The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

the church are writing some songs in alexandria
been burning my candle at both ends
and then some
a naughty boy
an awful boy
wicked little steven
buzzzed
orbed
eclipsed
neuro-blasted
fried sizzled blowing my brains out
pleasure sweet pleasure
ah but today
the inevitable today
go australia
choose your leader
tho choice is there none
its such a pity
i could have been a real statesman
i wouldnt regurgitate previously prepared fluff
i can think on my feet
trouble is
im having a hard time walking on em
think of me today
pumping my mighty fender jazz
somewhere in a sleazy rehearsal room
love
sk

kilbey
pumped up on yoga and qi gong
bush bud
ayurvedic aphrodisiacs (semegra forte)
his own pitta nature
by music and art
by a satisfied universe
by the ocean that holds him up
by certain stones
by the hands of a force that sculpts in living flesh
by the scriptures and the kama sutras
by images of the christ and naked women
by the mace
by the conch
by the disc
by the lotus
vishnus own things….
and his many memories
how he did this and avoided that
traffic jams and country lanes
winning an amplifier at cards
losing my head to smack
smacking me round the head
sigh of relief
gasp of horror
yawn of boredom
restlessness
plugging in that bass on a big stage
and the lights in my eyes
and the cymbals cutting right through my brain
everytime i pluck the e-string
the whole fucking theatre shudders
kicking em in the guts way down deep
visceral vibration
my own voice blasts in my ears
a distorted mess above the instruments
sweat
sweat pouring down my body
sweat from exertion
sweat from the heat of the lights
sweat from the glow as my anima assumes control
soaking wet and hoarse and blistered fingers
blasted by the lightshow
deafened by the screaming omnipresent guitars
the guitars which hang around and hang around
the kick drum kicks me on everybeat
the snare traps me
the ride rides me down
the crash crashes in my ears
the toms box my torso
my own bass comes a’running up through the floor
knocking me around
the audience gawking at me
what the fuck are you looking at?
my clothes are sticking to my skin
my eyes so full of salty sweat
the people
such a blur now its a joke
i wanna hammer the bastards with this fender bass
i wanna beat them into submission
i wanna elevate them
i wanna subjugate em
i wanna impress em
and
i really dont care if they like it or not
emotions rip through my mind like wild winds
i detach and think about the shopping list
what the hell does this all s’pose to mean?
what am i doing here?
if theres no god how come theres music?
music is divine, right?
do they think this all happened by accident?
chords and notes
volume and tempo
vibrato and tremelo
harmony and melody
intro and outro
ending and fade
muted and screaming
quiet and allowed
music of the spheres
music of the ancestors
music for love
music for courtesans waiting rooms
music for the sinking continents
underwater music
music made by the dead
spirit music oozing at a seance
dirty music disgusting music
music as played by the seraphim stoned on amnesia
rocknroll baby
elvis with his vicodin and his burgers and his babes
shaking his self around
sheer excess did in his vitality
too much too soon
too little too late
oh his pretty looks…
what happened?
taking care of business, baby
las vegas gomorrah in the desert, honey
hotel rooms and cocaine
guitars and slot machines
sax-o-phones
dealers and dealers
the boys
the good old boys
c’mon doc gimme a fuckin’ percodan
my lifes driving me wild
i learned some karate but i got no discipline
i got everything a man could ask for
but most of it should be refused
everybody adores me
but no one knows me
c’mon doc gimme a dilaudid for godssake
i invented this whole fucking thing, didnt i, doc
oh yes a script , my man
oh doc i cant thank ya enough
i’ll get the boys to getcha some tickets for the show
i’ll see they look after you and your wife
and have a good evening , sir….
