The Time Being | Steve Kilbey

sacre bleu

apparently it seems

in the deep lock of midnight

under the persuasion of  a whispering moon

the solitary minutes before and after

we leave our bloody bodies in dream

spirit souls waft with the lunar wind above earth

tangled cords and jangled nerves

even the high and mighty

even the low and lawless

escaping ourselves anyway we can

in the midst of life we find death

in the midst of hatred we find love

paradoxes metaphors music equations parables

life is complicated

life is simple

you get born

you live for an unspecified period

you die

some too young

some too old

some have terrible tragic lives

(oh god we do you allow this…?)

some get what they deserve

some never get what they deserve

what they had coming

they seem to get off scot-free

some people (like me) get lucky

almost every bad thing that ever happened was at my own hand

born in an affluent time in an affluent land

no war no disease no famine

never beaten molested or threatened

i dream up my own dramas

i create my own chaos

i wrote and directed the film of my life

not as good or as bad as it might have been

i bought a ticket in the pop lottery n i won a minor prize

i got good genes coz my dad was a better musician than me

my mother got me interested in poetry

it was a lucky combo

coz i was always obsessed by songwriting

my parents let me be

left me alone to obsess for long hours in my room

listening n relistening to my favourite stuff

as my analytical machine mind dissected  beatles bolan bowie n bob

i remade myself

i reconstructed what i had

blessed with an obstinate streak i was not naturally that gifted

but i applied myself as the carrot of fame dangled riches women drugs just outta reach

i worked on my vision day n night

forming n breaking up groups

loaning money buying equipment learning my chops

a million jams in a million garages

a million load-ins n load-outs

a million hours on the phone talking it thru

a million reads of a million rock rags

a million rotten songs slowly getting imperceptibly better

a million hair styles and a million changes of direction

yeah i put the work in

but what of the psycho-kinesis of luck

what of destiny what of fortune what of fate….?

what of my intuition that has stood back directing my actions ……

what of the right place at the right time

what of the zeitgeist n my stubborn refusal to bend to its influence….?

