The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

sometimes i feel like jus’ making it all up
i mean, who would know
but life is always weirder than friction
and thats how the snake got out its skin
and kilbey flounders n struggles from one disaster to
another
i could right a fucken book
kilbeys semi-autobiography
the real story un ex purr gated
or whatever…
hey its all bullshit, right?
who cares if kilbey insulted hughie louis n made him cry?
who cares that he snorted coke at roger jaggers bar mitzvah
(or was it bar none)
or at the pittsburgh area music awards
a drunken slurring kilbey
he didnt mean to be drunk
but he thought it might help
actually it didnt take much to get us drunk
a sip of champers
and kilbey was staggering round the green room
treading on rick ocaseks corns
and eating mister misters guacamole
we went out for a stroll in the snow
as luck wood have it
we bump into ziggy marley n end up blowing a spliff
kilbey pretending to know all about dub
says some stupid things
“thats not fucking dub, man(mon)!” says z m
we’re left coughing in the snow
what you say that for? i ask him
i dunno he says
fuck ‘im if ‘e cant take a joke !
ah touche
sometimes our minds think so alike
some fan recognizes us
oh no kilbey says
lookin’ round for an exit
but the guy is loomin’ large
steve?
no
yes it is!
no its not!
steve kill-beee?
no!
me : it is…he’s just being rude
k: shut up you imbecile
fan : steve?
me : yes!
k : no!
fan: steve kill-bee…of the churrrch?
me: yes n no
k: no n no
fan : excuse me…are you steve?
k : (looking daggers at me!) yes…..
me : you see, i told you
fan : i’m sorry, are you steve kill-b…..
k: (emphatically) YES!
me : are you?
k : shut up
fan : steve kill-bee of the churrrch?
k : yes…can i sign something…?
fan : ( giggling) steve kill-bee oh ha ha
k : (warming to it a little) yes….its me ..in the flesh
me : oh ha ha ha hee
fan : steve….?
k : yeah…..?
me : here we go…
fan : steve …..?
k : yeah….?!
fan : (proffering programme for the p.a.m.as)
could you get rick ocasek to sign this?
me : oh ha ha hardy ha ha
k : (blushing ) err…yeah..sure..you wait here
as we re-enter the building
kilbey chucks the programme in a rubbish bin
(or was it a trash can?)
i dig it out n i say
c’mon get that chaps programme signed
kilbey tears it outta my hands
muttering under his breath
about fucking idiots n jesus christs
although he got ocasek to sign it
it still ended up in the rubbish
with the poor geyser probably still waiting out there..
eventually after knocking over sineads perrier water
and pissing meatloaf off
with a veggie jibe
kilbey n i hit the frickin’ podium
we had a speech prepared
but kilbey had ripped bits of it up as filters
over the week since i wrote it for him
plus it had gotten snow on it
and a few pages gone missing
kilbey started off by saying
he thought the p.a.m.a should change their name to
“the pits”
absolutely no one laughed
except me
i laughed at no one laughing
one by one his jokes fell flat
his drummer jokes were badly received
if he’d done his homework
he would have seen
that the vinny capice award for best new group
was named after the late vinny capice
pittsburghs most famous n beloved drummer
who died in a freak accident a month ago
when a steinway piano fell on his head from six storeys up
kilbey then made references to
republicans with crabs
ted nugents left testicle
david coverdales smoking jacket
n tawny kittaens flea collar
william penns penis
and a load of other faux pas n insults
that went down as banga pearson said
went down like a pork chop in a synagogue…
sensing a revolution
i took the mic
ladies n gennlemen…
i said ,soothing the boiling rabble
ladies n gennlemen
tis wiv grate plessha that we read the nominees
for the vinny capice encouragement n special award
for the pittsburgh areas most improved and original group
this prize will include 2 whole days of recording
at nova sound where your sounds are important!
kilbey giggled n quietly burped
i continued…
(but the bugger was trying to put me off
having made a bit of a rum go of things
kilbeys solution was always just then to make it worse
go all the way
n hope salvation is located at that point
where a shambles meets improvisation
n hope for the fuckin’ best)
anyhow
i tried to be serious
kilbeys very demeanour showed he cared not a fig for any of this
his very posture said fuck the fuckin’ pamas
he stood at the podium
stooped shoulders n scratching his head
he hoped he looked stylishly dishevelled
but he looked like a fucking scruff from sydney circa late 80s
anyway
i tried to ignore ‘im
the nominees are:
johnny n the young rockers
(kilbey groans…he hates stupid names like that!)
lenny n the p.a. rockets
(kilbey : god…thats terrible)
little julie n the pittsburgers
(kilbey chokes on his champagne, spluttering)
billy n the bad boys
(he continues to splutter n cough loudly)
and finally but not least
kilbey interjects : but definitely last…
the brad waddlespoon band featuring todd waddlespoon
kilbey : we were gonna call my band that…..
and the winner is…
kilbey…gimme the envelope
him : i dont have it…!
me : (whispering furiously) youre s’posed to..
him : well i dont..
the audience sat there suddenly sobered up
they were stony faced and to a person angrily unimpressed
ah…i say
my voice sounded huge in the silence
like the whole universe was listenin’
to whatever i would say next
ah….i said
we ..ah..lost the envelope
kilbey stepped up to the mike n coughed
onvelope ….he corrected my pronunciation
we stood there awhile
there was movement behind us
rick ocasek pushed aside n said
the winner is…. the .brad waddlespoon band
featuring todd waddlespoon!!!
the place erupted
the waddlespoons came on n played
a truly awful new romantic boogie
no one spoke to us after
we never got paid
we found our own way to the airport
and our flight was delayed
n then after 6 hours on the run way
the plane bounced all around the sky
scaring the hell out of us both
fucking show biz…i ask ya
cue david neils : memory of metal sheets
memory of metal sheets
looking thru dark glass
i think about a stone hearted woman
n how the time go pass
i talk to talking creatures
i climb the money trees
i swim on empty beaches
searching for my sheet metal memories
(from western songs : david neil in the wilderness )