later
he stands alone in the dawn
hotel balcony
black woman
white woman
sleep in the bed
he feels the end coming on
like a warm opiated dream
the rushing hurtling end
of all this ……pain
no more applause
no more reluctant quacks
no more peanut butter and banana fried sandwiches
no more uppers n downers n inbetweeners
no more agents n handlers
no more hair dye and diets
no more blow jobs or all night gigs
no more jack daniels and jimmy reed
no more
no more
and
soon
soon

we just wanted a little magic
dont you know we deserve it
its only a slight crack in the ordinary
the man says abracadabra
and swans fly out of his sleeves
we wanted power we wanted to pull strings
we wanted to call down love from the storm
and command love :
make him love her
make she love him
we want to circumnavigate this gravity ache
somewhere i know how it feels to be light
this box of tricks is empty
give me a spell for making it rain
tell us the secrets of life that can be used
the power an old man like me could safely wield
look into the peoples eyes and take em down
harnessing qi to my will
i would pin the mountains against the sky
oh they should have made me the greatest of the magicians
my enemies would dwindle and
the toads would multiply
thats right
i’d gladly turn my thieving murdering enemies into swine
and send a mighty tempest to disrupt their broad band
i would show off at every opportunity
floating down streets
making time go backwards
resurrecting the old days
attacking the citadels of the philistine phools
ravishing the sacrifices i would order
i would transmute bullshit into platinum ingots
i would levitate the whalers up to the dead moon
i would give the rich to the poor
a fearsome warlock
a wizard tyrant with stars and moons on my gown
a druid with woad over kill
yes a priest of apollo with jurisdiction over men
those rays emanating from my tanned hands
whipping up a magical breakfast just like that
farseeing and nearly merciful
attended by spiritual beings
guided by angels
greeted by the daily night
crimson marks of identification
ability to perform difficult ceremonies
available only on outcall
see black board for changing special offers
discreet and obliging magic man
with own wand and wandering attention
more charms than charming
erskine if you havent guessed
walking on waiters
waiting on the alignment of certain evil stars
biding his time
doing his postures
undergoing his disciplines
austere and flamboyant
moving like a snakey voodoo king
striking like lightning and always twice
burning with occult heat
appearing near you
now

your modest humble hero
(unless youre one of those carping harping nagging pricks)
your jack of all trays
your source with nice ingredients
your re-nay-sonts man
your velvet voiced bricklaying fool
your immaculate poetry vomiting buffoon
yes
the olde one
the mean one
the druggy one
the smart one
the one who travels by thought
nightwalking delver of mind
stupidly eloquent
hideously handsome
wishful genie
strangely mangey panther
devil squirrel
yesterdays man today
captain paisley
the giving hedonist
the thinking mans thinking man
the thinking womans everyman
the old womans consolation
the crazy womans valium
the young womans dream uncle
the stupid womans opposite
the white womans great hope
the black womans mannish boy
the childrens good daddy
the aliens peacemaker
to the dead i become closer
to the living i fade from sight
for the hungry i am mouldy bread and muddy water
for the philistine i am fucking anathema
for the jealous i am over rated atrocity
for the devotee i am the nectar of conjugal love
for the stranger i am the familiar
for the familiar i am the stranger
to the weary i push energy
to the unitiated i offer no solace
to my enemies i bring defiance
to my well-wishers i bring neutrality
to my helpers only deep appreciation
to my critics only scorn
2 years of blogge
2 years honing my craft
growing up in public
when im already so so olde, childe
2 years of suffering the potshots
of various antagonists who drift through these waters
2 years of nice comments too
embarassments and triumphs
marvellous writing in my very own style
after all the people who ever wrote in english
my writing is instantly identifiable
one sentence you know its me
like my songs
i do things my way
and i have carved a very small niche
tttb is quite a small success
some of you cant help yourselves
dont feel guilty
this blogge is always a work of love
i aint giving you ironic bullshit here
i believe my blogge is some kinda literature
i believe all the great writers would have utilised this technology
i have stunned myself that day after day
i have churned this out of the thin air
its a challenge to ones self
writing becomes easier and easier for me
sentences appear fully formed in my brain
my blogges are written by intuition
saraswati goddess of the arts i honour you
i love to write
i write to love
so what?
