The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

cain co

life somewhere else

at last

complex wistful violent muted hopeful spiritual arcane modern

melodic involved fragile weird quiet dirty clean

life somewhere else

a huge sweeping beginning with

the privateer

drunk on pink gin and the old yellow stars

the album begins with a voyage

a sojourn in strange waters

a rollicking rolling number

and  from there it careens from song to song

finally finishing up with

you will remain

a song for greg slay

isidore drummer who passed away a few years back

oh no you are not slain, you will remain!

to say too much more is to spoil things

its coming soon ( early next year)i guess

note to SKPers

your copy will be sent out in the coming days

each copy will be signed

love on ya

sk

hillman imp

lily strange bell yon child

the surging urging merging dark

far off in morningside far off in june

fiat lux or what you are the lark

more-ish dish of flying fish you wish

opulent pluperfect perfection a pinnacle

i turn the seasons wheel as slowly

for upon my shoulder my head like boulder

this frivolous flippancy of fops fakers and frauds

henceforth defence in govern meant to pepper mint

something blue my mind behind it all

i find it all amusing choosing the right worlds

you swirled me into the withheld hold hurled from hip

i dabble n delve near the reeds and the strings just gliss

your manikin approaches causes my falcon to hiss

no measure of the jester who just must of adjusted her

no quarter or dime for a daughter upon time

the pretender will not surrender the crown of king night

i serve no mortal tyrant though i am reliant on reliable stars

i am only aloud to move in diagonal squares but who cares

i severely sever the lever even steven leavin’ this evenin’

i hob nob with weave and bob i dob in the unicorn on the cob

feel free to feel something i hope you can cope hopelessly

touch my scars the healing mars the pain all over again

i got the music in a head i herd it embed i got it in stead

i reap  protection of some force of course it will one day be dead

i murder the slander slinger the moon singer the woe bringer

i embrace the face of the traces of jehovahs over study

vishnu i wish you knew him how universes come through him

jesus the anointed one the son the sun the nazarene with beast all gone

the sluts of babylon come on n on all tits and assyrian

those priestess slinky winky blinky

ooh they foment torment in a torrent

they ghost the dawn beyond our dawn

where all must walk

queen jack pawn

para 4 nail ya

anachronism rumour reverie impossible memory

be this then my little realm

intriguing penumbra

the background in shadow

the shadow in my lives

i say some things that cant be put into words but are still true

sometimes it takes forever to recognise where it all went wrong

this universe doth not run according to the law of man

man does not even run according to the laws of man

man cant trust himself because he keeps blowing it

man cant do what beast can do but

beast cant do what man can do

nature constrains us with subtle fetters

man imposes limits on himself he then accepts as real

man doubts man hesitates man too hot too cold

man is best and worst simultaneously

man starting singing  same time as birds and whales

a planet broke into song like a plate into pieces

i say jesus sang his words in the loveliest voice

son of man sometimes i hear off that mellifluous voice

when i’m angry or scared or sleepy or calm

the dreamy love lyrics of the nazarene

a love song to the whole little world

but man did not listen really i spose

killing for christ

a paradox so fuckin’ obvious

only a man could not see it

i bet the vegetal world grokked his sweet message

indeed i believe they may have enhanced his visionary jive

the disciples were like his backing singers and roadcrew

mary mags mighta been his chick …to me its unimportant

i say he moved full of grace but its impossible to know

he had some good ideas about being nicer than nice

his charisma would be radioactive

his anger would be molten steal

his love would be almost unbearable

his sadness would be deeper than deep

it didnt have to be this way

what is a song

what do the words mean if anything

we can assume nothing

sometimes intentions are masked

is the singer an actor

can songs be lies

can lies be songs

can promises be taken back just like that

if you fall in love and write a song what then

what then of the song when love no longer abounds

do we think singers do or mean all the things that they sing

that is preposterous i mean

most singers are too busy singin’ to do anything else

they dont have that much time for meaning things i suppose

its just gotta rhyme and have a good melody

or am i wrong

or has no one written the rules yes that is it

the idea of a song precludes responsibility i suppose

i mean yes

and i mean no

i mean some people say one thing and they fuckin’ do it

other people say something else and they fuckin’ dont

we are story tellers we are blues men

we are unbound by any rules

tom verlaine said to me in regards to songwriting

one day i realised you can do whatever you like

i wonder if you can take songs back

and if you can where do you put em

i wonder why good writers sometimes write rubbish

and bad songwriters sometimes write gems

i wonder who wrote the book of love

actually i dont know why anyone writes any of their songs

i only know mine and after a while i forget why i wrote em

what does that mean to sing songs you dont understand (anymore)