shopping in melrose
i point out to kilbey
in alvin aardvarks
a pair of anti-lopes
real 1960s anti-lopes
they wont be in my size kilbey says
his needle-nose pressed up against the glass
bullshit….i say …go on n try ’em
kilbey just stands there
visions of anti-lopes in his head
it was the” inne shoppe” canberra 1968
(is this where his fetish for adding the “e” came from?)
shopping in david jones with his mother
he wandered away from the haberdashery for a moment
down thru the record bar
down the mysterious back of this sprawling emporium
it was 68 n psychedelia had broken loose
gents clothes were sposed to be floral n colourful
paisley cravats n bright cor-du-roy
like you were percy shelley or someone
up the back is the inne shoppe
a few square feet of modern rags
as kilbey n i stand gawking from a distance
a cool dude comes in the back doors
he n his girlfriend leave the royal blue skies
n the pine trees all behind
as they walk towards the inne shoppe
oh wow! kilbey whispers
what..? i say
shhhhh! he says its ronnie haze
the best bass player in the a.c.t.
n his girlfriend
who is the saucy sister of a guy i knew once in dickson
anyhow
unless mick jagger himself had walked in…
hazey was the bees knees
long blond hair
blond sideburns
slim n impossibly groovy
tanned skin
a nehru jacket ….so tasteful
his black boots were just….right
his girlfriend was like him in negative
black hair pale skin
groovy outfit
she seemed devoted as she clung to him
oh my life would be complete if i was him
c’mon ..! i say
kilbey says ssssh!
ronnie haze is checking out the inne shoppes clothes
theres a guy working in there would scare anyone
immaculately dressed in double breasted pinstripe
a supercilious flouncing ninny
kilbey’d never dare go in a shoppe with a guy like that
i seen kilbey in action…he’s scared of shop assistants
he hates buying things
he cant decide
he n i get into arguments
me : they fit
him : they do not fit!
me : hold your stomach in
him : you hold yer tongue!
etc
anyway hazey walks right up to this ponce
can i help you sir? says the ponce with a smirk
hazey says
have you got any zigger jackets?
the guy frowns n shakes his head
hazey says
have you got any anti-lopes?
the guy starts to mumble something
shaking his head
hazey gestures around the guys shop
and lifts a shirt up off the rack
inspecting it
sniffing it
n suddenly replacing it
like it was the most disgusting object on earth
no zigger jackets or anti-lopes
yet you dare call this the “inne shoppe?”
hazey laughed a mirthless laugh
n he n the girlfriend swept out
like ambassadors leaving the table of negotiation
from then on in
both kilbey n i were anxious to secure
a pair of anti-lopes
they had proven elusive
we were beginning on our evolution thru jeans
amco
leisuremasters
levi-strauss
lee
lee coopers
wranglers
bear-cats
but
somewhere out there
was a pair of anti-lopes with sks name on em
finally
that day had come
but he couldnt stand it
luckily being much the same size as him
he was 32 in those days..
i went in n tried the bloody anti-lopes on
kilbey stood outside gesticulating thru the glass
oh wow they fitted perfect, lee
not too tight
not too baggy
buy em! he was outside saying
ok ! OK!
later on kilbey gets busted for jay-walking
the sign says dont walk but kilbey walks
c’mon he says
dont walk here on a red sign i say
impatiently he snorts n steps out into the traffic
cars start stopping all over the place
horns start honking
and a policeman cruises up on his bike
n busts kilbey red-footed
sir, let me see some id
kilbeys got no idea let alone id
sir i’ll have to take you in until i can determine who you are
kilbey starts laying on the aussie accent
oh…youre from downunder? says the quite frankly dopey copper
i have a sister in crows nest, nsw says the copper
his eyes are a little misty
i havent seen her for ..what..2 years this christmas
kilbey waxes eloquent on the joys of crows nest
a lovely suburb.. he drawls so honest n harmless
the cop n kilbey chat about crows nest for a while
every now n then kilbey rolls his eyes in my direction
eventually the cop says
look sir
i’m not going to take you down the station today
but jay walking is an offence in california
and please pay this ticket..
he gave him a ticket for 10 dollars
oh yes i will !said kilbey pathetically subservient
(and he did! …what a rebel…?!)
anyway
a load more things happened that afternoon
but jesus
my rsi is killing me today
so this is the short story
after a series of hilarious misadventures
the anti-lopes got locked in the boot (trunk)
of a hire car
that got dropped off somewhere
before their absence had been detected
kilbey n i blamed each other
most people (who were interested) believed me
the anti-lopes were never seen again
he never even tried em on
but he never paid me for em neither
so fair sfair i guess
oh god they were lovely tho
i know kilbey still thinks of em
on a misty night in the purple gloaming
(cue david neils ” alberta”
alberta , give me some more time
i cant see how i could have been so blind
and tomorrows faraway
jes’ like yessaday
alberta, please gimme some more time”

