posted on April 30, 2009 at 8:45 pm

then this happened
then that happened
then someone said yes
and someone said no
and the night followed day
and the day followed night
steve kilbey pushing 55 (not out)
unknown even to myself
capable of anything
and like billy said
the killer in me is the killer in you
and billy told me
i used to be a little childe
so olde in my shoes….
and then i looked
and billy was a’singing my words
i shoulda believed eve
she said billy
you better blow
she was the apple of my eye
and i see eve kilbey
with her dryadic hair
and i think of eden
and i think of marco boleyn riding on his zee-bra
i think of all the beautiful things ever painted sung and written
and i think of my 40 years of music
and now
and only now
does she truly open herself up to me
a slow learner but i persevered
i paint in a trance
i paint inner trance
oh i wish i could describe the feeling of power
as it all comes back to me
i am starting to remember how it is done
i cant believe i have been so awkward clumsy n blind
sometimes i’m a bull in a china shoppe
sometimes i’m a bully in a playground
sometimes i’m a whore on my knees
sometimes i’m a thief in your night
sometimes….ah, but you get the picture
i wanna see whos inside me
i wanna see whose pulling the strings and why
maybe somebody else out there is descended from the monkeys
but not i
and dont blame me for the eighties
and i’m always expecting some jealous rain on my parade
voice in another room : some spurned “collaborator”…
and ive still got some tricks up my steve
i dont know exactly what they will be yet
it all works differently for everybody
i’m stuck here with me so i try to honestly describe it
i’m obsessed with me because somebody else was
i lose a grip on meaning
and i’m floating then free-falling through
a meaningless sky
its meaning less by the moment
the melting moments you mouth motionlessly
i conceal
i reveal
i embrace
i solace
i flutter by almost with you
this is how i feel today
finally a small grumbling #23 backlash
why dont they make that perfect record themselves then?
why do i take it so personally?
why do i sometimes lose it and argue with a wanker from
you cant take a flame and expect it not to burn
my fiery nature is the source of my creativity
i take everything personally
i take world war one personally
i take the inquisition personally
i take slavery and torture very personally
i take a dew drop poised on the edge of an emerald leaf personally
i take magnificent sunsets personally
i take frail old ladies personally
i take street kids and winos personally
i take old sick men in hospital personally
i take the grey shore at dawn personally
i take E minor to G personally
i take crimson and purple personally
i take love and hate personally
i am a super taster of life
all experiences crowd in on me
i have hardly any detachment
(hence the opiate addiction(s))
i stand there with my thinnest of skins
i stand there with my old irregular heart on my sleeve
i stand there in the wind
i dont shy away although i am quite shy
my hopes my defeats whatever who cares
still i restlessly burn
whatever happens out there
whoever loves me
whoever hates me
whoevers never heard of me
i remain locked on
and locked into myself
unable to escape
but starting to enjoy it in some strangest way
i am ruffian i am snob i am slob i am heart throb
i am modern i am older i am a cold shoulder
i am a shoulder to cry on
i am a singer a pommy whinger a middle finger
i linger n i gone
i fluent in pastel
i king of the castle
i the dirtiest rascal
im broke but im not breaking
smack couldnt break me
money isnt gonna either
im drowning in daughters
blessed with sweet youthful female energy for ever
a good friend or a miserable enemy i am
if you wanna upset me
i can hate thoroughly
and i love revenge
as much as i love the honesty
that compels me to give you the unexpurgated version of me
as if we WERE friends
dont expect me not to be childish
because dont you see
ha ha ha
a childe of god
a childe of the universe
a childe of les n joyce
the childe writes n paints n he bitches n blathers
some suave guy over yonder is writing a very a civilized blog
he never bites or takes the bait
but why arent you reading him…?
none of you can guide me
(voice in another bank account :but you can commission a blog…!)
i write without fear or favour
voice in another kitchen : sometimes with no flavour, saviour
i am kilbey
get over it!
pay me my dues
read my lips
dig my trips
watch in amazement as he back-flips
watch your little genius trade insults with a wancker..big deal!
dont tell me to grow up lest i become like all the others
ah fuck
i ran outta time!

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