a winter night falls after a spring-ish day here in bondi

i’m going in to finish off starlings record now

driving thru sydneys jumbled inner city streets to the university in camperdown

where we have some free down time to record vocals

a long nights session

starling deserves some success i’m sure you’ll agree when you hear his stuff

i have had my little share i guess i should be content

i got my fantastic daughters to carryon in my footsteps

i move forwards into the future

resilient but still pretty dented by my various setbacks

i have some bloody good friends

yeah you know who they are

i have some great players who play with me n work with me

i have you guys who read my rantings n give me encouragement

ok thats it

i’m just taking some stock

i feel ok

i’ll see ya all tomorrow

think of me tonight

slaving over that hot recording console

i love ya

sk

coal face

august the 4th yesterday now

a fine winters day in this southern hemisphere

woulda coulda shoulda

talk drive eat swim yoga think hope

computers gone glitchy

its writing out its own blogs now

life on the plateau

statistics figures facts

politicians vie for our votes

they are all jokes

they are all greedy little piggies noses in trough

the real heroes drive ambulances and fix the roads

the nurses and doctors

the plumbers and firemen

the people taking care of seniors and disabled

finishing off starlings record

go into rehearsal for musical/play next week

feeling weary feeling small

still doing yoga

still swimming

still behaving meself

my computer is really fucking up

it really is typing stuff on its own

i had a long sad heavy day today

maybe light at the end of the funnel, webb

need to have a long rest

everything is too intense

finished the day by visiting a friend in very bad shape and tragic

which re-broke my foolish heart all over again

tomorrow we will do one long session try n get starlings record wrapped up

lemme tellya its a beautiful thing

he sings like a melancholy lark

the songs no one but him could have written

the man himself has become a good friend to me

jesus i hope someone hears this lovely stuff

i’ll put some up on here when its all done

much love on all my readers

soon i guess we will unveil the premium stuff n tell ya what ya gonna get

it’ll be like able to download music i will be recording esp. for you

and vids n stuff too

hope to make it worth your while

and you get yer moneysworth

suggestions gratefully taken as to what ya want

and lots of new music still coming down the pipeline atcha

all my whatevers

sk

/0\-/\\\\\//p\/-/\p0–\/

intrepidation

hollow cheeked messenger of the gods

one to the left

one to the right

one in black

one in red

one in man

one in wo-man

possession nine tenths of the lore

i been possessed

angry elemental gnawing at me betweeen my body n brain

oh baby its a mystery

no wonder i so angry

a cat in a world of dog

a snake in my eden

how to forgive the unforgivable

no you cant imagine what i went thru

some stupid evil all over me in its ignorance

never mined

a doctor i have lost my patience

yes i turn again to the white witch

and she again does not fail me

restoring hopeless faith in my heart

i rise from the ashes of my latest downfall

i dust myself off

how much can this old frame endure

the witch says now smile

and lo i finally smiled

the witch a tall gaunt witch she is

the witch said rise up n walk my boy

and lo i could again walk

and the elemental black spirit temporarily banished

but it hovers about me still

and its ever watchful and waiting for me to fall n fail

and thru my thin worn out fabric it will pierce my heart again

and i just wanted to pursue happiness

and i just wanted to be like i could

and thats life

with its awful ogres

with its uselessnesses

with its death n disease

with its mistakes n its mysteries

and even in my travails i remained calm

oh my fiendss you would have been proud of me

wronged and busted still i remained calm

outraged and imprisoned reasonless

i saw it coming

thus i knew it would eventually be

and it was

and i stood there letting it wash over me

all my life leading up to this

st steven the martyr shot by the arrows of pitiless destiny

alone in a lonely stinking place

hoping the nightmare would cease n i would awake

but alas the bad dream was real enough

no none of this is metaphor

yes i was injured needlessly

and the angry elemental is screaming in my fucking ear to do something about it

and how hard it is to resist that black invisible thing hounding me down

and how hard it is to be cheerful after everything now this

and christ jealousy and anger brought you down

and krsna killed by the shot of a poor ignorant hunter

and buddha poisoned by the meat of a stupid farmer

and achilles slain by a coward

and ever yes it was thus

and ever yes it will be

and now i am hanging on by a thread of pure reason

and in knowledge that surely things happen that none of us deserve

and that one day i will laugh and cease to remember all of this

and that things may be restored to me

and that acceptance must be mine

and that as usual i will prevail

because thats what i always do eventually

i prevail

i go on

i smash my head against the wall till the fucking wall collapses

i learn my lesson

i keep moving forward

i turn every minus into a plus

i defy the lesser men who are so readily plentiful

and whatever they sling at me

i remain true to myself

angry maybe

stupid as well

but i remain on my own terms despite the worms

and i plunge into my coldest pool

to cool down this white hot righteous n unrighteous anger

to swim in that freezing water so that i can face another day

and i stand in my yoga poses

trying not to listen to the whispering spirits

who goad me into some new deleterious misadventure

who astonisheth me with their persuasive powers

and for now i have accept it all with a grimace or grin

but surely soon i will be released

thats it for today

make of it what you will

and will of it what you make

your very humbled hero

me

raining pouring olde mans gnawing

thunder wind cheetah black rain heart

cruise falcon streets awash shiver shudder

falling down in amber lights

big city outline radio off wrong turn neon crack

shop window dummy sign trash gutter over flow

wipers window droplets racing rhythmic blur

tail light flash sleepy now lonely too

making music rain fall stick a round peg square whole

listen here hear this splash pitter patter rattle hit

pop drop cops blue car zoom speed reduce translucent

midnight blew thru door i come home i dream alone

cant start cant stop cant score cant shop

must sleep now

must switch off

must turn in but into what?

during the early nineties

a guy from emi gave me a demo tape that knocked my sox off

it was some unknown from melbourne called margot smith

i rushed home n played it to my then girlfriend karin jansson

who was also similarly blown away

here at last was true talent

an incredible tuneful mellifluous voice

the only voice comparable was kate bush

the same power n glory

the same sweeping range operatic mastery

the lyrics n melodies were fucking brilliant

my fave lyric was from a song called dream

the song started with these incredible (to me) words

“everytime you say you want to die

i cant remember what you said”

and contained in those words n the way she sang em

is a world of ambiguity sadness denial and fantasy

did i want to produce her?

fuck yes!

