one with me
can you tell?
cockpit
baby i’m all confused
see me landing
i’m landing on sea
please come up to the cockpit
and rescue me
baby i’m all diffused
see me drowning
i’m drowning on land
please come back to the cockpit
i need a hand
and tonight we really gonna soar
yes tonight we really gonna get some more
dont leave me alone in the cockpit i adore
miss mountjoy said i love that song david
kilbey said well he wrote it for you
mountjoy frowned
in long west virginian vowels she said
why sir thats impossible
i only met you gentlemen tonight..
we all laughed at that
even the stars n the irishmen n the passengers
maybe we made this all up together …suggests david
give everyone a co-write then kilbey says
miss mountjoy..kilbey asked
what IS your first name
why sir..she said
my name is love!