tonite
finally
i will be cool
in my zigger jacket…..
the phone rings
a bus blasts its horn
a plane begins its descent for landing
kilbey stands in a queue
my passport is stamped
i walk through
carlos from curare records meets us
at the restaurant i find nothing to eat
the others eat the fish
i sit bored and i argue with kilbey
kilbey sits there yawning
he wants to sleep more than anything in the world
carlos is getting on great with the others
but kilbeys ignoring him
so i’m ignoring him
kilbey n i get up for a stroll
we’re down at the edge of some sea or lake
the sky is almost a creamy green-blue
i remember the zigger jacket n i smile
where is it now tho? someone asks
fuck, my zigger jacket….!
kilbey looks deeply troubled
where is the zigger jacket? he asks me out loud
for christ out loud ..i say…
its in the suitcase, isnt it?
i didnt put it in there , did i ? kilbey wonders
you must have, man….cos i didn’t
we stand at the edge of the sea
no sand only rocks ….i say
yeah..says kilbey hardly hearing me
lets check the case kilbey suddenly says
s’back at the hotel….
gotta go there now then
kilbey goes in n tries to disturb the others lunch
theyre drinking beer n eating prawns or something
all having a good laugh with stupid carlos
who thinks he’s pretty funny
kilbey says we wanna go back to the hotel
the others ignore him
c’mon….! i say
they go on drinking n eating the dizgusting crustacean bits
kilbey n i take matters into our own hands
which fuckin’ hotel is it? kilbey asks me
i take out my key
mercury gardens hotel the city
we bump along in some old cab
the drivers strikes up a conversation with us
kilbey asks all his usual questions
whats the population of this city
where did the driver learn to talk such good english?
(kilbey n i exchange a wink in the mirror)
he asks about the war
the guy goes into a long complicated n passionate answer
i see kilbey gets put off n doesnt listen to a word
the guy can see hes not listening
so he starts talking to me
yeah yeah mister….thats too bad..
aw fuck i cant understand a thing he’s saying
but he’s sure upset with some general or somebody…
eventually we get to the mercury gardens
kilbey jumps out n strolls away
leaving me to pay
theres some argy bargy with the tip
i tell the guy to fuck off
the car drives off with a screeching of tyres
i gave him a tip i say to kilbey
kilbey says how much didya give the bastard?
i hold up a note
i gave ‘im 5 of these
great says kilbey …you gave him a ten cent tip!
fuck ‘im if ‘e cant take a joke ..we roar in unison
in side the hotel the people dont like us
kilbey looks like a real scruff in his get up
and his great big bag full of cassettes
at least i had a shave this morning
kilbeys got reddish hair n a black shadow
his face is pale his nose is pink his eyes are blank
gimme the key he says to me
i aint got the key! i say
didnt you check in already ?he says incredulously
there is a vague n imperious side of kilbey i hate
we all do
he wanders around wishing out loud
like some kinda fool prince on a picnic
i aint got the key.. i say one last time
go to the desk then ..he says
you go to the fucking desk ! i say
kilbey shrugs n goes to the desk
i almost feel sorry for him sometimes
he hates doing anything…ANYTHING…
for example in paris:
hey kilbey we just arrived in paris..wanna see the sights
kilbey: no i hate sights
wanna get some food?
no i hate the food here, i’m gonna eat a sandwich
that i bought in luxembourg…
hey kilbey wanna watch tv..?
kilbey: no i hate tv
the soccers on…
kilbey : i hate the soccers on..
jesus what a wet blanket
kilbey checking in is a piece of work
hes mumbling n keeps checking all his pockets
all he finds are crumpled bits of paper
some of which he unfolds n reads
before sticking em back in his pocket
do you know where me passport is? he snarls
bangas still got it from the flight i say
kilbey says fuck!
he goes into some schpiel about something
n finally they let him have the roomkey
on his nsw drivers license
it takes us a while to figure out how to use the key
kilbey gets blustery n tries to force it in
look ….like this… i say
the door opens
its a nice room
the suitcase has already been delivered
the zigger jacket ! he says
i take the cassette player out n stick in some david neil
” someday honey , i’m gonna find my way home…”
kilbey looks perplexed
what is it? i ask
d’ya remember the combination? he says
the case has a combination lock
the silly sods forgotten the combo
we sit there trying all the obvious combos
666
069
013
007
etc
finally kilbey spins all the dials
suddenly the case pops open
it explodes in socks n shirts n underpants n books n cassettes
where is it?
where is it?
the fuckin’ zigger jacket…where is it?
kilbey just sits there shocked
i rummage thru the case again n again
kilbey gets on the phone
he insults the airline n its baggage handlers
he insults the country
he insults the hotel n the staff
he rings up banga n insults him
he finally slams down the phone
n he starts insulting me
you know how much i love that jacket ..he says
why didnt ya look after it a bit better ? i say
this incenses him
he hurls the hotel dossier book thingy at me
it explodes midair in envelopes menus n postcards
he goes into the bathroom slamming the door
a second later he appears sheepishly
its ok now he says
what?
its ok..he says …i found this…..!
hes holding the zigger jacket in his hands
oh god
despite all the carry on
i’m awfully pleased to see it
wow
a work of true sartorial elegance
can i wear it a little? i ask him
sure …he says , his face softening a little
i put it on n walk around the room
looks good on doesnt it? he says
yeah…it really does…
wow….
whoever wears this will be a true rock star
and then the unthinkable happens
we order up some food
and i get guacamole all over the zigger jacket
kilbey is angry he cant speak
then its a flurry of calls
kilbeys moaning n carrying on
banga comes round eventually
you n yer fuckin’ zigger jacket…he says
they have a brief argument
culminating in kilbey asking banga
“what could be more important to YOU than MY needs?”
banga snorts with derision
“mate” he says “get fucken serious!”
he slopes off with the jacket
that night at the gig
things are at an all time low
the jacket has supposed to have turned up
but it hasnt
kilbey n i bicker with each other over “responsibility”
banga tells kilbey to be patient for the hundredth time
n the others couldnt give a damn
finally
just as the strains of the intro tape are dying away
(deodatos the ride of the valkyries)
some little foreign lackey from curare records
comes runnin in the gig
holding the zigger jacket all wrapped up in drycleaning plastic
are you fucken happy now? banga roars
n everyone laughs
kilbey smirks n unwraps our jacket
n then his smirk turns to a nasty frown
as he tries it on
as he tries to try it on
its shrunken to a small girls size
everyone tries to stifle a huge inevitable laugh
as he casts the shrunken garment to the floor in a cold rage
the guy from curare makes himself scarce
the gig was a stinker
we never got asked back
dont ever mention that fuckin’ jacket to me again
or kilbey
just DONT mention it!