what does it mean when you sing someone elses song then

how are we to interpret our myriad idols words

are lovely words in an ordinary voice better

than ordinary words in a lovely voice

i mean what the hell are we trying to do here

no one can tell you the meaning of song

some of the phoneys are realer than real

and some of the real guys are phoney for certain

for certain songs are exempt from all analyses

for certain songs may break all non existent rules

the bridal waltz

the elegy

the music created by for love

for love of good music is in itself a pride

everyone hears it different

in the end we are mug punters everyone of us all

song will survive but  us must perish

when i am gone my songs will be as orphans in a cold world

for who will understand their weaknesses

for who will protect their naive beliefs

they will be auctioned off cheap in multiple deals

some greedy philistine will stick em on his hard drive

no one will know them or understand them again

or introduce em at night

what is a song a companion a friend

what is a song a woman or man

what is a song a time and a place

what is a song

i still dont know

clinch westwood

it is left to me to unentangle all things

it is left up to me ….the down down down

i negotiate gravity

is it that obvious…..?

i travel in song

the silence before music begins

that is where my work is done

into that sudden space i project potentiality

i measure nothing and i fit it up with something

i slip in to a crack in a moment

i rescue the drowning time ghosts

i forge a chain of events

i surf the surging past

the decades are as foam to my eternal shoal

in all ways i am narrowing in on it

that elusive illusive divisive quality

that sublime idea feeling light

that instant you transcend every bond

outside the frame

painting by margi curtis

i really love it

a brilliant  accurate snapshot of my style

notice f’rinstance

how dodgy those triangle thingies in the margin are….?!

its weird i could have done it but someone else has

some  energy is tapped

i love this painting i really do

good work

there should be more of it

much more!

in spades naturally….

erudition of impertinence

some god

obviously not yours

has smiled upon me with rain

and filled the living air with bouquets of eels

we are great works of art

we are hung we perform we show up

we string em all along

i explain the massive cliffs to critics of the sea

i interpret the crows up to their usual larks

yes some god sends me here

some minor imperfect god to reflect on his world

tell me he says do you enjoy the grey clouds

why you sly old devil i says theyre fantastic

well thats enough of that talk

the thought forms in my head

delusions of splendour diluted

my own accusations drip like poison into my ear

each time i shudder a sailor at sea drowns in the brine

i notice that everything is talking to me or talking at me

the people the humans the strangers the crowd

the softest sweet rain is whispering whispering

 i am so warm you hardly will feel me

you gather afternoon around like loose fitting garments

you stroll through exhibitions of platinum panthers

and mechanical children behaving correctly

and the rails lo are part of the scenery

you see all of rest of yourself miles below

trip on the love that this god is allowing

in miniature voices the sibilant flowers

the vegetal universe is so apparent to ya now

i wonder which rose first

the root or the stem

embrace cactus heart feeling

i spell out His name in liana and vine

i talk of His bliss in gurgling brooks

and rivulets that race over flat stones

i admire his His strength in the double horizon

i see all His virtues in the deepest green sea

somewhere a neptune enters a cave

somewhere an orpheus beloved of jane

somewhere i hammer my arm into shape

that old sick rush the giddy and crush

a song occurs to me as i swagger along

some roman socialite woman beside me who laughs

youre so very cruel arent you….?