take whatever you like
make some scornful remark
or appreciate my old fashioned dedication
i pull myself apart here
i examine and i report
i fly off the handle
i hector and i abuse
i am a petty tyrant of a nonexistent realm
how long its gonna take to get into your empire
i am a wordslinger electronique
i am a honey tongued liar
i am the old school
but
i am the new school too
a revolution of the heart
we need to become our real selves
follow my tragectory since 2001
how i was then
what i am now
i shed my skin and i change
yet at the deep heart of what you like
the stuff that some is still digging after 25 years
my aesthetic standards remain constant
my unenviable task is to prove that old dont meant cold
because not me
im heating up
painkiller is the best solo record ive done
i doubt that youll even debate it
at this late stage of the game
i am marshalling all my skills as before
except now i throw in patience and a lighter touch
up against myself i am improving
i wouldnt mention it
if i were some old hack trading on milky whey
in commercial terms i am a tiny amoeba
crawling on the spasming body of the giant corporations
as they sink into nonexistence
due to an unforeseen turn of events
but i know the young me
would love where the olde me has taken his schtick
via a few other mes whove tended to neglect it a little
ladies and gentlemen
i give you 2 years of time being
there you go
compile it
quote it
steal from it
contribute
comment
be nice now
without nice
well
its just not nice…..

why dost thou limp goode killer?
ah, well thatd be a nice sliver of porcelain in my foot sir
never mind
there is a side to music
an invisible plain maybe
a way of seeing it
yes
there are many ways to map and describe music
many different ins
everybody gets in differently
yes thats right
but have you ever thought about the mix..?
if a mix is good
you wont hear it
a mix shouldnt clobber joe listener
over the fucking head with its brilliance
cos then itd be a bad mix
a big brassy brazen overtwiddling
resulting in instant overstimulation
and subsequent boredom
you dont want that baby undercooked neither
some vapid unrealised formless jelly-mix
the real greats
they make it sound easy
sweet
real
they use all opportunities
but never blind you with the latest binglebanks
now i’m assuming you know that
a record is made
all the sounds sitting there
on their own discrete tracks
for example
on track 1 we have a hi hat
track 2 the snare
track 3 the kick drum
track 4 the crash cymbal
track 5 the ride cymbal
track 6 the bass guitar
track 8 electric guitar
track 9 electric guitar double
track 10 distorted guitar
track 11 accoustic guitar
track 12 piano
track 13 and 14 stereo strings
track 15 thru 23 vocals
track 24 tambourine
ok
the music is recorded
the ingredients assembled
now
these things must find aural space to coexist
this is not a given
certain sounds will affect others
reverbs swallow sounds
the acoustic guitars are lost in the cymbals
the voice wont cut thru
or it doesnt sit in the song right
everytime you adjust one thing
you disturb the delicate balance of everything else
its not just only volume
the sounds must have the optimum eq
eg a kick drum should have a bit of oomph
will the sounds be compressed or gated
what effects and echoes
how should it be panned?
these sonic painters
tinker with the music
on a load of levels
you will never think of
flying things in and out
bouncing things around
copy
append
truncate
slow it down
bend its pitch
auto tune it
reverse it
make it silvery
the list of tricks is endless
strange art
to be as unobtrusive as possible
then again
some mixers with their trademark sounds
thats what you pay top dollar for
that wall of sound
those teenage symphonies to god
those ambient afterimages
anyway
polinski mixes the song which will be closer on painkiller
not what you say
it breaks down into long shimmering haze of guitar fizz
everything is just right
hes done a sterling job
what else what you expect?
