a million saturday nights

all those songs

all that music pouring in from elsewhere

somewhere else

in dreams in thoughts in cracks n leaks

raw song in astral night

the current horizon looms perturbingly

i appear at a club

a crush to get in

whos on someone asks

we fight through the flesh

the sudden sound of an ampoule cracking

a sigh of satisfaction

a whisper a word

backstage its awkward and crowded

quentin quin is there with his torso double

we nibble on the static

a roadie hovers with my axe

i sip bella codonna

i smoke hook

i take mytime

i handle the ladies with a plumb

i mingle with my agent

he offers me a gig in a group called the eleusinian mysteries

white pancake and black satyric dots

the music is said to be sublime

the recording is available in parallel U’s

a new process recording music with etheric record

its all just bullshit hes saying to someone in darkness

eventually we hit the stage

i stride out and the electronica starts to mesh

out in the audience its raining something

i see eyes sea of eyes

solemnly i use my axe to cut the silence

in half

the rest join in

the drums explode with sizzling bursts

pace yourself i say to me

music is a temptation to not resist

the empty space at its heart sucks like a vortex

the huge throb of our machine begins

slowly at first then taking shape

the elements fall into place

the riff that keeps on going

it just keeps on going a constant a given

i lurch over to my instrument panel

i simulate a cascade of brittle notes

that sheer off the silver strings

a girl screams out for something

i hear myself better in the fluid

i bear down barely impaired

a ripply flashback sequence to the hotel

you fucked with a zeitgeist and a machine ate your money

if your friend is a genius then i’m a blue soup

that group he plays for are 3 light years old

a prehistoric modernity called glass/out

i digress

the gig is taking place

i am an actor playing a singer

i finger the nails

i thumb the tax

i tow the line

steve kilbey from parallel U 23

for a moment we’re strangers

the familiar within the strange

the ache within the pleasure

where universes join up you find the congealed music

i stand onstage in whitest lightest spot

i see my shadow at the back of the hall

i see its reflection in the blaze of an eye

the band implodes to a low pulse

it skates across the silent void

i take the microphone unto my self

my mouth opens slowly to sing the fragile text

anoint me baby anoint me as your pointed man

night comes in spades in delphic glades

its decayed through 3 decades

i transported to artemis-gordon

where i cut through the cordon

yeah impossible to predict the future derelict

i stagger on my dagger

lake just makes me madder

flake just takes me sadder

the musics running out + they cant find the lid

the warp of the woofers + you owe me 3 quid

look what i did

yeah look what i did

yeah look what i did

the volume shatters constraint of time

the beat enables a smooth transition of power

my axe is sharp enough to penetrate skull

i dig deep into head

my music violently detonates in your prelingual cortex

i stand on stage tapping into this earth

up from the ground comes a shuddering impulse

the dirt gives its blessing

babe strap up my one shot for me

i move into concentric parallel U’s

through door after door

portal gives way to next door

onstage we huddle under the onslaught of our sound

it comes falling back down

the audience surge as won

the music rolls along on its own now

who knows what it means

who knows what it doesnt mean

a review said

kilbeys take on ambiguity is unclear

his elusiveness is fixed

his songs are from parallel U 13

same earth but different

here antarctica won the first whirled war

and it shows in frosty bites of white noise

the warmth only begins when he thaws

random choices uncover unusual discoveries

nothing is positive

anything is unchosen

this record is as pointless as a summer day

see ?

the lighting rig sagged 28 feet above head

the lash and loop of the feedbreak

my severed attention i was fiddling with a burn of rome

music is sweet so is love

but music falls into silence

love turns into hate

my songs tell the story of the long gone world

my story in these songs

the hum of the outside

the rumble of the humbling plough

the jumble of the numbing pain

the jarring far out clout that knocks you out

and about