The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

obviously it is not my field of expertise
but was very pleased to see obama win u.s. elexion
he SEEMS like a very decent kinda bloke
and his academic record (yawn) is blah blah blah
(what the hell wood i know?)
still
i fear for his life
knowing his death would instantly trigger a kind of civil war
and already reading the white nazi idiots reactions
weve got those imbeciles in every country
uh huh
they definitely got em here…witness cronulla riots
they definitely got loads of em in england
they even got em in scandinavia
where some old school vikings
would like to chuck out all the forbannad svartskulls
(accursed black heads)
you know
will fucking humanity ever get over this thing?
will dogs n cats ever forgive each other
or is it just all part of the obstacle course
that is life on earth…?
in my last life
as you recall
under hypnosis
i was an indian bloke, a sikh hating the english
for what they had done to india
hating the bloody english defined me
as i died i was still obsessed with my hatred
so what did i appear as
but a white puny little english git
the very thing i despised the most
einsteins 13th law :you always become what you hate
(just watch that principle in action, folkss!)
so i kinda feel like i should know
this race thing is a temporary thing
just a one more thing to create friction/diversity down here
one more thing to get over before you move on
the goals change all the time
you gotta adjust
you gotta perceive
you gotta move on
when i was a kid
a mere 50 years ago
my favourite sweets were licorice “cigarettes”
they came in a packet like a ciggy box(another BAD idea)
and the brand name : nigger boy
complete with the most horrific little drawing of that boy
with all the racial exaggerations you can imagine
there was a show on telly as late as the early seventies
the black n white minstrels
the white minstrels were caucasian ladies
the black minstrels were white blokes with boot polish
on their faces complete with big lips n big white eyes
it was so fucking weird
but it had been on telly ever since i could remember
singing songs like
way down upon the swannee river etc
is this racism?
or some trad jazz tradition…?
i’m a bit confused as to what this shows intentions were
i’m sure its on you tube somewhere
this incredible world with all its shameful secrets…
the unbelievable capacity we have to hate n fear each other
ridicule each other because of this n that
i know…IVE DONE IT TOO
havent you?
anyway
no matter how much we like barry obama
theres a whole loada klansmen n stuff
who surely will not
and feeling like this will bring on the armageddon they crave
so
one would imagine someone somewhere is gonna try n
put in a fix on him
its naive to believe it aint so
tho i pray n wish that it might not happen
because if mr obama is as much as hurt
it will surely bring on the long american night
secondly
i’m thinking that maybe we had to have bush
so we could have obama (ying n yang?)
yes i say WE
because
whoever america elects
the rest of us have to fucking suffer
( if n when theyre turkeys…)
its not like u.s. presidents keep to themselves
after world war 2 the u.s. has monkeyed around with this world
often with the most gruesome bloodthirsty results
epitomized by vietnam
a useless war which was totally unnecessary
which took an incredible toll on women n children n civilians
just think of all the residents of hanoi
bombed night after night after fucking night
burning n screaming n hideously mutilated
it was that same olde pack of white protestant anglo saxon gits
the olde geezers who dont fight themselves
but happy to get loads of others killed
bush n cheney the modern ones
back then we had lbj
n bob menzies in aust
old school belligerent numbskulls
go to some place where ya not wanted
n kill the locals
who have different skin/customs/religion
why doesnt everyone just stay put?
if everyone stayed at home theyre be no fucking wars
no one ever wins
the losers lose
the winners lose
the onlookers lose…
where am i going with this
well i just hope old obama doesnt get pushed into malarkey
by all the others
the generals n halliburton n cia n illuminati n whoever else
keeps thinking up reasons to get more people killed
is the president able to resist such pressure?
is that what got jfk killed?
i’d say yeah…n a few other things
so baracks got a big mess to clean up
will they let him do it?
ok call me a dunce
but i dont understand this:
you can spend one bazillion bucks a day on subjugating iraq
but you cant afford health care for the poor
or to fix up the levies in new orleans…
can someone explain that fucking bullshit?
if my kids get sick
i take em to local quack
he sees em
no money even changes hands
surely the u.s. could afford that
most countries got that…why not the u.s.?
will “they” let obama sort this out?
and if not…why not?
another thing
i was dismayed to hear obama using all that american jingoism
that the rest of the world hates so much
and which has indeed proved dangerous to our hopes of peace
mccain was hitting the same old AMERICA stuff
during his extraordinarily gracious concession speech…
when will these guys realise that a patriot
is someone who believes his country is the best
merely because he was born there….
drop the star spangled banner routine boys
thats what the rest of the world DONT want
all that john wayne my country right or wrong tripe
and george w “we’ll smoke em out!”
hey its 2008
those days are over
hopefully barack obama signifies an end to the cowboy era
and a new day can dawn of the intellectual urbane president
one whos on everybodys side
a peace loving man whos gonna heal some of those scars
me
i love america
have you been there?
its got the BEST n the WORST
my wife is american
eve n aurora are american
i got a huge vested interest in this
i’m tired of fuckin’ kneejerk anti-americanism
but
i’m tired of the old school cowboys n their ‘orrible wars
please
mr obama
dont get shot
heal the rifts
sort out the poor
fix up new orleans
n
make sure i get my next entry visa
i’m really sorry for what i did in 1999 in nyc
and i’m now completely norbal (again)