3 young maidens run on ahead

does each represent a fork in the clef

does each mean something arcane in the cabbala

are they the norns who measure our lives

i call for my staff

but its the afternoon off

off limits to gulls

off limits to shops

off limits to towers who boast seashore glimpses

off limits to television show bout the mayan

ocean is warmer

still cold but its warmer

half in and half out

half human half fish

half lovely dolphin

half awful shark

half in the light half in the murk

i still wander

and squander

these passing hours

yeah but

in the tent of my fortune

if this is what you want then read on:

this flimsy stuff

this elaborate hoax

this enchanted evening just cast to the wind

sunburned women totter intoxicated beasts

to go inside them you know to feel the sway

the cafes all lit up by the shining black waves

that crash on the sharky shore in the dark

now we sit astride a dolphin fish that golds the foam momentarily

now we dine and drink beer and we shout for more life

children enter the future alone

the shells shall still rock in quiet pools

i am some sort of creature a limpet all emerald

i am the boss who is livid and drinks too much wine

i am the one legged gull piping all cracked

i am the boy who delivers funeral flowers after mass

i am the tramp with the trash in my trees

i am  a man from middle east  strange tattoo on my back

i am a free spirit drawn to the sea

on saturday night which longs for more life

more life for the lady edging away

more life for the charlatan jugglin’ words

more life for our hemingway five leagues still hence

who types on the keys in an infra red night

by the side of an ocean his brow concentrated

by the side of the sea where the fish sing so song

there i am in moss and in net

in furlong of sea horse in line of the moon

i become attached to stone in the vestibule

i reside in air on condition of fluid and nimble

i accelerate the process as woman as man

i imitate the artist unblocked by his union

saturday night  its so bright like lightnin’

lightening up the darkness in me

one day you will see

breath/spirit

some warm night will come your way i’m sure

the holiday man arrives without any children

could only be described as a balmy zephyr

the market place shivers slightly as it passes

the sunglasses the beads the hats the trinkets

subcutaneous feeling of nostalgia sepia

my  travel agent  by captain nemo

i dive deep into coral limbo my bubbles trailing tellingly

inside the cave of the earth sea serpents lair

the sound of its heart beat so heavy on my drum

daughter of mountain come

are you alone for once in the salmoning air?

your entreatment of some hermes trismegistus from the coast

the squalls of afternoon were like caves in a sea cartoon

a million houses where we could live and be happy

a million lives where we burn on and on

the sea accepts everything no offer refused

the watery depths seem to reach out sometimes

and to think to myself there are fish that can fly

and birds that dive within teeming shoal of mackerel

silvered for an instant in the film of distant camera

remembered in exquisite filia behind our eye

determining the thrust of the oceans brute girth

seizing the moment by a hook in the sky

unpolite the fisherman who bated the starling

and weird was the wizard who kidded the goat

in absentia garlands all strewn on the pitchforks

and we danced the colossus the road through the night

as the colours burst open revealing a darkness

as the unraveling bolero of time upon time

world upon world

sun upon sun

heaven on hell upon wish upon star

the cafe kinda crowded you’ll like it……

the pepper and salt shakers and all that

i hover above the elongation of love

i glide in the shadow

the negation of madness

outcome in

i scratch the surface of this life

fiddle in a puddle i’m all in a muddle

jumbled mumbles i bumble along

the earth is a sphere well leave it here

the sun is a disc the moon is silver hot

and the ones in its shadow troubled deep by the night

i plunge into cold water emitting white steam

in the green sublime depths where an evening has been

an even song sang of an archangel golden

the holiest voice all bless unbeholden

i dream to you now the source but unbidden

i remain in the sight of the light of the hidden

i succumb to the fall head on

i endure eternity dead on

i worship the wood christ bled on

i sit in a cafe with red on

the rain pitter pat pitter pat

2 little raindrops leant over a cloud

a headlong into a whirlpool of travail

the vortexian pull of a vacuum at suck

you forsook the brook at first look

then like a wild swan you took

the furious air beaten bloody by wings

the sky in its suit of blue and white things

the time is a human idea smeared over truth

sadness and joy to be overcome

and we smile

under a new conundrum

dichotomy takes a lot of me

i wait to fall apart in the poets junkyard

where the ending is both sweet and hard

i pick a card

any card

and

damn !

ill-starred ……..