voices whisper offstage
1 where is he?
2 how should i know, 1
1 'es s'posed to bloody be here
3 calm down there 1 ...he'll show up
2 sssshh you two...look there he is...!
the scene
a hotel entrance at night
a black cold sky pricked with lonesome stars
a man stands in the shadows of night
he stands in the wind and cold smoking something pungent
he carefully stubs it out and stands still in darkness
the wind blows his wispy hair this way and that
a medium sized man in everyway
dressed in scruffy clothes
totally unremarkable unless...
1 ..unless what?
2 unless you know 'oo 'e bloody well is...of course
1 well who the hell is he?
2 you know as well as i do who he bloody well is...
1 'e's the time bein'
3 he's the bloody mangy panther ...thats what he is
1 yeah i can see the mangy part...
2 but thats not what.....
1 alright sshh its starting up
in the deserted lower entrance
just off the main street in a big city
6 lift shafts sing like a 1930s movie choir
the long cylindrical holes fill with wind
and like huge flutes they wail and coo
the man just stands there struck with wonder
this beautiful sound aching down the shudderin' concrete
oh who woulda thought it?
and then
why not more musical architecture
domes of memories forever reverberating
the time being
(for it is he)
hits his plush sweet suite of rooms overlooking
the city and beyond it a great grey bay almost shipless
that day is over forever
singing in a red room
a cup of tea with old friends
baked veggies
a smoke a laugh a tear a fire
thirty nine storeys up watching the lights
do yoga
1 that eastern stuff bores my pants off
2 you cant have the being without his yoga malarkey
3 come off it 2...are you saying theyre inseparable
2 im just saying you know yoga
thats what whats responsible for his reversal..
1 what?
2 when he started to come good again cos of yoga..
3 no it was cos he stopped taking bloody 'ard drugs!
1 i thought it was coz of his wife duckling dalton
2 i thought it was cos he started swimming again too...
1 who even bloody cares about this old hippy anyway ?
3 someone must...
2 ah hes alright....theres a lot worse....isnt there?
1 bloody hell i knew this blog wouldnt make any sense
3 the people dont wanna read this tripe
1 wheres the fountain of endless gossip ?
3 wheres the sneering jealous putdowns of the execs ?
1 wheres the self searching nervous true insights?
3 yeah...and the bold showing off sweeping statements
1 the faux-pas and the embarrassing rants...?
2 ssshh somethings about to happen
man ,room
types into a small white box like machine
it transmits his thoughts instantaneously to everywhere
he turns off the box
he stretches into a familiar pose
popol vuh begin to play
fade out
Monday, June 30, 2008
Saturday, June 28, 2008
the time it takes
here i am
arent i ?
is this me....at last
can you see the real me
can ya
can ya?
hmmm ok
youre probably tired of all that other stuff by now
so alright
lets go
across my desk this week
1. i finished a most excellent book sent me by one of my
oldest and strangest friends marcus 'udson who now abodes
in sunny old sweden near the norf pole
the book was called " the scar" by china meiville (a bloke)
it was incredibly well imagined bizarre fiction
about a floating conglomerate of pirate ships
in some other earthlike world full of humans
and cray-humans and insectoid things and
amphibious monsters and a thing called an avanc
a transdimensional leviathan that these pirates
hook their fleet up to and lots of intrigue double crossing
and nasty tricks
the book before this one "perdito street station"
is also an absolute 5 star corker as well...
2. friendly fiend roscoe be gave me a book at the vegan do
its called the origins of man and the universe
by an australian mystic barry long
to tell you the truth
i didnt like the look of it
i didnt think i'd like it or agree with it
it was given to barry long
the way my blog is given to me
thats right
it just tumbled out of his head
after a lot of spiritual searching etc naturally
i mean
he wasnt a steak gulping booze artist
bashing his missus n having a fiver on the neddies
and then one day this book fell out of his scone..
no no
i guess he spent a lotta time thinking about this
tapping in
remembering
intuiting
anyway
your humble being starts reading a bit and blow me down
barry long is writing so many things the olde sk been saying too
tired of the 2 stupid choices given to us concerning our origins
eg old testament or new science
long posits a third explanation
which satisfies me spiritually and intellectually
incorporating elements of darwin and religion
yet avoiding the superstition of the latter
and the "soulessness" of science
long does all this in a calm easy to understand way
he states brilliant things and moves on
i was amazed to find so many of my own inchoate thoughts
addressed by long in this book
and cst coach you would be interested in the stuff
about how we were once unselfconscious animals
joined into the intangible net of all things
like all the other creatures still are
thats why you never see a cat miss a jump
and how a seabird can plummet a thousand feet
from the sky and shoot like an arrow through the water
and nail a fish 6 inches long 20 feet down
every bird can do that
they hardly ever miss
a ha
to become self conscious we moved out of that net
we became outside it
yes
well a real evolved man can still tap in
through yoga
meditation
martial arts
long constantly repeats the paradox
of the martial artist able to kill with one small move
who would immediately lose that power should he ever use it
eg
there are superpowers available
but by the time you got em
you dont wanna use em
you have accepted that consciousness
existed before matter
created and descended into matter
and is fulfilling a "purpose" none of us can truly know
just like there is no one man on earth understands
all the workings of a boeing 747
too many systems
too many parts
the designers and mechanics only know compartmentalised bits
so too this earth and universe and creation
we all only know or realise our own bits...
we can only really guess at the whole purpose
anyway
i highly recommend this work
if you, like me
or
if you like me
and you think adam n eve is a great story
but quite frankly it obviously aint how things got started
but you also realise that evolution does not explain
this blooming paradise adequately
its only an aspect of the "truth"
we are not random blobs evolved out of chemical soup
there was consciousness behind this
there always was
and our consciousness will never disappear
just like krishna said...
neither are we original sinners
prejudged by some cranky old tent-god
doomed to eternity in hell or purgatory
cos we didnt believe in some unlikely malarkey
c'mon...
heres a third possibility
3 off on the plane this arvo
off to rehearals and all the rest of it
im not s'posed to let the cat outta the bag
so im staying shtumm
rehearsed yesterday and sounded good
i am performing with 2 different acts
wow! will be exciting
will give ya the inside goss too
as long as its not still secret...
ooh lots of celebs and music biz boozers to bag
sir dennis eton-hogg and the like
big time operators and fast talkin' flunkies
drummers n singers n engine ears
stayed tuned people
over n out
the time killer
arent i ?
is this me....at last
can you see the real me
can ya
can ya?
hmmm ok
youre probably tired of all that other stuff by now
so alright
lets go
across my desk this week
1. i finished a most excellent book sent me by one of my
oldest and strangest friends marcus 'udson who now abodes
in sunny old sweden near the norf pole
the book was called " the scar" by china meiville (a bloke)
it was incredibly well imagined bizarre fiction
about a floating conglomerate of pirate ships
in some other earthlike world full of humans
and cray-humans and insectoid things and
amphibious monsters and a thing called an avanc
a transdimensional leviathan that these pirates
hook their fleet up to and lots of intrigue double crossing
and nasty tricks
the book before this one "perdito street station"
is also an absolute 5 star corker as well...