footnote
joe biden was mates with natalies uncle gary who died recently
gary was an active democrat in delaware at all the functions
how sad that he never got to see this happen
n
just think
the time being woulda had a contact in the whitehouse
ok
now people
lets make this happen now for barry!

same olde dreamy
flying cautiously thru the air
i turn up my palms and i soar
soar thru my continuum dreams
where my mother runs a nightclub
and the band i’m in are always on a plane
or checking in to some strange motel
or my whole family are with me
in scandinavia or s.carolina
or howe the hell would i know
and just like in real life
i struggle struggle struggle against a contrary world
elation n indifference
trying to prove i’m innocent to someone
trying to negotiate complicated rules my mind cant follow
trying to decide
trying to cope
always something niggle niggle niggle
higgledy piggeldy
i wriggle away from redtape like an eel
hot n bothered
trick questions a’plenty
hoops n coops
boxes to tick
forms to fill in
i never get around to it
always way behind in spades
weary dreary and teary
i blame drugs
i blame pressure
i blame the years
i blame everyone of you
i blame the stupid things i say
i blame fame and the lack of it
i blame the second rate pricks who always do well
i blame my patrician face and my freckled skin
i blame war and disasters
i blame my over imagination
i sit at the table with miha my new friend
he looks like a slavic king from 1476
with his sandy prince valiant do
and his scanty little beard
his deep blue eyes are piercing
his body is tanned n almost perfect
as he lifts his shirt
and shows us the scar that runs from his chest
past his belly button n down
miha at 33 has licked the big C
some fucking monstrous tumour putting the squeeze on his guts
hes learned some things battling the disease
he can rise out of his body at will
he can withstand great pain
he is christlike in his composure
his blue eyes rest on me benevolently
at first i thought he was a hippy bum like me
but one day he turns up dressed to the nines
in a pierre de la ponce suit
wow they say clothes maketh the man
but this guy looks very smart in his black threads
he seems to have a hundred jobs i dont understand
setting things up
sailing boats
making films for installations
some people its better to not to try to understand them
its easier that way
let them be poems instead of articles
let them be songs instead of equations
he says hes gonna find out about a lot of things
before hes done down here
from most people that would sound hollow
and i would prob’ly scoff
but miha has the genuine ring of authenticity
his gaze takes a lot in
i can see that
you could play king wenceslas if they ever do a version.. i say
i could really see him with a silver crown n chain mail armour
or am i dreaming all this up again
steve roaches dream circle pulsates in background
natalie in lemuria 2 sits on my big new easel
my ears are ringing
nk looks for election results in the u.s. but finds only soccer
i hate fucking soccer
the endless construction in sydneys eastern suburbs starts up
they continue to knock down little family houses
n put up “modern” looking blocks o’ flats
that’ll be eyesores in twenny years time
up go the cranes
up go the bricks
down come the bleedin’ ‘ammers again n again n again
the radios come on playing the worst rubbish
the blokes yell out to each other in “colourful” language
the lorries n vans clog the streets
theres sand n bits of wood everywhere
cement trucks queue on the corner
sloshing round the liquid blecchh
the porta loos reek
and the racket goes on 6 days a week
meanwhile the n bondi sky is filled with
good n bad minor birds
magpies
pee wees
pigeons (i hate fucking pigeons)
sea gulls
pair o’ keats
starlings
sparrows
willy wagtails
cock or twos screeching n careening abaht
kook-a-burras
crows (of course)
ravens(can ya tell the difference?)
and occaisionally you see
some birds of prey high up in the either
snatchin’ un-fort-u-nate vik-tims outta the heir
say la vee
n
kay sir rah
n
et stra
n. bondi is amazingly picture-esk
its surrounded by hills full of lovely trees n houses
the flowers bloom intensely
their colours are all outrageous
and every one is reaffirmation of the existence of olde godly
who is one fucking hell of an artist
wow even when ya look up close ya cant tell how hes done it
and some of the flowers smell good to boot
and some little yappy dogs are good to boot too
(tho i’d never dream of eating em)
guess you think i’m a brute with my talk of boot
yeah i am
a poet n a brute
and you thought they didnt make that model anymore?
but just like (insert fave poet here)
i am too fucking bloody subtle for the hoi polloi
and they cannot grok my groovy message
so i write poems about atlantis
and my readers tell me to cheer up
oh ha ha ha
next
cortez n the azz-tex (the happy version)
the punic wars with sad bits left out
attila the hun…the less heralded genius of..
the lighter side of melancholy
etc
etc
puh-leeze
meanwhile in n bondi
the birds tweety tweety
the machines bangedi bang
the cars rev rev rev
the buses groany moany
schoolkids sigh
ants scuttle
cockroaches hide
rats piss
mice squeak
bees buzz on their busy bizness
fuck i dont know
the sun comes feebly n tentatively out
the clouds form a hazy patina like in italy
the houses gleam in the sun
scarlet squeals n shrieks somewhere in the house
all around me is the debris of art
paper pastels pastel dust
paints dried up paints pencils scissors brushes
leads plugs earphones cans of spray sponges
applicators wrappers lids plectrums lighters papers
bottles of stuff
rollers tubes buckets pots boxes sketches packets
clips tape easels paintings frames masks books
cds dvds material fake n real plants
etc etc etc
a still morning outside
it will never come again
carpe fucking diem!