i had my studio at surry hills then i guess this was 91

unfortunately i was going down that sad bad road with the “white lady”

although i guess you could say i was still in the honeymoon phase

margot turned up n we kinda hit it off i guess

she was precocious irreverent curious n amazingly naive

she was kinda annoying too

but any fool could see she was a Major talent

one of those rare individuals who could not sing a wrong note

her voice swooped soared roared crooned cruised and bruised but always with perfect pitch

she never faltered once

and she never sang a song the same way twice neither

she constantly changed the words n melodies

she did not see a song as a fixed idea

she just let it happen everytime n her muse never deserted her

she just made lyrics up on the spot too a la grant mclennan

words flew into her head outta thin air

i recorded half the album with her

eddie rayner from split enz did the other half

we co wrote a bunch of songs together too

“adored ” is margot having a pot shot at me

oh yes you are adored by a multitude of whores

selling their story at the door

oh i’d love to be adored as you are and you are”

she saw me battling the gear

she was just starting her long battle with the bottle too

so we were quite a pair

the engineer demanded a thousand bucks off emi as a ganja budget

and got it!

its a bloody great record

i wrote some good music for it

margot herself n her then boyfriend michael came up with the goods too

the torch song was my music n margots words about a brief affair i had had

she’d seen it happening n captured it all so succinctly

lifetime was another co write

listen to that voice n those words

“and if life could take you in his arms n hold you

and if time would let you sleep with him enfold you”

and  margots “bellyman ” which she wrote on her own

“here i come , i’m the bellyman come to fill you up when you cant get full”

and of course that fabulous song dream the one that sold me on her

orchestral swelling guitars and margots wonderful singing

“you will be, i will be open wide, you n i know why”

god it still gives me gooseflesh

the first album was very ornate very elizabethan very grand in its scope

due to a number of bungles n mistakes it came out n did nothing

absolutely nothing

it sank without a trace n margot lost her deal

it was inexplicable

in another time n place she woulda been a superstar

tori amos would have loved to have written some of those songs

the second album would be the opposite of all that

michael was gone

margot was on her own and still battling the booze

i had lost the  battle with the gear n i was a full on reclusive fucked up wreck

still we got together at the new karmic hit in rozelle

opposite my house in mansfield street

me n margot n tim p n peter k

we were her band

i would knock out something real rough

and we’d play it like crazy horse

2 n 3 chord songs

listen to creature

its the antithesis of the melodrama of the first record

its lowdown mean n nasty

the whole record is quite something

loaded with real pain n guts no more artifice

its one of those classic messed up albums full of visceral ache

simple music

simple bleak sketches

simple sad words

the sounds of talented people falling apart

some tracks are just me on guitar n margots voice

“stretches” for example

“what stretches before me always comes back to get me”

tim n peter contribute the minimalistic expertise just so right

totalled is like,  totalled, dude

totalled like me n margot were by then

wow it hurts just to listen to some it still

seek these records out

2 completely different beasts both incredible

the sad news is margot is now gravely ill

i’m gonna go round n see her as soon as she can receive a visitor or 2

she doesnt expect to be on this mortal plane for that much longer

she really did deserve success

she really did deserve recognition

those who have heard her are believers

she n i had our squabbles n fights

it was painful to watch each other succumb to our poisons

i miraculously got out

she wasnt so lucky

margot i always always believed in you

you should be bestriding the big stages of this world

cos you were one of the best i ever heard

peter koppes thinks the same

he took time out to play in her shortlived live band

margot you are beautiful

and your small devoted bunch of fans ADORE you

i’m crying as i write these words

i hear margots got one last record up her sleeve

i hope someone gets to hear it

i hope she can defy her grim medical prognosis

and get better n enjoy a little success

margot despite all my harsh words n stuff

i love you

i really do

you were a star that just burnt too bright for your own good

and the whole thing is just so unfair

people see if you can beg borrow or burn” sleeping with the lion”

or “taste”

you wont be disappointed

sk august 1 2010

selected songs

aw why dontcha just cheer up...?!