2. friendly fiend roscoe be gave me a book at the vegan do
its called the origins of man and the universe
by an australian mystic barry long
to tell you the truth
i didnt like the look of it
i didnt think i'd like it or agree with it
it was given to barry long
the way my blog is given to me
thats right
it just tumbled out of his head
after a lot of spiritual searching etc naturally
i mean
he wasnt a steak gulping booze artist
bashing his missus n having a fiver on the neddies
and then one day this book fell out of his scone..
no no
i guess he spent a lotta time thinking about this
tapping in
remembering
intuiting
anyway
your humble being starts reading a bit and blow me down
barry long is writing so many things the olde sk been saying too
tired of the 2 stupid choices given to us concerning our origins
eg old testament or new science
long posits a third explanation
which satisfies me spiritually and intellectually
incorporating elements of darwin and religion
yet avoiding the superstition of the latter
and the "soulessness" of science
long does all this in a calm easy to understand way
he states brilliant things and moves on
i was amazed to find so many of my own inchoate thoughts
addressed by long in this book
and cst coach you would be interested in the stuff
about how we were once unselfconscious animals
joined into the intangible net of all things
like all the other creatures still are
thats why you never see a cat miss a jump
and how a seabird can plummet a thousand feet
from the sky and shoot like an arrow through the water
and nail a fish 6 inches long 20 feet down
every bird can do that
they hardly ever miss
a ha
to become self conscious we moved out of that net
we became outside it
yes
well a real evolved man can still tap in
through yoga
meditation
martial arts
long constantly repeats the paradox
of the martial artist able to kill with one small move
who would immediately lose that power should he ever use it
eg
there are superpowers available
but by the time you got em
you dont wanna use em
you have accepted that consciousness
existed before matter
created and descended into matter
and is fulfilling a "purpose" none of us can truly know
just like there is no one man on earth understands
all the workings of a boeing 747
too many systems
too many parts
the designers and mechanics only know compartmentalised bits
so too this earth and universe and creation
we all only know or realise our own bits...
we can only really guess at the whole purpose
anyway
i highly recommend this work
if you, like me
or
if you like me
and you think adam n eve is a great story
but quite frankly it obviously aint how things got started
but you also realise that evolution does not explain
this blooming paradise adequately
its only an aspect of the "truth"
we are not random blobs evolved out of chemical soup
there was consciousness behind this
there always was
and our consciousness will never disappear
just like krishna said...
neither are we original sinners
prejudged by some cranky old tent-god
doomed to eternity in hell or purgatory
cos we didnt believe in some unlikely malarkey
c'mon...
heres a third possibility
3 off on the plane this arvo
off to rehearals and all the rest of it
im not s'posed to let the cat outta the bag
so im staying shtumm
rehearsed yesterday and sounded good
i am performing with 2 different acts
wow! will be exciting
will give ya the inside goss too
as long as its not still secret...
ooh lots of celebs and music biz boozers to bag
sir dennis eton-hogg and the like
big time operators and fast talkin' flunkies
drummers n singers n engine ears
stayed tuned people
over n out
the time killer
Friday, June 27, 2008
faith hope and chariots
i was born the boundover life-blind son of the north wind
i was sequestered amongst the centaurs
where i excelled in archery and playing the lyre
i was so lovely they incased me in pearl enamel
lest any see me and fall in love with my beauty
i strode through the sacred glades erect
i was practiced in the magic arts
and i called the dryads from their trees
you birch
and you ash
and you willow
fleetfooted daughters of wood
spirits of the groves
io io ao io
i sung them from their boles and hollows
i loved them in the noonday shade
when summer ran through the meadows
the spirits and i move under eachs tree
all the birds knew me too
and flew messages for me to distant points i would fain know
then ripples of the breeze would spread through the leaves
a world much younger than this one
oh my heart tells me of its existence
oh i was wrong to think it all meaningless
suddenly we hear music
what is that strange strange melody
a gentle sad cadence
a regular phrase played over but modulating with the dappled light
the woodland creatures prick up their ears
why this then is the real arcadia sings a voice
children rush onto the stage dressed in gossamer
tiny little wings like bees some hover slightly above the ground
little moonflower and autumnleaf and rainywings
look theres daffodil and mossy-ears and honeykiss
starpowder dumpling, and mrs grinsmiths faery...
who has ordered this gathering here in the midday sleepy sun?
