meanwhile back in canberra act
i have finally learned to play the bass
i steal my mothers triumph herald and go off driving
i pick up some girls and give them a lift
we go round their house where their mummy is out
and i’m kissing them both
the year is 1973
i’m a lanky skinny devil with freckles
and long bloody hair
i already wrote bel air the other night
and i travelled in the astral above this town
peering and leering down at all the carryings on
i walk thru walls
i appear in the hall
i take long lonely drives into canberras ample hinterland
and i walk beneath the pines on mt stromlo
i sold my violin bass
and now i have a burns baldwin
a big hollow bodied stupid thing
i play with a schlocky cabaret band
and i earn good money
we drive down the coast and play at some places down there
during the drive
the rain is so furious
and the ford anglia we are driving in
has non functioni windscreen wipers
so hugh jumps out
with a potato cut in half
and rubs it all over the windscreen
the stuff in the potato is supposed to repel the water
this might be a good trick in old blightys drizzle
but up the top of the clyde mountain
in a summertime gale
visibility remains close to zero
we stay in some dreary motel
we play at night in the clubs n bars
cranking out the same old tripe
listening to the singer cracking the same old gags
we had the music all written out in chords
and we’d just play along
the singers voice was quite pleasant
and we got paid well
i got time
to think about the music i was playing
why it worked
and
why it didnt
during the long grey days
i wandered the coast
stopping in to tiny towns and having a milkshake
or drifting on lonely rivers at dusk
everything was overloaded with significance
then as now as always as usual
each twig on every tree
each stick of grass
each shadow of a nest
each empty bottle on the side of the road
each sunset in pinkish clouds
each sickle moon cleaving through the oceanic fogs
each person i see
i imagine/intuit/daydream their story
its all falling in on me at once
i talk too much so i spend most time alone
girls are attracted by my looks
but my chattering reveals me as an idiot
strangely enough
i cant play the guitar at all
only the bass
i sometimes find myself somewhere
round a campfire
or at a party
someone thrusts their nylon string yamaha geetar in my hands
and says
oh kilbo can play
hes in a band you know…
but ha ha
im left holding the baby
when i can do nothing at all
i have strange genuine psychic adventures
for example
once an entire room full of people froze
but only i could see it
for a few split seconds
and then…
but only me
only i saw it
the guy playing the organ in the group
is what was called in those days a sex maniac
it was all he ever talked of
or made jokes about
he was only 23
he seemed a hundred to me
such was the gulf that separated me from the others
he also knew obscene phrases
in other languages
which we would liberally sprinkle the show with
gee i’m sure it was really funny too
i drink scotch n coke sometimes and smoke cigs
i play poker machines
and buy magazines with pictures of naked women
i drink vanilla milkshakes and i eat 50 cents worth of chips
i listen to the radio
i watch english comedy shows on a tv with 2 bnw channels
i tend to my 3 pimples
i spend much time looking at myself in the mirror
i can already see the wrinkles and bags forming on my face
my teeth are already an off-white
my hair not as thick n lustrous as i hoped
i want to be someone else
some composite palooka
everynight
carrying my fucking great big amp up some stairs
getting told to always turn down
standing in the background
plunking away on
a stupid song
boom boom boom