sweden

yeah

what a beautiful place

oh god how i miss sweden

my two eldest twin daughters

identical n graceful creatures

half me half strangers

i sit here as the winter sun dies

i think of sweden

i had a lovely little apartment on bastugatan (sauna street)

huge windows

i saw the silent soft snow

i saw the endless twilight hang in that northern sky

i wandered thru stockholms streets n gardens

i caught trains that took me here and there

i watched the news in swedish n understood almost every word

i bought n took drugs

i got sick and tired

i got ripped off and i got wasted

i wasted my time

i wasted my precious time

i ate toasted sandwiches in kungstradgarden

i went swimming with martin krall out at the salt sea baths

i bought risi-fruttis at the sodermalm 7-11

i went to n.a. meetings in a school building

i smoked prince cigarettes and took grov snus

when me n krall were broke we lived on semolina pudding

we met new dealers in new places

we shared what we had which sometimes wasnt much

the twillies would stay over at my place sometimes

everymorning theyd have an argument on how we were going to get to school

elli always said train minna always said walk

they liked the spice girls n hanson

they liked a group called aqua

all this seems so long ago

stockholm such a delicate little city compared to sydney

so petite so civilized

its natives are so statuesque

their broad cheekbones their blue eyes

their archaic language like some weird old english

their seeming cold and distant

my bed was a loft bed above my front door

my kitchen was tiled blue

i sat n ate my semolina pudding n krall n i would figure out how to get money

every now n then some royalties’d come thru n i’d live like a king for a week

i’d go shopping at soderhallen n eat at the veggie restaurant

i’d go out to carina n jannes n buy up big n maybe drink pear cider with em

i’d get my guitars back out of hock from pantbanken

which was next door to bjorn borgs underwear palace

you could buy blocks of hash from the rastas in the parks

we’d get loaded n listen to ambient music and underground lovers ways t’burn

i got arrested for riding a train without a ticket

i spent a lot of time waiting here n there for people to show up

a lot of waiting around

i became a fixture on the scene

people called me “englishman”

hey englishman …you want some dynamite stuff

a lot of those people are dead now

enrico ruiz revilla

carina

guld leffe

that italian guy i cant remember his name

tomas the school teacher

leffe the cab driver n his young wife

so many gone

so many unremembered

so many disappeared

just as i talk about this very thing

margot smith rings me up

shes in a bad way n not long to go she says

what a waste of an incredible talent

what a voice what a writer

yeah this life can break your heart

it will break your heart before its over

or you havent lived

people will exit yer life

people will get sick n old n theyll exit

only one way in

but so many ways out

the needle

the bottle

cancer

car crash

heart attack

suicide

all the rest

snakebite beesting lightning strike jealous husbands

execution hep c pianos falling on top of ya

still i sit here in this house type type type

the kids are out with their uncle at a film

i am stone cold sober

55 looking back over my chaotic life n the people ive known

all the backstage bullshit and carryon

tv studios recording studios planes n helicopters

record shops n music shops n grocery shops

women come n go thru my life

women with their beauty n softness

women with their soothing hands and sweet words

women with their moods n demands

women wrapping me round their fingers

women who i always remember

women who i hope to always forget

women from all over the world pass thru my life

yeah at one stage i had a girl in almost every port

rome

portugal

germany

spain

south america north america east n west america

what was i thinking?

what was i doing?

desire was whipping me along

later to be replaced by smack

at least smack killed off all that rampant desire

and it became the question n the answer in every situation

i guess before that i was quite a playboy ha ha

using n being used in turn

loves subtle n brutal games

my black book bulged with exotic names

later to be replaced by dealers phone numbers

a girl in every port became a dealer in every port

fly in to such n such n get on that phone

keep those plates spinning boy

might actually fit in a concert too

but music often came way down on the agenda

too much other stuff

a lot of attractions n distractions

music…..? nah…dont have much time for that mate…gotta lot else on

fuck i had some ups n downs tho

fuck i copped some highs n some lows

now i just want some peace n quiet i say

but what do i really want?

what do i really feel?

always one more layer of me to peel back to find out the truth

the elusive frickin’ truth which everyone pursues in vain

thrills n spills n hotels n gigs

arguing with the fucking boys

always the eternal arguing

the grudges the complaints the bitching the moaning the backstabbing bastards

greed naivete stupidity ignorance vanity revenge

the endless mind games

trying to resist the idiot zeitgeist that makes ya into a fool

everyone had an opinion on what i should do

everybody could see how i coulda done it better

everyone was a genius in fucking hindsight

theres a million tongues whispering in my ear tonight….