something
i must write something
fill up these pages with words
the truth….?
i cant remember
the truth…..
maybe i do elaborate sometimes
dark morning dawns
i sit in my tower
no
i sit in my basement
i sit in my burnt out basement with a….
no
i sit at a deserted beach
i am a handsome young man
i am a mere childe
i see the years stretch out before me forever
i plunge into the black water
its freezing cold but i am indifferent
i sink down down down
my breath fills my lungs to burst
down down down
in the murky coldness with no breath left
i am seized with panic
hideous fish come out to regard me
finally when i can no longer hold my breath
the water enters my lungs like a liquid knife
i splutter and struggle down there
it takes a while i tell you
to drown
i am thinking “how much longer….?”
when it happens
of course
some kind of separation
a dissolving
like an essence pressed from a flower
like steam from water
like smoke from fire
i rise
through the turgid water
through the quiet air
not up but out i go
out of this world
out of this time
out of memory
simply out
i stay out for a long time
a long long long time
although time never passed
it was the time it took here
lifetimes
i suppose
it took lifetimes
no time at all when its over
you realise that
life is but a dream
so i dreamed another
great cities
conquests
parades
ceremonies
murders
betrayals
pain
always pain
i run from the pain
it pursues me life after life
painful lives
painful deaths
so many ways to go
monsters
war
electrocution
darts
poison
fever
stabbed in the dark
blinded by the light
kings fall down
the walls of jericho collapse
babylon overgrown with weeds
nineveh abandoned in the desert
rome goes under
atlantis goes down
we run screaming with our children
the temple of zeus comes down around us
his great golden head crushes the priests
his body tumbles backwards causing mayhem
all is fire
all is whirlpool
all is the roar of the ocean
angered by our vain experiments
drinking us down her violent cold throat
the plates have suddenly shifted
the land vomits us into the sea
an explosion of red hot ashes
the horses run thru the streets maddened
a hole opens up
and yawns
and we are gone
the sea rushes together
and belches up blackened bodies of men and beasts
that float for a while and then sink
and everything is silent
as if it all never happened at all