i hide myself quickly in the arbours shadows
i climb a tree and i watch from the boughs
i sit cuddling a panther asleep in the leaves
she purrs like a cat and licks me with her rough tongue
sssh i whisper in her jet black ears
let us observe these faery folk below
sure enough out jumped johnny bee
and mrs tompkins chimney gnome
there was buzzer and knot and little pinky the cobweb girl
oh a woofle there she is
a fat little fairy whose tiny wings can hardly carry her aloft
and look isnt that oberon himself
dressed in the liquid green of high faery
attended by swallows and crickets and great green frogs
while cherubim swarm around his head in a cloud
a fanfare of faery brass
out from her bower steps his gracious wife
eternal queen of these stately elms and the quickening sap
mistress of the spring and elf rider
lady of the forest and mischief maker
stargazer fortuneteller lovemaker heartseeker
the panther growls softly
be quiet you feline fool
i tug her whiskers gently
i fondle her huge black cats face
i kiss her dusty fur
and she takes my hand in her mouth
and chews ever so ever so slightly
oh you bad girl i say soundlessly in the tree
below us the weird ones in the dell
in small piping voices they conduct their frolics
under canopies of sheerest spells
the lady and her consort
giggling pixies and a dour gnome
dragonflies darting errands
butterflies singing praise
they drink faery wine from tir na nog , baby
and oh, and believe me, it doth taste but goodly
in the distance lies the castle of good king stephen
not five leagues hence
where all sleep through the noon in enchantment
dark forces gather in the marshes and the fens
the night is a visitor these days
the night gives shelter to the darkness abroad
the magical stars twinkle over pink fairydust encrusted clouds
a unicorn canters on into a moonlit knoll and snorts
the lovers tiptoe across the stage at last reconciled
tomorrow we'll be married and journey to ithaca
we'll tell your father the duke
when we meet him by the fountain of laughing waters
in the land of alakazam
far across the green blue sea
i was sequestered amongst the centaurs
where i excelled in archery and playing the lyre
i was so lovely they incased me in pearl enamel
lest any see me and fall in love with my beauty
i strode through the sacred glades erect
i was practiced in the magic arts
and i called the dryads from their trees
you birch
and you ash
and you willow
fleetfooted daughters of wood
spirits of the groves
io io ao io
i sung them from their boles and hollows
i loved them in the noonday shade
when summer ran through the meadows
the spirits and i move under eachs tree
all the birds knew me too
and flew messages for me to distant points i would fain know
then ripples of the breeze would spread through the leaves
a world much younger than this one
oh my heart tells me of its existence
oh i was wrong to think it all meaningless
suddenly we hear music
what is that strange strange melody
a gentle sad cadence
a regular phrase played over but modulating with the dappled light
the woodland creatures prick up their ears
why this then is the real arcadia sings a voice
children rush onto the stage dressed in gossamer
tiny little wings like bees some hover slightly above the ground
little moonflower and autumnleaf and rainywings
look theres daffodil and mossy-ears and honeykiss
starpowder dumpling, and mrs grinsmiths faery...
who has ordered this gathering here in the midday sleepy sun?
i hide myself quickly in the arbours shadows
i climb a tree and i watch from the boughs
i sit cuddling a panther asleep in the leaves
she purrs like a cat and licks me with her rough tongue
sssh i whisper in her jet black ears
let us observe these faery folk below
sure enough out jumped johnny bee
and mrs tompkins chimney gnome
there was buzzer and knot and little pinky the cobweb girl
oh a woofle there she is
a fat little fairy whose tiny wings can hardly carry her aloft
and look isnt that oberon himself
dressed in the liquid green of high faery
attended by swallows and crickets and great green frogs
while cherubim swarm around his head in a cloud
a fanfare of faery brass
out from her bower steps his gracious wife
eternal queen of these stately elms and the quickening sap
mistress of the spring and elf rider
lady of the forest and mischief maker
stargazer fortuneteller lovemaker heartseeker
the panther growls softly
be quiet you feline fool
i tug her whiskers gently
i fondle her huge black cats face
i kiss her dusty fur
and she takes my hand in her mouth
and chews ever so ever so slightly
oh you bad girl i say soundlessly in the tree
below us the weird ones in the dell
in small piping voices they conduct their frolics
under canopies of sheerest spells
the lady and her consort
giggling pixies and a dour gnome
dragonflies darting errands
butterflies singing praise
they drink faery wine from tir na nog , baby
and oh, and believe me, it doth taste but goodly
in the distance lies the castle of good king stephen
not five leagues hence
where all sleep through the noon in enchantment
dark forces gather in the marshes and the fens
the night is a visitor these days
the night gives shelter to the darkness abroad
the magical stars twinkle over pink fairydust encrusted clouds
a unicorn canters on into a moonlit knoll and snorts
the lovers tiptoe across the stage at last reconciled
tomorrow we'll be married and journey to ithaca
we'll tell your father the duke
when we meet him by the fountain of laughing waters
in the land of alakazam
far across the green blue sea
Thursday, June 26, 2008
autobiodegradable
yawn.....
i was born in a black lake
i had 3 heads and i smoked crushed skull
i flibbered like a gibbett and i howled like a snake
i said a wop bop a be lulu bang bang bong
i said yeah my people
i looked out over creation and i knew it loved me
i strapped on a fendar bass as big as ancient grease
and i played the fuckin' jerky turkey
i shimmied like a silver moondawg with fiery fangs
i talked to lucifer over my back fence as i hung out my washing lady
i did a residency at the vanilla inferno opening for the coroners
i was a vulture volted vampire with gnostic nuts and bolts
my records were played in the earth
i walked into a 224 track studio abbey-ladyland rd
new london somewhere out there still
i said give me some friggin' reverb
i said let the dealers and ladies approacheth
i said slap down this riff if ya know whats good for ya
i said detune my mandolins doubles
i said append that 3 bars of bassoon
i said bring up that kick so it makes me sick
i said make it thud dud gimme primal mud
i whipped out my trusty axe and i cut some tracks
i chopped up guitars with nick hard
i wheeled around and slammed down mute palm ostinato
you are the master they whisped in awe
as i sang like a night in gale
i sang like god would sing if he had buckleys voice
i sang half beast like a whale in the deeps like a worm
i listen hard and i loiked what i heard
i pulled out a rare vintage keyboard worth millions
robert fripp gave it to me when i suggested the name king maroon
no jimmy bowie gave it to me in texas as a going away present
actually it was a prototype stu sutcliffe had played on doctor who
i tell a lie
brian jones lent it to me when i babysat his ocelots
whatever
rest assured my keyboard was the vintagest rarest grooviest
talk about analog
i programmed it via an octal map it responded to snobol
i impinged a personality printout on its memory cards
while manipulating its intake nipples via midi ha ha
i double tracked each flurry of eastern female voices
assigning semi quavers their own reverse delays
these i fed into my onion box which serrated every 16 th bar
are you following me, knucklehead?
i then channeled the reverberating spill into a guitar mike
i sent mike out into the room
i played peters strat with a hair dryer and the songs ends split
i choo chooed the flim flam jettisoning the flotsam
i kept the jetsam for a b side knowing it would come in handy
i milked the descending hammond all shrouded in soft phase
i regulated the pulse of the caramel cello to 65 bpm
it was splanging with the timps but fuck it..nobodies perfect
i linked up 3 different mastercharges with coaxial cables
i got the harp to sound submarine
i tinkered with its tinkles until they were verily submerged
at the same time as i was doing all this
i also ran a marketstall and worked in a govt office job, smartarse
but you know what?