jesus

now i’m like this proper old hemingway geeza (minus the talent)

sitting here on a bleak lonely sat’day nite

on my bloody own n i dont mind it for a bit

im totally changed from that old pre-smack smart alec

im pushing bloody sixty ….aint it the troof…?

funny thing is i really dont mind

death dont daunt me that much

it looms tantalizingly somewhere ahead like a well earned rest

as long as its vaguely somewhere ahead not this year not next year

not the year after that

its funny because out of that immature sapling

the time being sprung n i know a lotta ya will be sad when n if i do

shuck off this mortal coil

it’ll be like the end of something in yer life for you as well

the geeza who wrote those songs you listened to all those years ago

oh no

the end of an error

allright

never mind all that

i feel ok for my advanced years

i can kick on for a while yet i guess

i can hear the kids at the door

i gotta get em in n get some dinner down their mouths

i gotta put on my daddy hat n be some bloody use

instead of this endless introspection

aurora minus her tonsils n ads

eve looking tall n grown up…always cheerful n buoyant

scarlet a bit of a chip off the olde block

ok thats it then

thanks for frequenting my new fab site

i love ya n then some

sk

unto my wavelength

a  flat day in 2D

the debris in alleys

the sick cats the old dogs

bits of paper bits of rope

i move along under a grey urban sky

tired and careworn

hoping for something good

hoping for something nice

now drugs are out of the equation

no sudden infusion of enthusiasm

i stuck with myself

i stuck here in this head

aerials antennae boston ferns rusty wheels broken bottles

stones rocks sticks weeds ever my kingdom of busted stuff

chasing fame running from blame

drink a coffee which amps up my metaphysical torpor

things gone wrong

just wanna walk away

just wanna run away

jump in that falcon n cruise for a million miles

leave kilbey behind somewhere in a b+b place

kilbey who said this n did that

kilbey with his sore throat and cold feet

it starts to rain again

you can hear it over the acoustic guitar overdubs

you can hear it over the starlings mournful call

you can hear it over the sad bewildered kids

you can hear it over the wind in the empty vodka bottles

you can hear it over the lines and the wires

somewhere is life

life somewhere else

somewhere my friends in the sun talkin’ about me

somewhere the to n fro of summer in sweden

the deep cold lakes

the choking reeds

elli n minna in the country

karin in the kitchen making cloudberry cordial

her blonde hair imperceptibly turning to grey

her swedish skin turning so brown in that gentle sun

the huge mosquitoes find a way into the guest house

the slow worms in the grass slither soundlessly

night never arrives only a brief twilight

i long to escape this electro-radiation hell

the roar of impatient traffic

the twitch of the lights

the consumers n their consumption

the shops n all their junk …where does it all come from…?

dont park

dont stop

no standing

no loitering no littering (yeah sure !)

no news is good news

no hope no point beyond this alcohol

no passing

no dice

we must accept these heavy hopeless days

we must struggle on thru this obstacle course

we must endure brickbats n bouquets

we must learn to take the good with the bad

perspective, please

i am alive

i am not in jail or hospital

i am not a slave

i am a stranger tho’

stranger in my own skin

this is a poem not a complaint

i locate n cement my melancholia

i remain in the feeling

i think of a million things

who am i?

who am i frinstance

if you cut off my ego and my personalities….what is left…?

if you take away the music and the freckles n the wispy  hair

if you take away the harsh tongue and the grey blue eyes

if you take away the past if you take away my imagination

where is me?

who really knows me n not just an idea we /i concocted….?

i been in show biz long enough to know its all just a performance

singing dancing sleeping fucking getting old

all an act

pull on my face from the ancient gallery

“its showtime!”

manipulation of fields of data

combining n recombining possibilities

working your seam

mining your mind

everything reacts accordingly

people say they love ya

people say they hate ya

billy at pool says

“steve only one person you can trust is yer mother…but yer father cant….”