for one year
every night
helsinki in the morning
minneapolis in the night
minneapolis in the morning
mexico city in the night
mexico city in the morning
manchester in the night
yes i was taking it hard
i was all fucking shook up
i was triple jet-lagged n double hung -over
one night the drummer said to me
i havent slept for 4 nights…i just keep drinking coffee
his eyes gleamed with feverish mad intensity
oh no
kilbey has to sleep
i dont want…
i would never want sleeplessness
oh sleep waits for me at the end of everyday
my tiny mind needs a big rest
i flow back out at night
let kilbey be empty for a while
let his olde bones rest
mean while back on le bus
the drummers got some dub going
he chucks me a grubby little envelope
inside is a lump of some brown substance
opiated hash he says
what smoke or eat? i ask
both! the drummer cackles
an hour later we leave madrid
and we’re cruising round luxembourg
looking for the drummer
that is we were but…
well banga jumped off the bus to find him
but when he found him
he gave banga some of the same stuff i’d had
and no one ever came back
so i went out to find banga
who i found eventually
but now we’re sitting by a river in luxembourg
its neutral weather
its 6 a m in the morning
fuck we’ll never get to new amsterdam at this rate
banga sits on our bench with his head in his hands
an old lady comes walking along with her dog
excuse me miss! banga stands up suddenly
the olde lady takes afright
but the big st bernard jumps up on bangas chest
and growls n snarls inches from his face
take it easy banga …! i mumble …fuck..!
the lady pulls the dog back
and she hurries away
the red eyed beast still growling
eventually a woman comes walking along
banga pearsons demeanour changes
he hits the suave button hard
this is not easy at 6 am in luxembourg
dressed in a satin tour jacket n shorts n blunnies
me? at least i was dressed norbal
tight black pants n a t rex tshirt
my hennaed hair was a tangled birdsnest
n the kohl was still slightly smeared
and our eyes glowed in the dark
red n stoned n tired
now everything just seemed one long continuous aussie prank
like i’d never left school
please dont talk to her banga !i implore him under my breath
why not, killa ? he says standing up
offering his hand “hoi,oi’m noel…call me banger!..”
jesus christ!
the womans on her way to work n…
she stops n looks at banga n smiles
i’m so embarrassed n stoned n tired
i cant tell if anything is happening or not
this changes from exhilarating one minute
to frightening the next
i look away from bangas classic chat up
i can hear his voice droning on
with occasional silences as the womans nods n smiles
i am ashamed to say banga was trying to speak in the worst french…
it was making the hairs on my arms cringe n my teeth ache
wee wee ! i could hear banga out the corner of my ear
as i looked around the luxembourgian park
a lovely statue of some long haired medieval git
little boat shed n little boats for hire
little cafe opening in little more than an hour
regular ordinary people walked past
some stared at the aussie tour manager n bedraggled rocker
but most didnt
they worked in well lit offices with comfortable furniture
they had favourable employment packages
they drove audis n saabs n lotsa beemers n mercs
they had summer houses somewhere or something
in my receptive state i flow out n live all their lives
time is a relative
everything is/was flowing
pounded by 2 hundred days of music
hounded by tiredness n druggedness
n hangovers that were starting to queue up to happen
i was reading reading reading any books i could find
to escape
and then
there i was
on a park bench at 6 15 in meta-europe
escaping
in some lux parallel thingy…oh bother!
living all those lives at once
its a strain on the system
banga comes over
ok
ok what?
ok this ladys taking us to her place
what?
you heard!
i aint goin’!
ok …stay ‘ere then
no ok..
ok what?
i’m coming then….
banga walks along speaking the most abysmal french
but the lady seems to keeping nodding n smiling
i follow along miserably
i just wanna get on that bus n sleep all the way to
hammersmith
eventually we come to a door
open it up
inside is the errant drummer
drinking schnapps
smoking dope
and i dont believe it
on the stereo
david neil is singing
was there ever talk of love?
“was there ever talk of love
in the stillness of a night
did you ever walk away
from a love so bright
but she was burning cold
burning burning cold….”
the second schnapps was warming my cockles
when the bus pulled up outside
of course this whole thing was a dream
if it ever happened it didnt happen to me
so i climbed on that bus
swung into my bunk
pushing all my david neil cassettes outta the way
the engine purred beneath me like an old friend
i could hear banga carrying on somewhere
just down the line in some other town
roadies humping gear down the backsteps
the music still not faded from the air
a train rushes past symbolizing the velocity
n fixed nature of life
the audiences drift out
the sun comes up
i wish i was warm warm warm in bed
jus’ sleeping
dreaming this whole thing off