good boy polinski
A+

i am the killer who lives to die
i am the point at which there is no point
i am vanished into your mind
i am registering as pleasure
yes yes you think
pleasure lovely pleasure
you let me into your head
into your deep mind
into your dwindling faded memories
and distorted daydreams
imagine me
in the white robes of a devotee
as i glide over rivers of thought
mountains of ideas
notion oceans
why do you do this you ask
i dont know i answer
how did you get in you ask
the songs i answer
the songs opened you up
why did you write that song you ask
i wrote it for you i answer
and to make money i quickly add
and because i needed a new song
of course
i dont know why i even like you you say
me neither i say me neither
later
in the library surrounded by the gardens
fountains statues small pagodas
you meet me again
you feign surprise
introduced by one of your mere inklings
i slip and
i spill my eyes on your bare shoulders
the music stops
a deathly hush has fallen
who are you to come in here and do that you demand and
i dont like that song anymore im tired of it you add
i dont like the power you think you have you continue
i dont read your stupid blog and i dont comment
the place slowly empties
i see some famous people in your mind
i see napoleon b and some others
now theyre all leaving
leaving the soiree in the salon
or whatever it was
and i
i unannounced
i unbidden
yes i was uninvited like the sodding clouds
me
innocent me
standing there
my cheeks reddening
eyes brimming with warm tears
my hands uselessly at my side
where are all my smart rejoinders now
ah vocabulary deserts me when i need it most
it just deserts
anyway
what can i say to you in your own mind
why should i justify anything at all
i
a plankton
like you
sucked into the jaws of the whale-like time
strained through hospitals schools and crematoriums
our age tells us how to behave
and limits us to its narrow precepts
mother says this
father says that
the law says dont do it
the night says go on and do it
the woman said too much a man
the man said too much a woman
handed my uniform
told who to be
modeled moulded and mixed up
bitter and twisted
shaken and sturdy
battered on whatever metaphor im searching for
crushed under the weight of words
the hit n miss parade
drugs rotting my own mind from within
now i can barely string a cohesive sentence together
im ugly as sin but not half as much fun
im beset by all manner of psychic attack
i believe animals talk to me and lo they do
i can hold my breath as i sing
i see things that really are there
i am approached by aliens and offered tempeh
i listen to music with 16 bars
i eat rice with rice milk and rice syrup
i meditate on the 7 wounds of the demi-god phooie
i stand in the oomoo boomoo position
i never win but i never lose
i like 2007 its better than being dead
i avoid things that hurt more than avoiding them
i pretend im nice though its very hard
i wish i was much much sexier because then i’d be happy
i envy everybody doing better than me which is everybody
i waste time everytime the time being is being timed
im sorry i had to speak my mind
in your mind
dont mind me
im of a mind
having mined your mind
to declare
this find
closed

at 3 am
dead of night
the man gets out of bed
leaves his sleeping wife to her dreams
how long had he been asleep?
he stood naked in the darkened living room
as a moonless night stretched above the house
he checked on the children
who slumbered restfully
in his own workroom
he sat dazzled under the light
boxes of pastels and and a half finished portrait
guitars lying around in cases
pastel colours squashed into the carpet
a yoga mat
a vase with fake flowers
a small chest of drawers
an amplifier
books on art
a bin full of v cans and fiji water bottles
a printer
paints in tubes all squeezed and that
boxes full of papers and statements
a bookcase full of books
two desks one full of art and memorabilia
the other with computer and drawers with accounting
and bits and pieces
on the wall hangs a self portrait
a postcard of kali
a poster advertising a long passed exhibition
photos of children
botticellis rape of the nymph by zephyrus (detail)
some russian saint with a kid swaddled up tight
a tree in a pot with two wooden birds
the man sits in the quiet of 3 am
nothing anywhere seems to move
only the man awake in this city of millions
the clocks incessant tick tick never tock fades
the man hears it
oh so faint a sound
like a beautiful hum
like the voice of a dreambeing
was he really ever even hearing it
the man who is half asleep