spend my day sorting thru bits of sage advice

spend my day like money n then its gone

coffee wakes me up but gives me the jitters

i eat a tasty little strawberry cake n it makes me feel a bit sick

everything makes me sick

life love food drink going on stage

my skin is so thin

beneath the surface viscera carries electrical chemical messages

organs i dont even know i have pump n squeeze n bulge and contract

my head feverish my feet cold

my vestige of a tail aches

my muscles my tendons my bones full of marrow

i want to examine everything

i want to take it all apart see how far it can be taken

i want to write a million words that will not make sense until i’m dead

i want to rail against the senselessness

i want rage against the impotence of humanity

humanity needs some cosmic viagra to finally get it up

is this the best we could come up with…..?!

my laptop burns my thighs

my thoughts bore my brain

try getting a real job like working in a shoe shop

try getting a real job like selling insurance

try getting a real job like sitting in a cubicle moseying thru facebook when boss aint looking

try getting a real job like singing in a rocknroll band

or being an undertaker or a bankrobber or gravedigger

or a tinker tailor soldier sailor

silk satin cotton rag

my intelligence has imploded

it spits random facts dates numbers axioms aphorisms

i enter a place called discontent

all the connections have gone haywire

all the wrong voices speaking to each other

the drums are playing the piano

the painter is delivering the baby

the poet is working out my tax brakes

the lyricist is talking to the coppers

the young boy  in an old mans pants

the woman is interpenetrating the man

the past is remembering the future

the crooked is impinging on the straight

the child is minding the father

its all mixed up

i see sounds

the abstract in the concrete

a battle hymn for a new republic

the wearer of the serpent diadem who tramples down the westerners

the islands the dominions that lay at the edges of the known worlds

the visitors among us

the underlings the overseers

the computer starts to type on its  own

it spews out its own rant

vomiting out weather n sport n recent google n tits n ass n text edit n skypes with unclean spirits

i must stop now

i must let it all go

kilbey before the after

the marshes and the moons

the minuscule minutiae that make up moments

walking the path speaking a language of love

the ruined cities

the former glories

nineveh out in the desert

ah leave it alone man

you can never go back

my sister on the battlements framed against the temple n ziggurats

wake up one day n youre someone else

land through my fingers

the gardens all neglected

my angular faces all distorted in death

we reach for our gods our feeble voices lingering unheard

prayer after prayer

decade on decade

minute by minute

my sister in the mirror unadorned and fresh

interminable war

the shouts the blood the pain

miraculous escape

another day has ended

trumpets drums and pianos

creamy music surges around the stars

same old stars now as then

the planets revolve in a sky

vulcan juno apollo diana

my sister tends to her husbands wounds

blood gurgles from a winged genius

thoth-amon astride the cosmos

boy emperor giggles cruelly

a wolf by my side

the iron age rusts in a museum

locusts gathering as a darkness

anxiety betrays us

an energy hurling itself around

king on queen

prints on a scrim

a new disease cuts down the people like a strike

the doctors the first to flee

my sister among those missing at the assembly

the horses were thirsty miles ago

i feign enthusiasm

night divided by evening

thunder rolls from the hills

gravity pulling at the corners of my mouth

feel the super chill of flash fear

your village swept away before the new warlord

increasing pressure from the east

greed betrays us

the blow is absolutely painless

stagger away howling

the witch queen strokes her familiar a white jackal

houses of magnificent wealth burn unnoticed

my sister at the window calls me home

the drink sears my throat

truncated expedition returns empty handed

i remember now what i will say

something about my sister

nothing will ever be the same

a winters day in a deep n dark july

ok

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how you liking this site so far

how you liking this sight so far

i was born in 1988 to a beautiful italian opera singer and a formula one driver who was also a billionaire and a secret crime fighter……..i was schooled at oxford cambridge the london school of eccy-gnomics harvard yale and that other place i forgot oh yeah n the sorbonne…i speak many languages : did you know australians have 23 different words for beer..i play many different instruments, the crumpled horn, the skinned flute, the rhythm method, the ear drum, the heart beat, the bass ball, the lead uke, the elbow harp, the car radio, the bong pipe, the sex cymbal, the horizontal cha cha, the zylo-phone, the humba mabumba, the karmatron and of course my main axe the tommy hawk, i am an expert at many martial arts including pinching pulling hair and dew jitsu, i have majored in the inhumanities and comparitive boasting. i spent the early years of my life on an unmanned sputnik listening to the music of the spheres and t wrecks …eventually i had pads n gaffs in nyc, la and imho and lol then i moved to syddley where i put together my dream band of hand selected players …however that didnt work out so i  manifested the crunch consisting of me, the tall one, the rockstarry one, and an old school bully called ward nicks who couldnt play drums but was good with nasty intimidation …eventually we replaced him with the nutty dutch guy and then eventually we got that small nice bloke from pneu zealand called pim towels…still extant today….all our records went linoleum in albania and we actually sold a cassette to someones mum accidentally outside a gig in wollongong once