natalie in lemuria by moonlight
finished on the wall
lifting her head out of the picture
her mauve creamy moony skin
the jungle all around
the wild inchoate jungle
so many hours
labour of love
this picture will dominate any room
this picture will move around at night when no ones looking
this picture will call you into the fleshy undergrowth
where the shrubs and leaves are full of rain
and wild eyed blonde women appear
coming the other way
like an angel fleeing sodom
like a seraph at rush hour
like a temple whore from old babylon
surprised to run into you at this hour
but ready to avail you of all her arts
werent we married in some other life ?you ask
didnt we have some lovely children…..?
but she just looks at you through you beyond you
now youre mad
youre talking to a painting
you did this painting
you recreated your wife from pigments
out of a black void you did summon her face
marilyns face
mae wests face
jean harlot
rita hayworth
ingrid bergman
the zephyr in the north winds arms coming to venus’ birth
the 1950s black n white blonde her tits nearly falling out
the lemurian spitfire
a west virginian ingenue
a wild eyed girl from free cloud
you applied her foundation
you built her up out of colour
oh your wife could go many ways you chuckle
as you work on her face
shaping n reshaping her delicate chin
her swelling cheekbones sailing under her wild brown eyes
just like ole pig-malion
falling in love with yer own creation
over ten years since we met
i still looking at my wifes face
how does it all go together
and then
i marvel
at how love n nature
have swirled our features around
and mixed up our colouring
and taken all the best bits
for someone like scarlet kilbey
who is a true star
who were you before this? i ask her
i scarlet she says
have you always been scarlet? you ask
yes she says quite clearly
but her lilac blue eyes say NO!
i see my mother rush across her face
i see russell and mimis broad abstracted gaze
i see my dad in myself and he melts to see scarlet
oh dad you woulda loved my kids you say
five of the prettiest girls you could ever meet
scarlet speaks english as tho forgetting her last language
there is a teutonic frostiness in her curt answers
there is sometimes a jolly latino deliberate over pronunciation
from where does her soul derive its power n anger
meanwhile my wife is thoroughly american
oh she was an american girl
american woman stay away from me
i’m sorry
i always wanted one of them blonde southern women
and just like my wife
they never swear
and their only concern
is loves sweet trysts n twists n kissed’s
you cant tell whos having who on
the american woman can appreciate the englishman
she can see why its so special
all as god intended it to be
no shortcuts
leave the words to me you say
drums beatin’ cold
english blood runs hot
english n all that means
the outsider looking in
from a tiny rainy island somewhere
or in the red desert
hot n cold
thats what we do
we dominate
we take apart
we impose our will
we decide
we endure
we prevail
watch out!
no good being english in lemuria, mister
no good playing the bass guitar or any of that
but i thought this lemuria thing was just a joke you think
another angle
another gimmick
a premise for tangled undergrowth and vines that curl around n in
no no
lemuria…..ah!
i cant even tell whats true or not you think
i look at myself
steven your skin is a golden brown now says my mother
i look in the mirror
as i age i turning into someone else
some hawklike olde grizzled bastard emerging
those eyes only the same
implying more than they mean to
scanning the painting for little faults
little technical errors n small accidents
the way the colour underneath will come rushing up
and the way some pastels are creamier than others
the way all the different brushes work
the way you can swirl n smear n subtract and manifest
after a while the songs write themselves
the paintings do themselves
the bloggs come tumbalong out
music
art
women
words
the soft options
i am all hardness
i seek the softness
i seek refuge
i seek haven n asylum
so i lose myself on huge sheets of paper
and i loose myself
in the approaching darkness of lemurias unforgotten jungles
the black panther with jesus
the parrots talking their crimson n green heads off
the sleepy old sloth
the cold elegant constrictor
the medicinal plants that bring visions
i am a traveller between worlds
my patrons ask me to explore myself when they dare not
yes i been to lemuria
yes i been to atlanta n atlantis n atlantic city
yes i am the time being
yes these are my journals
sacred n profane
in n out
up n down
saying too much
or nothing at all
i am the man that can
and i will
i take silences n fill em with song
i take blanks n fill em with words
i take space and i give it a face
i sing the booty electric
a hound chasing down the bunny
i am a bullet from either ether gun set to stun
i am an old master
(ha ha)
i am master of all i survey tho i cant see that well
i can see my wifes jawline from 3 planets away
she comes in our room where i’m waiting
and she’s already ready
shes dressed up but nowhere much to go
except
avenue on
downtown lemuria
hot november saturday night
streets so quiet now
only baby singing like a nighting gale
in lemurian
shes singing in lemurian
a warbley birdlike language of coos and las
help bring me back she says
back from where you wonder
i just left my body she says
i was out there somewhere baby without you
avenue off maybe
avenue honour bit
ok….ah
but
its sunday now……