memory swirls throughout time
like raspberry juice swirling through triple sec
chop up some lemon n orange n apple
keep chilled
music is one thing
wine is another
blood holds it all together
the dark red stuff
ichor in the veins of the gods
aphrodite from cytherea
zeus from olympus
kilbey from nowhere in particular
the sky darkens as you sit there watching
typical says a voice in another room
the sun fades away behind the grey
the heroes return from the war all bled dry
diminished and wanting
david neil sings in the headphones
the plane touches down n rolls into town
maybe yer precious ‘magination is all used up
saturday is a strange day
sometimes it makes you cry n
makes you feel so bad
the 4 of us plus noel “banga” pearson
hurtle through the night
down some highway going south
at hyper speed
gigs pop up
we play at a million strums per second
the crowds dwindle n surge
words come out my mouth
peter kopf sends telegraphic messages with his devices
the clouds whizz passed overhead
the crew sets up n packs away
money a blur as it changes its hands
the faces on the notes age and grow old
a hundred dollar note in my coat sings david neil
gonna see a man about a boat….
backstage twenty years have passed
you step on stage at 34
you come off at 54
rip van kilbey
where are all my old haunts…mutter mutter
god, ive been asleep so long
that was a long set, mister….says a janitor
as he casually cleans up the mess
the lights have come on
and the place is littered with crushed beer cans
in the cruel light everyone seems pale and lined
the light stabs yer eyes n you blink like a dormouse
a husband n wife come forward for a photo
they smile when you say ok
but they groan when they look in yer eyes
wow you better get yerself some…..
sleep ? i offer
yeah uh huh some sleep
david neil sings sleep with me but dream alone
the road south is flat n broad n unending
i stick a cassette in the player
not fuckin’ david neil again, killer ! banga shouts as he drives
much laughter from the backseat
isnt there anything else? someone yells out
we’re cruising through the desert at 90 miles n hour
all the windows are down
everyones smoking something or another
and david neil is blasting above it all
suddenly another gig looms up
in one second flat
i’m checked in
tuned up
sound checked
dinner’d up
n
onstage
we used to be popular in this town…..sheeesh
which town is it ? someone asks
its uh….not syracuse
not melbourn florida
not saska toon
not uh….i dont remember exactly
but my room had a view over a park
and the flowers were ….uh…
anyway
its always the next day
think about that when tomorrow comes, killer
banga pearson was the philosophical aussie type
like a digger from ww1
he was strong philosophical n liked a fucken beer or 2
he grew up on the mean streets of new south wales north
n he could surf like a demon at 8 years old
when asked by a man or a woman why he was called banga
banga ‘d say ” do you wanna fucken find out?”
one of bangas brothers was in jail
the other one was the lead guitarist
with phyllis stein n the nom de prunes
who had had some chart success in the south west
banga ‘d walk thru a brick wall for me (he said)
but he couldn’t be bothered with finding my passport
which he’d lost in a rumble with some other idiot
boy he was a good driver tho
when hed had a smoke n a cuppla lines
gee he could go all night
no more david neil killer! he screams out over the racket
as arizona n santa fe and mississippi go past
david neil sings
oh the sorrow of parting from you nadine
split me down my silver screen..
what the fuck does that mean asks banga a year later
weave finally stopped driving
but the ground still trembles under my frictional feet
we sit in bangas room with its beer bottles n cigarette packets
banga rolls up a huge great spliff which i wont smoke
cos of all the tobacco hes put in there
we watch mtv n video smash hits n top of the props
david neil comes on
fuck, no! exclaims banga
i dont believe it!
david neil doing the unplugged thing
boy he sure can play guitar tho
even banga has to admit that..
banga :pigs arse i do!
he’s looking kind of old but in a cool way…
david neil sings lets go to la tolteca
lets go inside there
david neils fingers glide over the guitar like a magician
the sangrias clotting he sings
there you go ! exclaims banga
bang!
but its true what they say
about the endless road n the lost highway
the miles do as their tolled
the bridges detour leaning
and the signs
can only point you in the wrong direction
still the palm trees bend in the wind n rain
and of course david neil was never found alive
and by the time the doors open
we should have had something to eat
you’ll have time to do 2 quick interviews
n pop back home n get changed in to yer mansuit
sip the sangria
smell the rosy apples
chew the bitter lemons
nibble on orange counties
strap on your pulverizer
and stuff yer strut
emi have got the test pressings
cbs have got the masters
wea have got the blues
and curare records have disappeared
theres a curfew at 11 so dont play 10
the house takes 15 per cent of all winnings
and the deuces are still wilde..
banga looked up from his guessed list
as the gig boomed n thundered all around
it smelt of beer n aftershave n smoke
2 pair he said
almost a full house
wait till i tell killer he said
he’ll be stoked…..!

continuity remained elusive in the killers life
his memory had fractured into mosaic elements
a la the white plague
or a whiter shade of plague with the bark motif
everything is connected n then everything is disconnected
grasping at straws to drink my boost juice
tuning up backstage in berlin
shooting dope in a station in stockholm
standing on a ferry between nambucca heads n kempsey
you are no continuous continual free thinking man
you are a series of snapshots on the white pages of spirit
i check into my room with my bag of cassettes
and my great big cassette player with detachable speakers
the room is quiet the air conditioner purrs
the tv offers a range of services
exec check out
weekend specials
shopping vouchers
drycleaning services
open up the fridge
kilbey takes out the toblerone chocolate
eating at it as he looks out over the city
what was it?
new genoa ….?
with its hinterland of twinkling lights
with its rivers n statues
with its audiences n its money
kilbey shoves in a cassette
david neils classic after mars
kilbey fishes thru his belongings
books n cassettes…some cds
finds his stash of primo weedo
some ultra precocious college kid had laid on him
last night in santa rubella….
he turns up david neil
“yeah…..baby….like a lover i never had…
no …maybe…when all our love turned bad….”
the echo slide took over merging into the sad strings
the cod-female voices rising in weird unisons
kilbey dropped the tob wrapper
n mimed the guitar solo in the full length mirror
turquoise jacket
turquoise boots
tight black jeans gone baggy round the knees n bum
a black velvet shirt with a frayed collar
some white thing was coming thru the collar n he liked it
bags under his eyes
he needed a shave n a years good knights sleeps
he needed a haircut and good waking up
david neil hit his falsetto crescendo
the huge 3/4 time chords descended
like bells tolling the death of a king
” and its just no good…any….more….”
the rain began outside
kilbey drifted off into a little reverie
a hundred years in the future
type ype type before a little white screen
hello out there…its kilbey here….
a pleasant fresh sea breeze blows in n birdies tweet
all the money ran out
and the ringing in the olde ears
cold feet in more ways than one
ex-ratbag on remand in the doldrums
one finger typist
up to the elbows in arms
impossibly tanned
the caucasian skin with golden little hairs
write about what you know says a voice
all i know is myself
a trillion words pour out thru that one finger
his wrist is sore
the hand feels weird
still he bangs on non
his struggles with…himself
his admiration for…himself
his memories of….himself
i am everyman i am sings david neil
i am zeus sings apollo( as played by peter kopf)
i am the audience
i am the ambience
wow
the real kilbey snaps out of his daydream
the phone rings
hello? kilbey says in a phlegmy whisper
steve …?
its noel “banga” pearson , the aussie tour manager
mate, we’re all waitin’ for ya in the car…..”
kilbey chucks his other black velvet shirt in a plastic bag
he grabs the towel out of the bathroom
turns off the light
steps out into a hushed corridor
that night the band played so well
they’d hit such heights…could things ever be the same again?
the answer was….yeah..they could be the same again
kilbey sat in a corner sipping some black label whiskey
red faced and sweaty and silent
as a parade of visitors appeared n faded
inside his ears n head the band roared on
the show was over
there was nothing left to see here
in his head
where the guitars still screamed n dived n kerranged
where the people still shrieked n whistled n stamped
where the silence rang on in stone
where a thousand heralds blew their shrill horns
and the whiskey tasted real bad
it always tasted real bad
it burnt yer throat but it warmed yer guts
it increased the fog
if you could get lost in the fog
you could leave all that noise behind