your wife* still fancies me more than you
and my worst song is a million years ahead of your best
so subscribe me 50 bucks for your lame insults
subscribe me fifty more
then get down on your knees in awe of my genie ,us
anyway
i humbled a steinaway with my twinklin' digits
i rhapsodised its innards with my wire vibratin' antics
i invented rock n roll right there
i invented jazz and i rewrote eine grosse nacht ficken musik
i dreampt up the blues and country n eastern n northern lights too
i turned elvis onto peanut butter n banana sandwich islands
i introduced mick n keef in a gents toilet in burnt oak
i jammed with old strauss before he went partners with levi
i noodled with old bach who said
ach time being i cannot keep up wiz you!!
i am the king of music
i am the saviour of life on this planet
i created all art and everything
i know everyone youve ever heard of
in fact i was leonardo da capri-vincis mentor
jesus christs dad did my extensions
when i lived in 5 shekel ave bethlehem lakes
adam n eve used to come over my place after naming the animals
cmon
i paid my dues
im authentic...got it?
i go all the way back and then some
thats for sure...now are you sure
anyway
now you seen my credentials (mr humphries)
let me finish my tale (oooohhh!)
my masterpiece was completed
with this one 2 minute 45 pop song
i had invented simply EVERYTHING GOOD
what will you call it sire
said george martin as he and the other engineeers grovelled
amongst the ruined equipment and smoking instruments
the name came to me in a flash
a bolt of pure inspyration from beyond
MAYBE THESE BUSDRIVERS
*if you got one
i was born in a black lake
i had 3 heads and i smoked crushed skull
i flibbered like a gibbett and i howled like a snake
i said a wop bop a be lulu bang bang bong
i said yeah my people
i looked out over creation and i knew it loved me
i strapped on a fendar bass as big as ancient grease
and i played the fuckin' jerky turkey
i shimmied like a silver moondawg with fiery fangs
i talked to lucifer over my back fence as i hung out my washing lady
i did a residency at the vanilla inferno opening for the coroners
i was a vulture volted vampire with gnostic nuts and bolts
my records were played in the earth
i walked into a 224 track studio abbey-ladyland rd
new london somewhere out there still
i said give me some friggin' reverb
i said let the dealers and ladies approacheth
i said slap down this riff if ya know whats good for ya
i said detune my mandolins doubles
i said append that 3 bars of bassoon
i said bring up that kick so it makes me sick
i said make it thud dud gimme primal mud
i whipped out my trusty axe and i cut some tracks
i chopped up guitars with nick hard
i wheeled around and slammed down mute palm ostinato
you are the master they whisped in awe
as i sang like a night in gale
i sang like god would sing if he had buckleys voice
i sang half beast like a whale in the deeps like a worm
i listen hard and i loiked what i heard
i pulled out a rare vintage keyboard worth millions
robert fripp gave it to me when i suggested the name king maroon
no jimmy bowie gave it to me in texas as a going away present
actually it was a prototype stu sutcliffe had played on doctor who
i tell a lie
brian jones lent it to me when i babysat his ocelots
whatever
rest assured my keyboard was the vintagest rarest grooviest
talk about analog
i programmed it via an octal map it responded to snobol
i impinged a personality printout on its memory cards
while manipulating its intake nipples via midi ha ha
i double tracked each flurry of eastern female voices
assigning semi quavers their own reverse delays
these i fed into my onion box which serrated every 16 th bar
are you following me, knucklehead?
i then channeled the reverberating spill into a guitar mike
i sent mike out into the room
i played peters strat with a hair dryer and the songs ends split
i choo chooed the flim flam jettisoning the flotsam
i kept the jetsam for a b side knowing it would come in handy
i milked the descending hammond all shrouded in soft phase
i regulated the pulse of the caramel cello to 65 bpm
it was splanging with the timps but fuck it..nobodies perfect
i linked up 3 different mastercharges with coaxial cables
i got the harp to sound submarine
i tinkered with its tinkles until they were verily submerged
at the same time as i was doing all this
i also ran a marketstall and worked in a govt office job, smartarse
but you know what?
your wife* still fancies me more than you
and my worst song is a million years ahead of your best
so subscribe me 50 bucks for your lame insults
subscribe me fifty more
then get down on your knees in awe of my genie ,us
anyway
i humbled a steinaway with my twinklin' digits
i rhapsodised its innards with my wire vibratin' antics
i invented rock n roll right there
i invented jazz and i rewrote eine grosse nacht ficken musik
i dreampt up the blues and country n eastern n northern lights too
i turned elvis onto peanut butter n banana sandwich islands
i introduced mick n keef in a gents toilet in burnt oak
i jammed with old strauss before he went partners with levi
i noodled with old bach who said
ach time being i cannot keep up wiz you!!
i am the king of music
i am the saviour of life on this planet
i created all art and everything
i know everyone youve ever heard of
in fact i was leonardo da capri-vincis mentor
jesus christs dad did my extensions
when i lived in 5 shekel ave bethlehem lakes
adam n eve used to come over my place after naming the animals
cmon
i paid my dues
im authentic...got it?
i go all the way back and then some
thats for sure...now are you sure
anyway
now you seen my credentials (mr humphries)
let me finish my tale (oooohhh!)
my masterpiece was completed
with this one 2 minute 45 pop song
i had invented simply EVERYTHING GOOD
what will you call it sire
said george martin as he and the other engineeers grovelled
amongst the ruined equipment and smoking instruments
the name came to me in a flash
a bolt of pure inspyration from beyond
MAYBE THESE BUSDRIVERS
*if you got one
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
bio autography
i was born a snake hipped love god on the 44th of june
i had 2 mothers
one was the glorious universe
the other was gina medici a cockney courtesan
my first act was to liberate the slaves and make things right
my second act was to pick up a fender stratocaster
and plug it into a 13 thousand watt marshall stack
where i blasted out a riff that was a cross between rebel rebel
and layla and jumpin jack honky tonk daytripper alright now
eschewing breastmilk
i drank asses milk
it was hard to find in well -in garden city, my man
i jumped in a fucking ford transit van n i hit wembley hard
an overnightmare sensation
i was lean i was cool i was slim baby
slim slim slim!