what if
what if?
what if?!
this is the truth
i stand before a mirror which offers no reflection
all souls night
the dead have been loosed from the cloying earth
and unspeakable monsters lurk in the darkness
the hot city is enveloped by an unclean night
and i hurry on my way down down down
voices call my name
peripheral things are glimpsed
and gone forever
the air is thick with accusations
we wait for rain that never comes
we pay off bills that are never paid off
we struggle and we survive somehow
who am i?
nobody really
just someone telling his tale
just one of six million stories in the naked city
john smith
no connections
no glamour holidays in gated timeshare @ s.e. asia
no chance to get out of my whole
just another bloody punter like you mate
victim of a swindle
no pros only cons
i slide along under the radar
i get by
what do you want?
i can play a song
i can dig a grave
other types of work and services
i go off to war and i shoot enemies
i stay home and ward off friends
i got a nice mansuit
dont i look good?
almost seemless
the latest style somewhere….but not here
our poor old mum used to read me a poem about the shark
now i got my own hooks
now i got my own tackle
now i know which way the wind blows
and why cats scream in the dark
and the black water where there is no light
i deal with vipers
i deal with vermin
i deal with both my eyes wide open
slicing out cards from all 3 decks
youre so pleased to see me ….if i’m on your side
you aint pleased to see me if i’m not
i dont need a costume
i dont need a fancy name
i dont need an excuse or any drawn out story
sir, you purchase my time and make no mistake
and payment may take many forms
and i am versatile
and arrangements may be made
but to forfeit …..ah!………
and who let loose the night
and who dressed it in such fine n splendid mockery
and who taught it to sink down like a melted bubble
the alleyways and empty thinktanks
the thorny gardens with their broken fences
the tunnels into the ground
the swans above the clouds, my friend
they can leave
they can leave here but not you or i
grimy black chains holding us back
railroad fumes and radio spirits
the money talking just round the corner
sure fire things
one last clean up
bang!
a new mansuit
who’d ever know it was me…?
indeed….
but you
you know me
you know me pretty good
and thats a shame
coz now…..
well nothing personal…
its just that…
this body aint big enough for the both of us
and it aint me whos gonna leave
*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