the dawn awoke before the killer
a night of blue flashes and bone rattling thunder
a night of vivid dreams n astral visitations
memories slide down the window with the rain
my dad comes back sometimes n we talk
my dad says
youre older than me now, slim….!
i say
but i still cant play the piana like you dad
dad says
you need to let go to really play the piano, son
he starts to muck about on his piano
look at this….slim!… youre not even watching….
lyneham oh lyneham oh lyneham
wherefore art thou lyneham?
yeah they got some counterfeit lyneham there now, dad
what d’you meanby that, son…?
well they got internet access n gays drinkin’ soy lattes
dad says
i didnt understand a bloody word…..
dad, theres trees n all the houses are done up
and all the old ghosts have fled…..
and the young girls are now grandmothers
and the teachers are all old and distracted
time has moved on
leaving us all struggling in its wake
and this is just another dream, isnt it….
afterschool
i catch a bus into town to the olympic pool
richard michalak and colin burton n paul turner are there
the p.a. plays the latest hits of the day
and the music keeps me in a state of constant sensitivity
everything overwhelms me
i jump in the pool n nearly drown
i go n buy some lollies…a kurl bar n licorice
my sunburn is peeling
my hair is short
my head is like a square
my eyes seem old
my teeth are yellow with 2 white stains at the front
my nose is red n freckled
my hair is dead straight n nondescript brown
i stand in the mens changerooms looking in the mirror
god i’d like to become invisible n go into the ladies changerooms
god, i’d like to see a naked lady
i sit on the bus for ages
all the way down miller street thru turner n o’connor
megan mc who i am secretely in love with
has taken the same bus home
she sits 4 rows further up
oblivious to my presence
but to me the air is charged with fairydust
the bus drivers radio blasts tinnily
i say hey hey you you get offa my cloud
the rolling stones come thru some tiny speaker
it feels dangerous just to listen to em…
whats the date, dad?
aw i dont know…..november something, isnt it?
its the 20th of november, leslie…says aunty lou
shes putting the dinner things out
egg n chips with tomato sauce
custard n rhubarb for afters
be christmas soon …my dad says
mum in the kitchen groans
what you want for christmas then …..slim?
dad do you remember that year…?
i got a simon n garfunkel record
and i got a tank that needed batteries
so you drove me down the esso but they were closed too
and a loada people rolled up
who all got mildly drunk, i guess
except for you n mum
and the kids ran around wild
and lyneham itself was wild
there were frill necked lizards 3 feet long n yabbies in the dam
farmers with shotguns on horseback chasing us thru the barb wire
everything smelt of chlorine
our washing went round n round on the hills hoist
our back yard was half n acre of stones n weeds
canberra sat in a valley in a heat dope stupor
the sixties had finally arrived in minis n mu-mu dresses
the bitter lemons released their own record
wow! the bitter lemons…what a great name
at school i drew pictures of bands playing guitars
at school where slagger slade was the principal
so called
cos when he was talking he’d spit all over you
it was truly a disgusting victorian kind of thing
and he gave me the cane and fuck! it hurt
i played cricket n got in fights n got punched in the face
i got ten cents a day
5 cents for half a vegemite roll
5 cents for afterschool lollies
or maybe a sunny boy with a lucky number in it
or maybe chip in with someone for 10 cents worth of chips
lets ride out to the quarry off dryandra street
jesus its all uphill
at the quarry we chuck stones at the silvergreen water
and finally some kid chucks a rock through some glass
and people come out shouting at us
and we jump on our bikes laughing n riding away
but i hit a rut n fall off my bike n hurt my arm
n all the kids are laughing at me
as i try not to cry
when i get home mums angry cos russells hurt himself too
and the dog dug up next doors garden
n pru daly is playing country n western too loud
n mark daly is practicing the drums
he plays the same drum riff over n over
my dad says something that makes everyone laugh
even auntie lou
he says:
“he’ll never play those drums
as long as he’s got a hole in his bum!”
just like some oldtime cockney comedian…
oh les! says auntie lou trying to stifle her giggling
its not a pretty sight
shes such a big lady
shes not fat
shes big like a rawboned rugby player is big
charming language for the table says my mother
although she laughed as well
but outside
the drum practice n tammy wynette fill the summery air
lyneham as it will never be again
before all them trees n soy lattes
when kids ‘d shoot at ya with air rifles n cracker guns
and i walked abroad in my shortie pyjamas
2 channels blacknwhite
cup of tea n chocolate biscuit
mum rings england every christmas
dad always makes her mum n dad laugh
20th of november….christmas soon
school begins to kinda deterioate in early december
we are allowed to bring games
the last week of school
someone brings a record player
and we listen to records n play games
the sky was always blue
the nights were always hot
the stars burnt on so fiercely
dad, do ya remember all that?