yeah girls...tell someone who cares
some cats were smoking ice.....man i put it in my drink
i hit the stage like a falling piano....BANG
david duchow had rorschached my whole life
and it was modulating on a thousand screens
i interwove with venus fly traps in filmtime
all my hardnesses on a floppy disk
dont sass me son im the bona fide son of jesus jehovahsson
i got moontalk and the doublesnake skulls
the devil is my uncle he taught me how to flame
he lived in berne
he loved and he learned baby
this here is my true fuckin' story
and so say all of us
if any man can deny it
you'll find me outside your undertakers with a colt 45
you'll find me inside the overtakers with a beatles 45
you'll see me like white lightning as i steal your thunder, mr no wonder
lets face it yer wives dig me much more than you
they erected my shrine in your sheds
the ladies scream slim slim slim!
please ladies im trying to write something here
i was born on a black friday with a mellotron on my knee
i was quoting jean paul sartre and friends with law trek
i dabbled in immortality but found it lifeless
i dated lindy lou rimbaud
the topless star of disneys snow black
i smoked oofle dust with tom apollo-nair
i hung out with the bleedin' cognoscenti
i did experiments on a studer eight track
that revolutionised the revolution
i recorded brian harrison just before he dived in the pool
i kissed sharon stones statuette in the hall of eternal tears
i was there when groucho invented the neutron shake
i invited lennon n presley n dillon to dinner
and then i found i had something better to do
i shunted a double fronted gibson terroriser
plugged into a triple fourway backwards mounted f hole
i had chrome nuts and a springcoiled whammy bar
i had a love me cushion and stack heeled monti boots
i wore fuckin' james bond soldier holsters with velvet paisley trim
i drove a suped up hawk-eagle with talonated carbies
it could do 100 over 13 and it ran on vortex zinc boosted spirits
i drove it to rome and budapest and siberia and the east pole
i picked up sophia loren who hitched a ride to banbury cross
we crashed at ezra pounds and she got her tits out
i exploded in the charts with my number one
but robbie williams only managed a number two.....oooohhh
aqua were bubbling under but the pistols had the bullet
nick kent gave me a 5 star review in la gala phonetica
the hippest magazine in croydon
sour-creem magazine voted me uno in all categories
i received a doctorate in esoterica from yale
i was made an honourary fellow at camden town
i met the queen on kings road n smoked a prince
i went to knightsbridge, illinois and i saw the big cilantro
i did a show in mexico
the senoritas called go slim go
i did a show in a show on the ivory coast
the watusi daughters yelled
slim youre the most
some prick in washington, b.c. hired me to spy on the moon
i appeared in that tv show when they first landed on mars
i wrote some of the backing music with pablo picasso on crete
i gotta job up in new hampshire photographing the smell of pines
i earned a million a day plus overtime
i flew down to jamaica for a holiday with bowie and bianca neuman
i rented the villa du luxurie and i drank noet et brandon
i released a record in the stratosphere
slim:hymn
in melody shmaker steve sutherland wrote:
"although i am a dwarfy little gimp with not a scrap of talents
secretly in love with the roadie from the sticky carpets
and frantically jealous of blokes like slim
i must admit reluctantly
that the first note of slim:hymn (and what a title!)
blows all other rock n stone out of the quarry
slims got it all
the canberran legacy of hypersurrealism
the ergonomic chutzpah to boogaloo the shibboleth
i say slim:hymn is the best thing ever ever ever!!!!"
well
that capped off an amazing month for me i must say
the pull its a prize
the noble price
the booka danno prize
q magazine and p magazine too
slim slim slim
ah
what a life it was
i had 2 mothers
one was the glorious universe
the other was gina medici a cockney courtesan
my first act was to liberate the slaves and make things right
my second act was to pick up a fender stratocaster
and plug it into a 13 thousand watt marshall stack
where i blasted out a riff that was a cross between rebel rebel
and layla and jumpin jack honky tonk daytripper alright now
eschewing breastmilk
i drank asses milk
it was hard to find in well -in garden city, my man
i jumped in a fucking ford transit van n i hit wembley hard
an overnightmare sensation
i was lean i was cool i was slim baby
slim slim slim!
yeah girls...tell someone who cares
some cats were smoking ice.....man i put it in my drink
i hit the stage like a falling piano....BANG
david duchow had rorschached my whole life
and it was modulating on a thousand screens
i interwove with venus fly traps in filmtime
all my hardnesses on a floppy disk
dont sass me son im the bona fide son of jesus jehovahsson
i got moontalk and the doublesnake skulls
the devil is my uncle he taught me how to flame
he lived in berne
he loved and he learned baby
this here is my true fuckin' story
and so say all of us
if any man can deny it
you'll find me outside your undertakers with a colt 45
you'll find me inside the overtakers with a beatles 45
you'll see me like white lightning as i steal your thunder, mr no wonder
lets face it yer wives dig me much more than you
they erected my shrine in your sheds
the ladies scream slim slim slim!
please ladies im trying to write something here
i was born on a black friday with a mellotron on my knee
i was quoting jean paul sartre and friends with law trek
i dabbled in immortality but found it lifeless
i dated lindy lou rimbaud
the topless star of disneys snow black
i smoked oofle dust with tom apollo-nair
i hung out with the bleedin' cognoscenti
i did experiments on a studer eight track
that revolutionised the revolution
i recorded brian harrison just before he dived in the pool
i kissed sharon stones statuette in the hall of eternal tears
i was there when groucho invented the neutron shake
i invited lennon n presley n dillon to dinner
and then i found i had something better to do
i shunted a double fronted gibson terroriser
plugged into a triple fourway backwards mounted f hole
i had chrome nuts and a springcoiled whammy bar
i had a love me cushion and stack heeled monti boots
i wore fuckin' james bond soldier holsters with velvet paisley trim
i drove a suped up hawk-eagle with talonated carbies
it could do 100 over 13 and it ran on vortex zinc boosted spirits
i drove it to rome and budapest and siberia and the east pole
i picked up sophia loren who hitched a ride to banbury cross
we crashed at ezra pounds and she got her tits out
i exploded in the charts with my number one
but robbie williams only managed a number two.....oooohhh
aqua were bubbling under but the pistols had the bullet
nick kent gave me a 5 star review in la gala phonetica
the hippest magazine in croydon
sour-creem magazine voted me uno in all categories
i received a doctorate in esoterica from yale
i was made an honourary fellow at camden town
i met the queen on kings road n smoked a prince
i went to knightsbridge, illinois and i saw the big cilantro
i did a show in mexico
the senoritas called go slim go
i did a show in a show on the ivory coast
the watusi daughters yelled
slim youre the most
some prick in washington, b.c. hired me to spy on the moon
i appeared in that tv show when they first landed on mars
i wrote some of the backing music with pablo picasso on crete
i gotta job up in new hampshire photographing the smell of pines
i earned a million a day plus overtime
i flew down to jamaica for a holiday with bowie and bianca neuman
i rented the villa du luxurie and i drank noet et brandon
i released a record in the stratosphere
slim:hymn
in melody shmaker steve sutherland wrote:
"although i am a dwarfy little gimp with not a scrap of talents
secretly in love with the roadie from the sticky carpets
and frantically jealous of blokes like slim
i must admit reluctantly
that the first note of slim:hymn (and what a title!)