this world
wrong world
i been sent to the wrong world
they abandoned me here as bloody punishment
i look around…surely this aint my world
i knew it right from the start
waiting for my mother or father to tell me
“son, you done come to the wrong world”
good god
what is this…?
a penal colony for clowns
are you seriously telling me
that in all of america
the best guy the GLOPs could find was johnny mccain
if thats really true…..
in all the united states
they came up with him?
am i awake or dreaming?
has something gone wrong somehow somewhere?
where do i protest at this absurdity?
at the same time
rock band ac/dc are playin’ to 40,000 people in chicago
imagine in 1983
if someone had shown me a crystal ball
and said kilbey
thou shalt behold the future of rock in twenty five years time
and you gasp with anticipation
and briefly you imagine all the weird n wonderful things 2008 will hold
the kinda futuristic boogie them future cats will be laying down
you look deep into the ball
something begins to materialize..through the glass darkly
oh no
you shudder
you laugh bitterly
you wince
shake your head
why no….you say thru yer abject dismay
theres bin some kinda mistake…!
this aint the future……..is it?
it cant be….!!!??
for there in that ball
(sigh)
you would see the geezer in the hat
n the geezer in the schoolboy get up
and
yes
then you fucking well n truly know
you got beamed down here by mistake
and the future aint much of a future
if thats what it holds….
oh please no
no no no
it cant be true, can it?
and people still eating meat
and people still fighting wars
and people still robbing banks
and shooting people at school
and crashing cars cos theyre driving drunk
and etc etc etc
still busting potsmokers
still dealing out guns
still getting pissed n brawling in pubs
is this it?
we got the internet but we’re the same old losers
i dunno….2008….
painkiller easily the best record of the year
and i aint even heard the others…i just know it is
(enjoying robert forsters the evangelist at the moment)
no wonder the record biz is down the drain
good fucking riddance
what will all those smarmy pricks do for a crust now?
real estate..or used cars, i guess
the future seemed more futuristic in 1980
what with gary numan n the human league
(and now thank god we got vince noir)
it really seems this future was hardly worth arriving at
hardly worth waiting for
a passe future
future of materialism
future of bellicosity
future of the yob
me…?
i’m trying to hang around till 2032
when they let the public in
on the real story behind jfks assassination
a story still too shocking i guess to be told now
if they think no one around then will give a toss
then they aint counted on me
at 78
i’ll still be furious
when i find out
that we
the good guys
the straight guys
the normal white nice guys
that we
shot our own king

ok
i’m writing my own acka dacka songs from now on
for a start that geezer is one of the only blokes older than me
still going in rocknroll
so i’m a spring chickling compared to his venerable old carcass
ive already been shopping round for the hat
and i found a nice one at grimsbys fashions for seniors
with kilbey plaid on it
i wear it at a rakish angle
looking like a cross between andy capp n sid james
(‘allo darlin’!)
i’m taking some waddle n strut lessons from a man at the pub
including hefting guitar playing fifty year old school children aloft
(not tripping over their homework etc) and staggering about
i’m working on some lyrics…here ‘ave a look
n tell me what you think….
i’m thinking of calling this one something like…

BIG KNOCKERS

i woz out one day walking my cock-er(wink to lads in crowd)

and i wanna get me hands on yer BIG KNOCKERS

dont look down cos my sausage is a shocker
(then crowd joins in)
and we wanna get out our hands on yer BIG KNOCKERS

BIG KNOCKERS
BIG KNOCKERS
BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG BIG KNOCKERS
love to roll my baby cos ya know she is a rocker
but i wanna bang bang wif yer BIG KNOCKERS
(fists punch the air on bang bang)

look i know its a still in an embryonic stage
i know a few parts need some work
i’ll be polishing it up a little over the coming months
as i do my vocal warm ups
i’m going for a cross between
a bawling cockney sergeant major
and an old codger sitting down in a bath
and suddenly finding out thats its much too hot…
look it aint easy to sing like that
and i wanna look like the foreman on a demolition site
bellowing through the unbelievable racket going on around him
actually people have said to me
steven just ignore the singing n words…listen to the music
just ignore the singing n words!
yeah
like go n see this film…ignore the acting n the script..but otherwise..
how can you ignore the words n singing to a song?
how can one compartmentalize music like that?
ooh thats enough now steven john my boy
why do those guys push yer buttons?
oh i dont know..its so benny hill
i genuinely feel so fucking sorry for any young man
standing row upon row with others
with my fist in the air and mouthing the words..
whats wrong with me…?
dont i like fun..?
everybody should get some fun…thats what the west is all about
‘aving a bit of fun
c’mon!

