a wave of nausea filled the being
as he jumped headlong into the future
when he awoke he was alone
a dark night sky filled a vast expanse
stars twinkled
but he could recognize none of the constellations
a lonely creature howled somewhere far away
the being shuddered
in the darkness things rustled
he could hear the drip drip drip of moisture
he could feel the awful weight of that forsaken sky
pressing down upon him
so this was it huh?
the much vaunted future
well it was warm
warm n dark
erskine wondered where he was
the soft rain began
music started up
somewhere
sad music
music that sang about erskines life
he couldnt even hear any words
but in his heart he felt the song
oh so long ago
no these memories…..
from another earth
from another person
steve kilbey
ha ha
erskine had written a little novella
called ephemera
it really didnt have much plot
just this musician wandering around
having misadventures
n getting killed
in some other world
a world with cities that have names like
boston
erskine set his story in 1986
was that past or still to come now?
steve kilbey was playing this place in boston
he was playing before another musician called reverb n rabbits
boston was a strange place
bitterly brutally cold
oh how erskine wouldve enjoyed a blast of bostons freezing winter air
but it was afterall only fiction
in erskines world it was warm n damp
erskine swung malarial in his hammock
erskine was delerious n delusional thats for sure
he dreamed he was the time being too
the time being was some older guy with a white beard
some smart arse “space rocker” erskine had hallucinated one night
well, it was always night now
i mean
the sun was out there shining of course
but
well erskine couldnt actually explain what had happened
but anyway
that was before he was born
he had heard all those old wives tales
about the moon
and about winter
but quite franklin
he wasnt buying any of it
anyway erskine left all that “what if only”s to other people
he was a musici….
no i mean he was a magician
and he wrote a thing called a blogge
which is a silly name
i mean even the olde being was stuck with that
and young steve kilbey in boston playing his thing
jesus so slim n all that hair
does he even know that im dreaming him up
hanging in my hammock
malarial n outta my skull on opiummmm?
the being out there somewhere
being himself
being others
the being, himself
himself, the being
or stevie k
playing that song
he dont even know why he wrote that song
i mean
he didnt….i did
me here in boston
i look in the mirror
tight blue pants
a waistcoat n a silk shirt
2 blue mexican crucifix studs in ears
a naive face late twenties or early thirties
i gotta play now
i gotta get ready
i gotta strap on this …uh…plank..
but no wand….but…
no musicians dont have wands..
musicians play things
like kilbey playing a ……
oh i cant quite picture it
a keyboard
typing typing
commands to execute
the being intruding
the intruder being
erskine look up at the stars again
antares n arcturus
and artemis and palanor
and the pole stars and the green star
and if you want to be a star of stage n screen…
words intersected in erskines head
emerald haunt and overdrive
i mean its nonsense isnt it
it doesnt even make grammatical sense
unless emerald is being addressed in the vocative case
in which case the emerald is being commanded to haunt
but by who and why?
nightmare descent into nineveh city
sang steve kilby
and the crowd, the audience could see it all
i mean theyre my fictional audience
you know not real people
like nevets yeblik n his muse
not like me johnny erskine
and my wife conesuela
whos spanish or mexican or..
and not like that olde time being
inhabiting the nooks n crannies in history
out there in his future
a legend in his spare time
who ?
whos that?
and who are you
eaves dropping on us…?
what could you want here
as i swing in my hammock
as he sings in boston in 19 eighty 6
as the being sits there type type type
hammer on hammer off i say
i say treat women rough and theyll make you breakfast in bed
i say privelege in privelege
i’d speak spanish to my wife
but shes gone gone gone
she left me this note
called
el momento descuidado
but thats weird
i mean
its not even proper spanish…
why would she write that….
the being types as erskine swings as stevie sings
we need microphones and managers…
a microphone …thats what kilbys instrument was called…
but why would kilby sing that…?
it doesnt matter
no ones gonna care what the words are
i mean the words are a prop
for the story of the time being
and this other one too
a negative reversal
and daughters…!
yes…there were daughters…
and the song was called mer
it was about the sea i guess
and there was this book called
the ground under her feet
and damnit it beat me to my storey
about a singer called steve kilbey who channels music
from this universe into his
which is like ours except a few key things have been changed
for example in his universe
there is a band called the rolling stones who are very successful
while here the rolling stones are a tribute band to
the greatest rocknroll band on earth
the b j m
i mean anton newley has singlehandedly shaped rock since
he burst out of liverpool in the 19?0s
i mean…
what do i mean
and what about ricki the lead rhythm guy
did he drown in my swimming pool
or was that jorge harryson?
santa francesca
the corner of haight n crown streets
no no
theres no such place
its an intersection
its only a point after all
but what is a point
and what is the point?
right?
and anton newley wrote that song
i cant get no brown sugar
and another group called six inch nails did a duet
with victory a’mos
and trex was in the cretaceous error
and by concealing a small metal pick
in the fleshy folds of his feet
houdini was able to play the ebow solo in mer
muse: youve fucken flipped olde bean..
nevets yeblik pots won
sure sure
we understand
the pressure
the late nights
the drinkin’drugs
the blinkin’ lights
the hammering tongs
damn
the hammock swings
the singer and his voice
the good type types good
muse where are you?
and all the carni-voormen
and the hyena-girls?
and is this the malaria talking
type type type
ive run out of ink
thinks nevets
kilbys singing about the highway
and the pain in their ice
he knew about the thaw i guess
did we all intersect there
which ice?
the polar caps?
the drug?
the ice in the mescal he used ta drink in those days?
who cares anymore
i can never unravel this mess
see see for yourself
im run down by a train
stand back from a shark attack
and its all the same…
hey that IS good
relax killbee never wrote that…
no?
not in this world any way
maybe over there
where?
you know
there
there?
yeah!