blows all other rock n stone out of the quarry
slims got it all
the canberran legacy of hypersurrealism
the ergonomic chutzpah to boogaloo the shibboleth
i say slim:hymn is the best thing ever ever ever!!!!"
well
that capped off an amazing month for me i must say
the pull its a prize
the noble price
the booka danno prize
q magazine and p magazine too
slim slim slim
ah
what a life it was
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
heartseeker
i piece together a story bit by bit
everything is inside
everything is already within
i looked everywhere
out in the tuscan dusk
swooning under moons of musk
amongst a coral shoal
darting with the bream and sole
deep in a woodland grove
i burned a fatted calf to jove
outside the walls of troy
slaughtered with the hoi polloi
i am the wanderer
wander wander wander
wish i knew what i was lookin' for...
i had some gold and i lost some gold
i had some powers and i lost some powers
i killed and i saved
i drowned in women
i was thrown into the sky by volcanic ambition
i was persecuted and i hid amongst the unclean
i hurled myself into dangerous mysteries too late to see the price
i am eternal
i go on and on and on
i never win but i never completely lose
i have commandeered this body to sing my song
i sing my song to the glory of the hand that shaped me
be it i was dreamed up along with everything else you see
i came dancing out of vishnus beautiful blue head
a speck of dust in a field in the background of his dream
oh i wanted life though
oh i wanted to experience....everything
oh i wanted to touch and taste
explore and kill
yes kill
a killer i became
and i loved to kill
and i killed for the love of it
not for love itself
can you see me now all covered in gore
why did we kill
why did we kill
i woke up in a fever once
i screamed out
why did we kill all those men
why did we cause all those women to be widows
what good has it ever done
i sat up in my tent
the men were all asleep or under some spell
i called out for sword
i called out for my gun
i called out for my dagger and my axe
i called out across the fields of some persian babylon
or was it germany where we killed under blue skies
i called out my orders into the void
steady lads
easy now boys
we can fuckin' do em
we can fuckin' sort this lot out my lovely boys
we'll fuckin' send em home sore, eh lads
hold that flank there tighter boys c'mon keep it up
sergeant whats that fuckin' man doing there...?
steady boys....archers....wait for it
get those fuckin' thracians back in line, timo
or i'll cut off your fuckin' balls...!!
alright boys ..see you all in bloody 'ades
NOW! NOW!! NOW!!!
the void was silent
the silence inflamed me
the bastards kept on coming
we speared em
we shot em
we split their bleeding ugly heads open
suddenly they were all over us
i bellowed in rage
and with my javelin i hooked a man by his eye
and flung him into the mud
and his shade shrieked like a girl as it went underground
to the cold and lonely places
some bastard was 'acking at my arms i couldnt feel a thing
i reached out and with my bare hands crushed his face
and i was delighted in my work
a strangeness came into my eyes
the battle had slowed down to me
it seemed ages as i watched an arrow leave its string
arcing over the screaming soldiers
plunging deep into soft warm flesh
in the space that the slow time gave me
i pirouetted and swayed
and i cut at my leisure
i stepped in before they even knew i was there
as i moved in my own time and no one elses
and i was a true artist then
lovely deep thrusts
aesthetic feints that described wondrous geometries
and little small subtle movements with my embedded knife
tickling their hearts with my mournful blade
and then one day
youre moving through the carnage
slow and cool like a panther
hey youre an old hand at this
you can afford to be careless
you take your pick of the fighting
you dispatch heroes and cowards with a sneer
then you see him
and hes moving towards you really slowly
slowly in some trance he approacheth you
a slender dark man
a man younger than you
whirling his sword
aiming his gun
kicking his feet
throwing his stars
flashing his eyes
crooning his song
and you know he is the one...
no no no
suddenly
everything shudders back into the realtime
for you and everybody else maybe
but not for him
dancing moving avoiding delivering
and fear takes away your breath
steals the very air from your mouth
and no no
you just want to go home
theres been a mistake
doesnt anybody understand
theres been a terrible mistake
im steve kilbey
cant anybody hear me
but the warrior is as close as this
he strikes at you
you dismally parry
and the shock of the clash shoots up your arm
and punch punch punch
his fist mangles your face
oh you have no will to go on now
he moves in super slowness
his blade in single framed seconds
silver and red against blue
and then in
in in in and in
and then
last thing
you see his smile
a sad weary smile
a cough
and he lets you fall into the dirt
everything is inside
everything is already within
i looked everywhere
out in the tuscan dusk
swooning under moons of musk
amongst a coral shoal
darting with the bream and sole
deep in a woodland grove
i burned a fatted calf to jove
outside the walls of troy
slaughtered with the hoi polloi
i am the wanderer
wander wander wander
wish i knew what i was lookin' for...
i had some gold and i lost some gold
i had some powers and i lost some powers
i killed and i saved
i drowned in women
i was thrown into the sky by volcanic ambition
i was persecuted and i hid amongst the unclean
i hurled myself into dangerous mysteries too late to see the price
i am eternal
i go on and on and on
i never win but i never completely lose
i have commandeered this body to sing my song
i sing my song to the glory of the hand that shaped me
be it i was dreamed up along with everything else you see
i came dancing out of vishnus beautiful blue head
a speck of dust in a field in the background of his dream
oh i wanted life though
oh i wanted to experience....everything
oh i wanted to touch and taste
explore and kill
yes kill
a killer i became
and i loved to kill
and i killed for the love of it
not for love itself
can you see me now all covered in gore
why did we kill
why did we kill
i woke up in a fever once
i screamed out
why did we kill all those men
why did we cause all those women to be widows
what good has it ever done
i sat up in my tent
the men were all asleep or under some spell
i called out for sword
i called out for my gun
i called out for my dagger and my axe
i called out across the fields of some persian babylon
or was it germany where we killed under blue skies
i called out my orders into the void
steady lads
easy now boys
we can fuckin' do em
we can fuckin' sort this lot out my lovely boys
we'll fuckin' send em home sore, eh lads
hold that flank there tighter boys c'mon keep it up
sergeant whats that fuckin' man doing there...?