of course i made  many disappearances on tv  ghosting australias top plop shows and onboard a ship as anchor, man…i made many films too directing producing fetching things and forging scripts for naughty codeine products, i been married many many times and have a loada children including my triplets amnesia, florence and the other one, i been dabbling in painting after doing a nice job in my laundry rolling  it cream including the spiders webs and a fly who was on the wall …of course i got arrested in nyc for impersonating a genius and have had treatment for my approaching sexagenarianism  also i am considered a pseudo thespian and i believe in homo sapien marriages and am anti diluvian kings

i cuurently live in bondi with my no cats n dogs n my bonsai tree called figgy who really truly ruly loveth me

please dispose of ttb products thoughtfully when finished and recycle my words to alleviate the great dictionary crisis i have narrowly averted

please examine the contents of your head…they may have shifted during this flight of fancy

i love ya!

ha ha

nevets yeblik!!!

the cold white dead moon screams

life at last

salutations from the other side

fuck yes

here i am

oooh double spacing

a good name for my next album picture song line sculpture ballet dinner puzzle yoga-pose noodle manifesto conundrum or whatever the fuck i do next n rest assured i will do plenty next

ok thats 55 words so far, how you liking it…..authentic of course there is no other time being other than moi i am the one i am he i am steven john dionysius st loki slim killer kilbey and boy oh boy this is mah new website and well come the time being is dead long live the time being …who am i? i was born in hertfordshire england from a couple of working class people and i came to earth with powers n abilities unexplained swearing in my pram at age 6 months and attending the school of fuckin’ hard knox where i graduated in bullying bossing around and messing about with majors in annoying everyone else with my precocious bloody carryon …hey johnny cole turn off the spell check cos i own this english language n i spell my own way and i say whatever i want because words fill up my head so fast i cant type em out quickly enough because i am a full on raving nutcase genius madman lucid in the skies boney fido daydreamin’ nightcrawlin’ ladykillin’ bass playin’ fenonoma…yeah i’m the one you never seen before n i dedicate my life to my dedicated fiendss fans friends n assorted fucknuckles …i suddenly wonder if the envious little pigs are here with us or did we leave em back at the old place c’mon you jealous tiny sods post a naughty comment so we can see if an evil has entered this new pristine kingdom of kilbeydom ha ha knowing as you do that we all realise how you love to hate to love me i know youre obsessed with me i mean who wouldnt be cos when god was dishing out the talent looks sexiness n charisma i got a bank error in my fucking favour! yeah favour with a U cos i an englishman from austraylia n owe allegiance to no bastard except my devotees to whom i appear in my universal aspect with my greyblue eyes and my freckly skin and my wispy hair and my pointy slightly red nose and my sharp tongue and my sacred calves etc etc etc i love to talk about myself you love to read about me i say we got ourselves a deal i gonna thank kipmccccc n jm cole one more time i never ever fuckin’ mess with texas n i advise you muggles to do the same i like to thank holly mc eek who is my fairly godmother who told me hey stevie buoy keep painting n one day you’ll be the biggest painter on your block n i’m almost there i’d like to thank ricky maymi who frickin’ rawks i’d like to thank rusty my bro for tellin’ me to blog on regardless n johnny my bro fer puttin’ out my records n i’d like to thank my five daughters who are exquisitely gorgeous n kind n dutiful i’d like to thank all my subscribers from the old place n we’re gonna work out a dealio for ya if ya recently chucked some dosh into my coughing coffers cos all art aint fer free baby n if you wanna get primo premium kilbo boy you gonna have to pay a bit but if you broke you get still plenty o’stuff  for nothing cos we at the ttb are generous to our own frickin’ detriment , ok

well thats about it

i got a lotta stuff to do so welcome to here

i love ya

hope we together for a long long time, ok?

steve kilbey newttown

2010