posted on December 27, 2009 at 7:00 am

maybe all you are is your memories
said kilbey
to himselves
somewhere in the gold futures
somewhere in the silver pasts
because thats all you think about
he/they/you laugh
ha ha ha
and life is then unbearably random
and we all have to die
and life then is randomly unbearable
and all we have to do is die
youre in australia now son
have you ever been here before ?
yes i have but i remain in a tiny little part
called new south wales
well its very very beautiful in new south wales
this is the backdrop for all those adventures
all those beaches
all those trees
all those nights
all those conversations
all those arguments
all those drugs
all those orgasms and organisms
all those shots and shoots
all those songs and wrongs
my blog must be a form of self analysis
i’m glad its christmas n theres no one reading
i can pretend i’m on my own
and i can say the things to myselves
these things that churn through my minds
the way obsessions focus my thought till it burns thru black paper
and my callous and unforgiving virgo sides
and now i discover
as previously reported
my memories are all ……….um………
gee i forgot what i was trying to say
my pest n nuisance must not have access to computer this xmas
because no insults for a few days
if youve never been to australia
you would just love sydney
younger than new york
cleaner than london
sexier than atlantis
more flesh n drugs than babylon
more wicked than nineveh
sydney raped me shaped me escaped me
i sit here in the town of n. bondi
a stones throw from the great cliffs and the heads
the tourists are up the other end
the swedes
the poms
the irish
the israelis
that would be my reckoning
i can fuckin pick a swede a mile off
its their body language and their posture
ditto poms n irish esp. the backpacker types
but some of the backpacker types are quite…..
a bit cro-magnon or something
only cro-magnon didnt consume gallons of beer
and walk down hall street bashing on garbage bins
the israeli guys always got these black curly mops
held back by these kinda girly headbands
they often are very darkly handsome n have an air of arrogance
a lot of our american visitors are the ancient couple
with the cameras and the loud voices
ditto the japanese only more cameras
and more intrusive with them
theres people searching your bags for alcohol
and a very amusing sign warning no booze on beach
so fuck it
the b-packers get sloshed then go down the beach
where they need rescuing
when they figure out
this aint fucking brighton
and the waves are a lot bigger up close
than from the shore
and some geezer got bitten by a shark up the coast
and even when its overcast the sun still burns
i see poms n irish frying every year
its an awful sight
of course the israelis n swedes seem to magically have suntans
rich italians too sometimes appear on our beach
our great australian icon
people in the steamy city dream of it
bondi beach
need a surfboard?
need a fucking cold beer?
need some bikinis n board shorts
need a fancy hairdresser or three
need a convenience shop or four
need the nirvana beach liquor store
need sunday markets n evening markets
need a million pizzas n ice creams
need a million cafes serving up loathsome eggsnbacon
need doof doof doof
need the quiet back streets of n bondi suburbia heaven
need the frangipanis
need the bottlebrush
need the parrots
need the near silence on days like these
on days like these
amazing parties you n i will never get invited to
amazing gracious hostesses greet you
with fishbowls full of white sugar powder
and dressed as spirits as a theme
and you must be in vaucluse
but the clouds swing down reminding the reader of new guinea
in the amazing party
where you meet amazing people
people who do the most cool things
and the music gently emits
tick tick tick
the guitars agitate gently in a swampy sea of synths
tiny bells
a wah wah chuck a chuck a chuck
the sun finally pops out at the end of the stormy day
like a surprise ending to movie you fell asleep watching
the blue australian summer sky appears
just before it has to go to bed
the mozzies are in the wings itching to bite
and the backpackers are back in the hostels
with their back packs n lager n cigarettes
and their brief furtive summer romances
sean from dublin
shazza from birmingham
and the swedes stay at some boutique hotel
and the israelis stay with their cousins n uncles
and they all come back out into the bondi night
suddenly as a plague of tablewaiters appears on campbell parade
and the rich n the poor mingle freely
the suntanned n pale n burnt livid celtics
and the moslems n christians n ones like most of em
who dont believe in nuthin’
and the handsome youths with their swaggering gait
and the ugly old coots with their staggering stumble
and botox meat that looks like trout
and the local russians with their bear tatoos
and the chemists that sell australias thinnest condom
and the sunglasses stalls
and its warm baby its warm
we got no cultchure but we got warm weather
by the bucket load
imagine no shirt no shoes no cloves if you want
we smoke dope
we drink bubble teas
we body surf
we goof off
we lug slabs up the street
we throw amazing n not so amazing parties
we get out of it
we get into it
we having a fucking relaxed old time
down here in this tourist mecca
this lovely little beach enclosed by two cliffs
with its pavillion where youll be swatting at the flies
and theyre got holiday doof doof doof
like always
listen says evie from a kilometre away
its the black eyed peas daddy
see ya round then

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