rainy cool morning in n bondi
the killers mind doth roam
people
places
events
things
reasons
results
music
and arguments
always lots of arguments
i always know what i want
but dont always know how to get it
i am a genius who has trouble explaining himself
people get sick of my imperious ways
they resent me
i spend half my time in arguments
they wanna cut off the golden gooseballs head
to see where he gets all them ideas
they couldnt just trust
they couldnt just follow
why kilbey why?
kilbey always try to say
just do it
if kilbey says just put black on red
somebody always had to say
why kilbey why?
and if i couldnt exactly say why
then off we’d go
a little argument
instead of trying the idea
i work better on my own
of course there are people
who are better at certain things than me
but the fuckin’ arguments are killing the killer
i always say kill bee, no honey
or is that an olde siamese saying…?
i really do want
one day
an exhibition where
i will supervise every detail
from the moment you walk in
every note
every word
every colour
will be my choice
if other people work on it
it will be strictly under my direction
there will be no explanations
if i wanna put a painting
say…a rococo portrait of simone polinski
n under that a poem about the soft summers in sardinia
while an electric guitar plays a backwards g# minor 13th chord
over a cut up loop of pj proby n byzantine choral
then
i dont wanna have to explain to anybody why
its just the way i feel it should be
oh god all the explaining ive had to do
inside n outside
no…not only have you gotta come up wiv the goods
you gotta explain it!
therein lie my character faults
i am impatient
i smirk (oh i hate that smirk)
i am forgetful
i disregard protocol
i smoke dope all the time n get silly
i change my mind
i
i
i
i dont wanna have to deal with myself
if its just me then i dont…….
there are certain things where i happily relinquish the reins
(the reigns!?)
theres a lot that i dont have a clue about
gladly i can be relieved of those burdens
i am a specialist
i been working towards that exhibition
i hope i’m someday gonna have
my whole life
40 years of bands equals forty years of arguments
40 years of waiting around
40 years of hedging yer bets
a lot of misplaced loyalties
a lot of fucking insults given n taken
yeah its lonely in the tower
but i bet its quiet
i blame myself
i shoulda been the strong silent type
like arnie swartza-nougat
JUST PLAY IT!
but no
i was the bickery sensitive eager-to-please type
i wanted to run the ship n have everyone like me
always i ended up with neither
even this very blogge
this whiny self praising self flagellating missive
the nadir of self obsession
reprinted here only because of my commitment to honesty
and giving myself a way to work my feelings out
i feel a mass of resentment n regret
i feel ive played my own hand badly
oh how i wish for one of them legendary manager types
who coulda taken care of my business for me
because fuck knows i’m useless at it
ive stumbled from one disaster to another
helpless as a new born chick
and with about as much effectiveness
a dear cohort once told me
i wasnt a songwriter
i was an idiot in a room with a tape recorder..
you see….aint it the truth…?
now i’m an idiot in a room with a laptop
ha ha
yes i am an idiot
yes i am a savant
sometimes they come in the same package
n you gotta take one with the other
but here i go again
explaining myself
instead of saying
heres my blog…read it or not
still tryin’ to keep it all explicable
thats the way i come off as despicable
actually i’m feeling a bit sick of myself today
despite having made some breakthrus
i’m still caught in the same old spin
the usual vortices
the same olde dilemmas
the weeks fly by
nearly chrimbo already
its a very trying time of the year
and n y e
got some gigs coming up
dec 22 in sydney …i’m looking forward to that
meanwhile
a rainy day
a teacher strike till 11.30
what are they striking for….better students?
my ears ring ring ring unlike the phone
russell rang yesterday
i answer the phone with “russell?”
he doesnt even say how do you know it was me?
(is that cos everyones used to a number display thingy?)
was that psi power?
anyway
yeah
go forth n multiply

my ears ring on n on
my cilia vibrate uselessly
like a million switched on television sets
my eyesight dimmer n dimmer
my judgement….it was always dodgy
my memories swirl n distort n change
aurora kilbey gets up n greets me twice
she forgot to say goodmorning dad yesterday
so today she walks in once with a smile n a kiss
second time with a frown n a kiss (representing yesterday)
aurora kilbey has the complexion i envy
tanned olive skin n blonde hair n brown eyes
you dont find any kilbeys like that except her
she looks like a cross between ursula andress n a
palomino rabbit
she is the most unusual kid i got
baby scarlet is the spitting image of elli
she also looks like mimi her cuzzin
and juicy joycie the octagenerian nanna
aurora looks more exotic
nk has some “red indian” blood
does this account for ak’s dark looks
and her somewhat melancholy gentle wisdom
thank god her night terrors have passed
i used to get that stuff
realer than real
i also used to get this optical slip
late at night especially
when everything would slide up close
then it would all slide away
recede into the distance
wow that trip used to freak me out
my mum ‘d put me straight to bed n it would pass
i used to hear voices too
and my own world was as solid as…..
my ears are ringin’ like a bitch
40 years of rockin’ n rollin’
what a stupid bastard i am
and i asked em to turn down all the way along
they all told me
you dont understand electric guitars!
ha ha!
because i didnt wanna go deaf
i didnt understand their guitars…..
go fuckin figger
gee tho…i wish i understood….
well my ears must really not understand
besides what others started
ive helped to continue
by blasting myself with walkmens discmens n ipods
the louder the ringing
the louder i play the racket to get over it!
hey brien c
i hear that jeff beck does the same thing ie
hes so tired of the ringing he drowns it out in headphones
its like stabbing your leg to staunch the blood
yep
i’m gonna need a hearing aid before too long
deaf from too much music
thats a joke n its not funny anymore
the doodles have tiny little pods
i warn em n i warn em
top 5 songs on auroras ipod
1 outbound
2 i’m a believer
3 we will rock you
4 brickhouse (by the commodores)
5 tell me what you want (spice girls)

top 5 songs on eves pod
1 girls just wanna have fun
2tell me what you want
3 outbound
4 holiday (green day)
5 american life (madonna)

girls, did daddy make you say outbound?
both : no!
ok, aurora why do like that song?
A: oh i dont know but i like it
E: um i like the radio noise…
cool…i aint arguing with that….

they also got wolfe on high rotation
hmmm..maybe i could blow the wriggles off the kiddie charts
maybe the kids want spacerock instead of that insipid bullshit
maybe the kids want short-wave angels n white noise cream pie
maybe the kids want stream of unconsciousness
maybe kids wanna plug into the sk grid
maybe the kids are waiting for ricky maymi n simon polinski
maybe the kids want the simulated feeling of waitlessness
can you imagine a mass outbreak of little renaissance people
(where are all the renaissance women anyway?)
can you imagine learning rimbaud n studying the primitives
can you imagine doing advanced bass guitar n 1st year ambiguity
yes i’m ready to tutor yer kids
the whole package
i’ll send em home whistling van gogh n painting like shakespeare
seriously
it’ll cost ya a fortune but yer kids ‘ll be argumentative snobs
unable to ever get a real job
n all puffed up on some bullshit art malarkey
just like the rreal me

can anyone out there tell me why my laptop cant get gmail?
when i tell it to go to gmail
it gets caught in an endless flip flop between two pages
that never come up
i’m sorry i aint been on gmail and
this is why….
i would like to say thank you to ALL my subscribers
you are making me possible with your generosity
especially in these hard thymes
the recession…its like self fulfilling prophesy
its like a filigree diamond filched from a ring

yeah you see i’m doing some gigs with the triffs
at the whineries
opening for olde lenny cohen
who i think is slightly over rated
but hes very cool n grande
just not as amazing as they all say he is
sorry…its only my opinion
everyone else thinks hes the bees knees
n hes written some great songs
i just dont worship or adore him
its all a bit samey i reckon
n sorry
i read some of his books which i dont rate at all
whatever
who cares?
if i ever get to meet him
i’ll probably supplicate n fawn all over the olde geezer
such is life!
such is fame!
such is me!