steady boys....archers....wait for it
get those fuckin' thracians back in line, timo
or i'll cut off your fuckin' balls...!!
alright boys ..see you all in bloody 'ades
NOW! NOW!! NOW!!!
the void was silent
the silence inflamed me
the bastards kept on coming
we speared em
we shot em
we split their bleeding ugly heads open
suddenly they were all over us
i bellowed in rage
and with my javelin i hooked a man by his eye
and flung him into the mud
and his shade shrieked like a girl as it went underground
to the cold and lonely places
some bastard was 'acking at my arms i couldnt feel a thing
i reached out and with my bare hands crushed his face
and i was delighted in my work
a strangeness came into my eyes
the battle had slowed down to me
it seemed ages as i watched an arrow leave its string
arcing over the screaming soldiers
plunging deep into soft warm flesh
in the space that the slow time gave me
i pirouetted and swayed
and i cut at my leisure
i stepped in before they even knew i was there
as i moved in my own time and no one elses
and i was a true artist then
lovely deep thrusts
aesthetic feints that described wondrous geometries
and little small subtle movements with my embedded knife
tickling their hearts with my mournful blade
and then one day
youre moving through the carnage
slow and cool like a panther
hey youre an old hand at this
you can afford to be careless
you take your pick of the fighting
you dispatch heroes and cowards with a sneer
then you see him
and hes moving towards you really slowly
slowly in some trance he approacheth you
a slender dark man
a man younger than you
whirling his sword
aiming his gun
kicking his feet
throwing his stars
flashing his eyes
crooning his song
and you know he is the one...
no no no
suddenly
everything shudders back into the realtime
for you and everybody else maybe
but not for him
dancing moving avoiding delivering
and fear takes away your breath
steals the very air from your mouth
and no no
you just want to go home
theres been a mistake
doesnt anybody understand
theres been a terrible mistake
im steve kilbey
cant anybody hear me
but the warrior is as close as this
he strikes at you
you dismally parry
and the shock of the clash shoots up your arm
and punch punch punch
his fist mangles your face
oh you have no will to go on now
he moves in super slowness
his blade in single framed seconds
silver and red against blue
and then in
in in in and in
and then
last thing
you see his smile
a sad weary smile
a cough
and he lets you fall into the dirt
Monday, June 23, 2008
mimeographic day
the third and final time i saw you
under beech trees and clotted clouds
you defied gravity just by standing there
with nature as your green mirror
with living stone you walk and talk
touching the naked hills with your loving tongue
seducing the very valleys as they rolled away
supplicating to be made whole again
i ran towards you faster and faster but getting nowhere
i can see you becoming farther and further away
i can see how the land is joined to the sky now
i can see the invisible mending that will sew what?
stitch stitch stitch
the moss goes on the boughs
the stones go on the ground
the birds go on the sky
the sky should be blue
the blue should be bright
the bright should be....oh i dont know baby
the rabbits should chase the fox
the lambs and the lions....i'm all mixed up
the meadow is speaking in flowersong
the path that i followed which ended at your door
now i'm not so sure
the bats which sleep in the woods
the witch in her cottage preparing a brew
the children are frightened out here on there own
no father dont send us out into the great forest alone
no father dont you see
that woman wants us gone.....
i follow my path over dingly dell
through rooted knotted places like elfish bowers
and i cut my little name on all the great trees
rumpelstiltskin
sometimes i carve puck
sometimes i burn the word ariel into the bark
sometimes i flash through the brook like a lure
and i hook eels and minnows for my supper
sometimes i hide in your ear whispering
sometimes i appear as fireflies leading you astray
sometimes i am seen as a great grey wolf
on the feast of stephen i am a dark shape in the snow
i stand outside candlelit windows
whimpering below the winds own voice
god rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
then i carry off the lovely ladies to my lonely den
where they discover i am a reasonable beast after all
yet i am myself devoured by the darkness of their piety...
when spring returns to bohemian lands i am a lark
in summer i am seen as adam naked and unadorned
and i wander this garden alone
then as the autumn fills mens hearts with gloom
i open a door in a hollow tree and i escape to lyonesse
or italy
or i stay and lie low until next may
under the fixed green star of venus
under the wandering leaves
until the green shoots burst gently from their beds
until my love awakes in the soft light of love
until a new day dawns with an avian fanfare
where we tumble alive from darkest dreams
and some brave knight arrives with joyous christian tidings
and the monsters are hounded out of our lands
the dragon defeated and his lair destroyed
oh my lovely love dressed all in cambric
oh my lady love a'walking through a new morning
blue birds singing and daffodils shyly peeping
let the colours be unfurled
let yellow equal gold
let white equal deepest silver
let her eyes burn like a blue sun
let all creatures be in praise of god
let his joyful creation be unveiled in all its splendour
let eden be reopened at last
we will sing a glad song again
io io ao io
pan will appear
grapes and wine
ah! merriment and laughter
goodbye sadness
loss grief pain
now all banished
now all vanished
forever and ever
amen
under beech trees and clotted clouds
you defied gravity just by standing there
with nature as your green mirror
with living stone you walk and talk
touching the naked hills with your loving tongue
seducing the very valleys as they rolled away
supplicating to be made whole again
i ran towards you faster and faster but getting nowhere
i can see you becoming farther and further away
i can see how the land is joined to the sky now
i can see the invisible mending that will sew what?
stitch stitch stitch
the moss goes on the boughs
the stones go on the ground
the birds go on the sky
the sky should be blue
the blue should be bright
the bright should be....oh i dont know baby
the rabbits should chase the fox
the lambs and the lions....i'm all mixed up
the meadow is speaking in flowersong
the path that i followed which ended at your door
now i'm not so sure
the bats which sleep in the woods
the witch in her cottage preparing a brew
the children are frightened out here on there own
no father dont send us out into the great forest alone
no father dont you see
that woman wants us gone.....