listens
for the direction of the sound
the tiny warm humming
silvery sound
coming from his third drawer
he opens the drawer
pulling out bits of paper
and khaki envelopes
and sticky tape
a deck of cards
the little hammer slender and deadly
there
in that little bag
he pulls the bag out
is it emitting a signal or not
it seems to be silent
no the man thinks
no i must have been mistaken
absent mindedly
he empties the bags contents on his desk
a piece of crystal
shaped like a small phallus
its body cloudy and veined with tiny white lines
its head is clear but becomes a smoky grey on the very tip
a piece of paper says
lemurian crystal
the man thinks
he remembers a charity event a year ago or so
a woman
god he cant even see a face now
a woman relatively unremarkable
insomuch as he had no memory of her
she seemed shy
she had said something briefly
handed him the bag
and disappeared into the thinning crowds
he had glanced briefly at the crystal
oh how nice he had thought
it ended up in his drawer for a long while
but somehow now
it had made its presence felt
lemurian crystal said the little bit of paper
and something else too small for him to read
at this time of night with no glasses
he held the crystal in his hand
it gave off a slight warmth
like the sound he thought he’d heard
it fitted into his palm
like a weapon or a wand
he could feel a subtle pull on his energy
an exchange
as the crystal absorbed
and in return gave out
lemurian crystal
semi conductor
a transducer
the man turned off the light
he sat in the darkness
with the crystal in his left hand
miles away and years ago
the crystal emanated its information
the man sat and he listened
listened to something
that made no sound
at all

approaching one million
one million reads
yes
i
ttb
1,000,000
ah its just a figure
a good figure
yes
but just numbers
polinski sends up a nice new mix
yeah i think youll like this mess
go n have swim at beach with eve
aurora under the weather
reading the kids northern lights at bedtime
next weekend is election
shoulda seen the silly pamphlet
some lovely tree died for
that arrived in my letta box
oooh its kevin rudd the opposition leader
visiting a school
oh what a regular guy
here he is explaining sumfing to a childe
oh look here is our local hopeful with him
watching on in admiration (and love)
as kevin explains things to children
kevin says hes gonna have ” an education revolution”
he says his goal : aussies to be best educated in the world
yep thats a big goal
like the world peace miss universe contestants wish for
and just like kevin
they have no idea how to achieve it either
kevins promising lotsa stuff
grandiose commissions hes going to launch
the way he’ll slash bu -rocracy
(hey…aint that at cross purposes?)
he’ll fix up the hospitals
trains ll run on time
bald men will grow hair
frigid women will have orgasms
and all the children will be happy
oh please please please
let him
let him have a go
he dont need the dough
his wifes a malty millionaire
please let him have a turn
just so
he can
look at himself
in the mirror
and say
ooooh kevin youre the prime minister !!!
however
i say
the system has failed us again
is this the choice ?
an insincere dodging nebulous nobody
or howard
the old school
warmongering royalist ugly olde twit
with a voice and accent of a vole
howard : the brickwall past
rudd : the jellyfish future
is this what democracy had in mind?
are there better leaders in aust than these 2
i find them lacking on all levels
where is another choice ?
neither of these should be doing a job like that
howard should be working in a hardware shop selling sandpaper
rudd should be in real estate or interior design
even then hed probably get the curtains wrong
i wish neither of em would win
useless!

2 mynah birds crashed onto the porch
tearing chunks of feathers
and screaming at each other
and clicking furiously
a third bird
hovered around on the perimeter of the fight
was one or both of its parents fighting
after a while i thought they might be mating
they fell off my balc
and landed in some sandy gravel below
still pecking and swearing at each other in mynah
one could have no doubt something wild was going on
the kids ran down and surrounded the birds
but they were too engrossed in fighting/mating/screaming to care
eventually we all went back inside
the birds still thrashing in the dirty sand
little holes appearing in their feathers all over
as they savage each other
was one bird raping the other one?
eventually they flew off
still screaming
do all worlds contain violence?