meanwhile…..what?
a lovely sunny but cool day has dawned in n bondi
tibor still sits in the yard
but he needs to be towed away n mercifully put down
(sigh!)
have many dark clouds on my horizon which i hope
will all just blow over
feeling troubled
ok?
bring on tuesday!

did the adelaide vegan festival yesterday
nice people who ran it
they had a decent p.a. for a change
the sound seemed good
i did the usual songs
i did the usual raves maybe not so vehemently
i had to do 2 sets
now i dont like to do 2 sets
thats getting a little too much for me
but i did cos they were nice people
the guy who met me at the airport
he was over sixty but veganism had rendered him slim n boyish
i didnt mind if he called me pete
which he seemed to do a bit
the audience were ok
there wasnt too many there
but enough to make it ok
they listened
they clapped
i had some time to kill
so i wandered round
got myself a lentil burger
then i wandered into a booth showing films
as i walked in
there was a bullfight on the screen
a tired bull covered in blood
and losing blood copiously
stuck thru with nasty little spears
finally the matador appears
a real hero
ponced up in his stupid fucking clothes
no, he should be wearing a butchers smock
this courageous prick
eventually stabs the dying confused bull
in the head
and the poor poor thing
expires in more torrents of blood
then the whales
blasting em
hooking em
chucking the “bad” bits away
mothers n calves….ah fuck em
harpoon em all…theres plenty more
then the dolphins
i’d seen bits of this before
but now i was transfixed before the screen
in a little booth at glenelg public school
on a lovely day in adelaide
i watched as somewhere in japan
someone secretly filmed the dolphin slaughter
confusing em with sonar sounds
herding em into pens
they then drag em out
onto dry land
the mothers n calves calling out to each other
i began to cry
tears of rage
tears of sadness
tears of shame
the dolphins are dragged onto the dock
where the japs walk around n slit their throats
casually n jokingly, hopping around adroitly
to avoid another huge spurt of dolphin blood
n grinning to each other
as if they were picking daisies
and the dolphins expire
just like youd expire
if someone ripped yer windpipe out
IN FUCKING PAROXYSMS OF AGONY
you should see these creatures
as they die a horrific death
as they shudder n convulse n their life gushes out
yeah
theres humanity for ya
we got computers
we got museums with fancy pitchers
we got the a-list n glittering functions
n
we got this unspeakable horror
next up was the cows
ok
i thought
cows
at least its not dolphins right?
i mean i grew up knowing cows had to die, didnt i?
ok
but these were indian cows
that their dirt poor owners had sold for leather
these cows had shoes nailed on their feet
so they could do the long journey to where they killed em
they are dragged with no food or water for miles
if they refuse they break their tails
or rub chili directly into their eyes
this re-motivates em to keep walking apparently
many die on the journey
piteously pitifully so sadly so fucking sadly my fiendss
finally if they survive
they have their heads sawn off
(not cut off cleanly but sawn off)
in front of each other
the camera focusses on the big sad eyes
of a gentle cow
an innocent defenceless creature
a sentient living being
a mammal that had calves n fed them n loved them
we see the eyes of the cow
as some little malnourished guy hacks her head off
and the eye of the cow focussed right on me
n i just hadda watch
n i just had to shudder n cry
because i’m only human
and i cant stand it
and the cow asked me “why”
why is this being done to me
i have feelings
i have fear
i had a life
and then
we see all the other cows watching
distressed n anxious n so fucking afraid
ok
i cant move outta my chair
i’m sorry if this aint what ya wanna read
i’m sorry it aint a nice poem
or a story about my paisley shirt
then came fur
there are no regulations concerning fur animals
a secret hidden camera filmed a fur farm in the u.s.
foxes n ermines n things i didnt even know
raccoons n things
are all in tiny tiny cages
they cant take one step in any direction
they boil in summer
they freeze in winter
the camera films as some kinda fox-like white creature
is dragged from its filthy cage by a rope round its neck
its just lifted up by its neck
hey its vermin, aint it?
its dragged out by its neck
n its anally electrocuted
ie
a probe gets stuck up its ass
n
another probe is stuck in its mouth
ok jerry switch on the current!
the fox stares at the camera
we see the foxes eyes as its shocked…
damn jerry…the damn varmints still alive
they gotta give it a few more shocks
before it gives up its miserable ghost
as i looked into this fox’s eyes
as i saw it die in agony n humiliation
it negated all the lovely poems
all the pretty paintings
all the clever songs
all the elaborate religions n mythology
all the concerts n games n celebrations
all the pretty girls n handsome men
all the committees n proms n socials n parties
all the obamas n osamas n whatever else
here is humanity at work
heres how the expensive fur gets on the ladies shoulders
blood n piss n shit n guts
but
ya know what ma fiendss
this fox woulda thought it was real lucky
cos then we switch to the chinese fur trade
they had animals in cages
that woulda made the u.s. fur beasties
seem like they were being put up at the hilton
and these tragic things…they mostly look like
some kinda doggies
these doggies would have prayed for 500 volts in the rectum
cos these guys
WERE SKINNED ALIVE!
uh huh
they hung em up
n they pulled the fucking fur n skin off em
leaving a living creature like a muscle diagram
its eyes still blinking
writhing n struggling
in the most unbelievable agony (un)imaginable
i will never erase these pictures from my mind
while i was still trying to keep my lentil burger down
you saw a tip truck
empty the millions of skinned things into a pit
now just shapeless disgusting objects
some were ground up n fed to the remaining ones
hey! waste not want not…
then the baby seals
right in front of the mother
wham a pick-axe through the skull
gee dont that blood look red against the snow
and the little seals cream coloured pelt…
id had enough
i stumbled out into the daylight
back to the “normaility” of sunday
re-radicalized
fuck it!
this is the good fight!
i am disgusted by “humanity”
as the film asked
are we not the cruelest most savage creatures on earth?