yeah my fingers a blur of action
words fill me head
gotta get it right…aw what does matter.?
i am the true po-it
i go beyond reality n hyper reality n sub reality
i penetrate things to their very core
i come out the otherside n i’m laughing
i am the sayer not the doer
sayer of the lore
two legs good
two heads better
i am primitively suave
i am elegantly awkward
i am older than you’ll ever get to be
but look in my eyes
they are one day old
do i worry bout dying
yes i do
i picture my ascension up the ladder to heaven
just like the pandava i find it filled with unworthy brutes
because nothing is as simple as all that
the cosmos is beyond our comprehension
most humans are sluggish and stupid
witness their proclivities
see them wolf down their meat
see them goggle the idiot box
see them stumble down the highway in their boots of steel
what were they thinking…?
they never ask
they never wonder
they never buy one million tickets to see me
did you know that ac/dc have sold one bazillion records this week
saving the record biznesses neck?
wow!
the most brutal unoriginal common and lets face it stupid rock there is
music for old men to sing to young boys about nudge nudge wink phoah!
and double entendres intended to be risque
but sadly just vulgar
the miscreant in the ‘at
or the old fool dressed up as the schoolboy
and why do they share their tired old malarkey
with rooms full of guys
young enough to be their grandkids
who are lapping this
sad tripe up
oh despair!
oh triumph of the philistines!
oh big mac n big brother n ac/dc
the diet of bilge
george bush n robbie williams n guy n nicole ritchie
what a puerile contemptible obvious world of men
indeed the age of the imbecile
the planet of the dumb people
the stodgy puddingish blechh of the hoi polloi
the all ordinaries indeed
the pits

la de da
scribble scribble
blah blah blah
i feel emptiness in my stomach verging on nausea
my limbs are lithe n loose
not what youd expect being 54
54 …can you imagine when you’ll be that old again..?!
54 x 365 = 19700 days
and to think of all that impatience
most of my life lived with some needless nameless anxiety
i never noticed the clouds
i never noticed the flowers
i never noticed time fading away
oh god sometimes i bore myself
all the good stuff in here i aint explored
but i gotta get thru the waffle first
my mind is a garden
i’m trying to climb over the hedge
i’m trying to get into my own mind
which only proves what many wise men tell us
YOU ARE NOT YOUR MIND
you think you are
and your mind really thinks it IS you…but it aint
otherwise how could i be out here
trying to get into my strange mind
where all the poems n songs n paintings are
until i realise them
they are potential somewhere in my million square mile mind
inside my head is as big as the sky
sometimes it tightens up
my universe rapidly shrinks
until theres no room for me in my mind
my mind has collapsed like a flaming gas balloon
and its plunging with me wrapped up in it
fuck its hard being a renaissance man tho
when there is no renaissance on at the moment
far from it…its the anti-renaissance
the age of the imbecile
my father was a renaissance man too
except i could never ever play the piano like him
and he didnt do poetry
poetry? he’d say and shake his head
lay some boogie-woogie on me son!
my dad deliberately pronounced the “g”s soft
boojie-woojie he’d say
something seemed to make my dad hold his talent in tho
he had no ambitions to exhibit or perform for an audience
tho he was a real crowdpleaser at a knees up or birfday bash
people are still talking bout kilbey as my mums brothers called him
uncle stan telling my wife how i got it all from kilbey
people will never say kilbey as affectionately again
as when the old timers say it and sigh
remembering that geezer who made everybody laugh
and then jumped on a piano
and had em singing along
now kilbey has on a slightly accusative feel
why kilbey why? asked one of my old workmates
eventually he made a sticker for me
why kilbey why?
he stuck it on my back without me knowing
and i musta walked around with that on fer hours
people indeed asking themselves silently
why kilbey why?
in the mouths of bullies i hated kilbey
because of the kil bit
when obviously they were gonna kill me
fuckin’ kil-bey a bully would sneer
as he slapped me round the chops
wots wrong wif ya kil-bey…?
lucky in those days
the bullies punched you on the arm
not the face
so you got nasty bruises
but my lovely little nose stayed intact
ive seen a lot of people with big noses fretting about them
my dads nose was bigger than mine
n i know he wanted a smaller one
so i’m glad my nose isnt too big
thank christ..one less phobia to carry round
at least my nose is normal
unlike my mind
which
as i said is either too big or too small
its either a thousand miles to the next inkling
or its a crush of skull n blood n brains
but my mind aint my brains
and i aint my mind
but i am you tho
tho it is hard to believe
today aurora kilbey goes in early for her flute lesson
i’m working on natalie in lemuria
on my new big paper n my new big easel
standing up!
and paint n pastel begin to obey my will
and my lines are smooth n authentic
i’m having a lot of fun painting my wifes face
although i got it slightly wrong
now some wildeyed blonde stares back from the black paper
and i gotta put the jungle round her
what will you put in the border nk asks me
uh…skulls n hearts …i say
yeah thats good she says
ok easy
skulls, flaming skulls, eyes
thats the sort of thing i like in my borders
sort of setting the scene
like all the paintings backstage at the house of blues
its all guitars n skulls n flames n dice n virgin marys
n crucifixes n skellingtons n diablos n demons
n elvis n cars n mexico n robert johnsons
thats where my paintings should be
im trying to drum up a little voodoo here in nth bondi
tho i’m just a naive white man from canberra act
i like to visit the jungle via my paintings
n leave out all the mozzies n dangerous beasties
leave out all the blow pipes n mal-aria
so theres natalie staring back from black
her features which i know so well are delicate
and a tiny bit one way or the other can make it all wrong
i paint away n listen to music
i think surely someone will buy this painting
and i know in my heart of hearts that they will
the weather is mild n the days just melt away
and are gone
i will try to hang onto today for all i’m worth
and what i’m worth would vary from person to person
some would say very little
a very few might say a fortune
most would say who?
so i go on typing
surely i’m bound to be discovered soon….!!??