ive seen cats playing with mice
ive seen dogs chasing cats
ive seen ferrets get hold of a rabbit
a cat i had swallowed a bird whole alive
its wings were hanging out the cats mouth
like a giant movable groucho moustache
at first i couldnt see what was happening
i’d make the cat spit the bird out
then the bird was stumbling around punch drunk
inside my house
and the cat turns round
gives me a nasty nip
i let it go
it pounces on the bird again
and you got the groucho effect again
the bird stuck its wings out
to prevent the cat from swallowing it
imagine that
a writhing beaky clawy bird stuffed down your gullet
now i knew the cat wasnt hungry
i knew that cos he was my cat and he got fed well
the cat just hated birds
it sat in the garden
watching them
growling
extending its claws
oh i’ll show you little birdy
says the cat to itself
it hates the birdys little song
it hates how the bird can fly
how the bird mocks it
as it leaves the branch at the last moment
and goes up and away
but mr cat is sometimes very quick
he could flick out a dogs eye
or snatch a cute little birdy out of the air
and this birdy had waited too long
just that tiny tiny instant he tarried
and the cat
graceful cruel and deadly
the cat who rarely misses
the cat with nine lives
seeing in the dark
feline and quick
the cat full of prejudice and hatred
full of malice and envy
and the sheer desire for bloodshed
he hooks the bird in mid-air
and brings it to the ground
the bird is squawking and going crazy
of course, wouldnt you?
an alien life form
a colder more efficient killing machine
unheard of in suburbia
cats with their yogic powers of balance strength patience
cat never second guesses
mr cat right in the moment with the birdy
the birdy is looking death in the face
death incarnate
the cat is confused
does this flapping bony thing look like food to him
no meat
held together with crawling lice
the cat is now ashamed and tired of the creature
he gulps it down
to make it disappear
so that it will never sing its little song again
or fly away into the blue sky
the cat hates it
it hates the bird
it tries to swallow it
but the human
the stupid human he will not understand
this bird has been on my list awhile now
i will not be cheated of this prize
the human grabs the cat
and slaps its back leg
spit it out he yells over and over
and to think
thought the cat as it choked back the feathers
that i brought the bird in to show him
just like the rats and the mice
and believe it or not
for about the fifth time
the cats spits out this seriously crumpled bird
why hasnt it actually bitten it
just tried to swallow it?
and the bird
sensing its last ever chance
at pecking up a maggot or laying an egg
or flying north for the winter
or whatever it was that it enjoyed
maybe it had a nice nest….
anyway it ducked out the back door
while casper the cat gave the human a nasty little scratching
and hissing
you idiot
you ruined everything
and miraculously
birdy flew away

lovely spirit continue to guide me
this silver aching evening
gentle clouds
birds call in the gathering night
flowers close down
warm close dark
i feel comfortable within this skin
ideas occur to me
reveries come on of their own accord
memories not mine
days i have never seen
the thread that connects us
words in another language
languages from another time
times from another deeper time
the world is starting to fall away from me
i have wised up to most of its shabby tricks
but its nets are pervasive and persuasive
lovely spirit light my way
the west is so deep in illusion
the west is capricious and brutal
the west is ignorant and arrogant
killing using arguing blaming
will it carry on hurting until its own oblivion
the west does not like hurt on its own doorstep
the west says one thing and does another
the west never learns
the west jumps in over and over
the west never questions itself
the west consumes itself in obvious error
the west sees only in black and white
the west believes its own damn lies
the west with the bombs
the west with the scientists
the west with its plasic surgery
the west with its atheistic depressed useless gossip
the west with its excuses
the west with its pet psychologists
the west with its gated communities
the west with its witchtrials and inquisitions
the west with its crusades and quarries
the west with its defoliants and napalm
the west with its romes and londons
the west who never get the message
the west who has obese weightwatching children
the west who was won by the west
the wild wild west
the savage west
the west with its history of mistakes
the west with its captain blighs and general custers
the west with its dark ages
the west with its quackery and its side effects
the west with its extinct animals
the west with its booze
the west with its own rosy view of itself
the west we know and love
so hard to divest myself of the west
what it has made me
who it has told me to be
how the west educated me to think western
underneath the west
underneath this thin veneer of western civilisation
the real deep me
whoever that may be
way down in the depths
that man knows everything
the west has told me to forget