be patient
you’ll play all the parts
morning
summer
winter
evening
return to your old haunts
driving down country lanes you become your father
hanging in the sky become your son
suddenly you look around yourself
all this and you were hardly interested
now with time running out the doors
time pouring through every open window
time pawing your bones
time poring through your mind
temporal shift
today the flowers are all painted in brightly
the temperature has been adjusted to a jolly 75 degrees
oh maybe i should stick around you think
in a field like italy
beware of snakes says the flyer
men in green direct you to your spot in the trees
float over the lawns
nibble nibble
one side makes you taller one side makes you smaller
my mother sits like a queen on a portable throne
80 years old surrounded by her sons and brothers
sisters-in-law, daughters-in-law
nephews, grand children and well-wishers
time has shaped her inside and out
i remember when she was more restless
under some kind of pressure she put on herself
now she sits with her iffy knee fresh from under the knife
under a great pine tree
gracious and happy and contented
while a strange crowd of country bumpkins and hippies
listen to the bhagavad guitars
i talk a little but dont say much
always the outsider
russell says
i’d tick every box on the asbergers page
anti social
dislikes crowds n noise (oh you bet i do)
cant read people (apparently not)
etc
something in me cant feel
and something else feels too much
i cant stand the phony baloney chit chat trip
if i know you hate me
dont welcome me into your house with a forced smile
dont kiss me or hug me or ask me how d’ye do?
anyway i always keep me distance from em all
but now its a quiet distance
a modest distance
a distance filled with quiet vagueness
not a screaming silence
i dont sulk in a huff
i just sit on my own
no one can or wants to reach me
i see marlon cruise by
he looks at me now like we understand each other
neither of us can really participate in these things
why why why
i dont resent it if thats what it is
ive always hated small talk
i want to like it
i want to fit in
how many times has someone said to me
why cant you just be normal for once?
and i didnt know
i never knew what it was
i learned to approximate
you mean i should actually smile?
like this?
i knew smiling was good but i never made the connection
or if i did i could never be bothered
we are animals…we react to this kind of stimuli
maybe i tried to jump over all that
i cant remember
in my mind i was cold and cruel
but i am no longer that childe
the gardens pacify me
trees and flowers gently excite my wonder
i gaze with a painterly eye
endless shades of green to master
just like endless shades of meaning to glean
and eve runs around and drinks fizzy drinks until she just explodes
she has to lie down in a cool room to recover
aurora keeps going hard
and the baby is all hot sweaty n mostly exasperated
the inevitable sausages n prawns come out
i need to steer clear of that noxious smoke
this here is the real poison
they all dig in
no one will listen to me
i sadly see children devouring bacon n sausages
what a shame
everyone drinking beer
hey its a party isnt it ?
i like to see em all enjoying em selves now
i suppose thats progress
it makes me happy
to see em all happy
and i would love to lose myself
in any happy crowd
no it was really lovely
the country air
the warm evening
all the people
my mother hitting eighty
she never molly coddled me much
i used to wish she had
now i’m glad she didnt….it was good for me
and i see that through distance
i was able to get closer to things
and a load of other boring old paradoxes
that come with being some sort of human being
i suppose