i follow my path over dingly dell
through rooted knotted places like elfish bowers
and i cut my little name on all the great trees
rumpelstiltskin
sometimes i carve puck
sometimes i burn the word ariel into the bark
sometimes i flash through the brook like a lure
and i hook eels and minnows for my supper
sometimes i hide in your ear whispering
sometimes i appear as fireflies leading you astray
sometimes i am seen as a great grey wolf
on the feast of stephen i am a dark shape in the snow
i stand outside candlelit windows
whimpering below the winds own voice
god rest ye merry gentlemen let nothing you dismay
then i carry off the lovely ladies to my lonely den
where they discover i am a reasonable beast after all
yet i am myself devoured by the darkness of their piety...
when spring returns to bohemian lands i am a lark
in summer i am seen as adam naked and unadorned
and i wander this garden alone
then as the autumn fills mens hearts with gloom
i open a door in a hollow tree and i escape to lyonesse
or italy
or i stay and lie low until next may
under the fixed green star of venus
under the wandering leaves
until the green shoots burst gently from their beds
until my love awakes in the soft light of love
until a new day dawns with an avian fanfare
where we tumble alive from darkest dreams
and some brave knight arrives with joyous christian tidings
and the monsters are hounded out of our lands
the dragon defeated and his lair destroyed
oh my lovely love dressed all in cambric
oh my lady love a'walking through a new morning
blue birds singing and daffodils shyly peeping
let the colours be unfurled
let yellow equal gold
let white equal deepest silver
let her eyes burn like a blue sun
let all creatures be in praise of god
let his joyful creation be unveiled in all its splendour
let eden be reopened at last
we will sing a glad song again
io io ao io
pan will appear
grapes and wine
ah! merriment and laughter
goodbye sadness
loss grief pain
now all banished
now all vanished
forever and ever
amen
Sunday, June 22, 2008
beggars hash
the second time i saw you
by the lake of sacred memories
as you moved above the flowers
insinuated into the afternoon like a series of allusions
we crossed small bridges in to islands of cranes
i skimmed words across the top of your waters
and monsters lazily surfaced to snatch them away
a child comes forward saying where did the morning go
a graceful swanlike girl
i turned and said who is that child baby
who is that child as she wandered away
as she disappeared amongst the swaying rushes and basalt tables
as she flew across the sunset leaving tiny ripples
as she moved into satori like a mirror
that child was killed in your war you said
that child was never mentioned again
that child was yours before you lived
that child has been waiting for you to come
no dont follow her you called after me
but i stood up suddenly and ran off after her
where are you
i decided i would sing
where are you i singed the night with this question
my lonely hidden birdling was nowhere to be sure
i was lost in my darkness
there you are you said
you stood there sadly
you stood there faintly radiant
you stood there so distantly near
still in afternoon you were
gently pulling me back into your light
back into my time and light you crooned
we sat looking out at the other islands in the lake
i told you not to follow you said softly
you shook your head so slowly
dont you ever learn( you were singing now)
is everything a song to you i said in plane words
is everything a song
and then
who will sing that child back
oh sit down and dont be silly you said but you were still singing
i dont like it when people sing the way you sing i said
i wasnt singing then but my sentences were picking up melody and rhythm
i dont want to sing i said but i was now beginning to sing
everyone sings here you said never losing your song
i dont want to always be singing i sang like caruso
my voice was carrying for miles in that silence
the rushes rustled and the cranes craned their necks
sunset was staining the crimson lake
strange currents eddied and flowed
im no bloody singer i sang out in an angels voice
my harmonized husky breathy voice reaching up to some heaven
the buddha of that heaven leaned from his cloud saying
oh wont you ever learn to be quiet
everyone has heard your song already
i turned to you then thinking do you agree
is my song not only unwilling but unwanted i stuttered
i appealed to the trees that bark
let me see the rushes
let me hear the mountains deafness
let me endure a hundred lives
let me walk inside the storm
let me wallow in followers
and in my tower of hours in a city of just days
we will recall the war
we will cancel all deaths
we will bring back the slain
we will sing em to life
we will sing such a song...
you interrupted then
with a little smile you shook your head
a little smile so sad and faint
no it said
your smile said no even as you were still
and the rushes rustled no even as they were still
and the cranes called no as they were still in the sky
no no no no no no no no no
everything seemed to be no
until i learned to love no
i loved no more than yes
i loved no more
no love
in love with my own no
maybe it was no all the time
i tried it out
no no no no no no no no no
you interrupted me again
thats not it either you sang in a voice of steal
so i sat songless for a while
thats better they all agreed
thank you yelled the buddha of some heaven
at last said the rushes
good called the cranes disappearing on a horizon
now you said
i must be going
goodbye
i thought i heard you sing from longaway
goodbye drifting on the evening air
goodbye lingering in warm currents
goodbye wafting into foreign windows
goodbye sounding in empty rooms
goodbye goodbye
goodbye
by the lake of sacred memories
as you moved above the flowers
insinuated into the afternoon like a series of allusions
we crossed small bridges in to islands of cranes
i skimmed words across the top of your waters
and monsters lazily surfaced to snatch them away
a child comes forward saying where did the morning go
a graceful swanlike girl
i turned and said who is that child baby
who is that child as she wandered away
as she disappeared amongst the swaying rushes and basalt tables
as she flew across the sunset leaving tiny ripples
as she moved into satori like a mirror
that child was killed in your war you said
that child was never mentioned again
that child was yours before you lived
that child has been waiting for you to come
no dont follow her you called after me
but i stood up suddenly and ran off after her
where are you
i decided i would sing
where are you i singed the night with this question
my lonely hidden birdling was nowhere to be sure
i was lost in my darkness
there you are you said
you stood there sadly
you stood there faintly radiant
you stood there so distantly near
still in afternoon you were
gently pulling me back into your light
back into my time and light you crooned
we sat looking out at the other islands in the lake
i told you not to follow you said softly
you shook your head so slowly
dont you ever learn( you were singing now)
is everything a song to you i said in plane words
is everything a song
and then
who will sing that child back
oh sit down and dont be silly you said but you were still singing
i dont like it when people sing the way you sing i said
i wasnt singing then but my sentences were picking up melody and rhythm
i dont want to sing i said but i was now beginning to sing
everyone sings here you said never losing your song
i dont want to always be singing i sang like caruso
my voice was carrying for miles in that silence
the rushes rustled and the cranes craned their necks
sunset was staining the crimson lake
strange currents eddied and flowed
im no bloody singer i sang out in an angels voice
my harmonized husky breathy voice reaching up to some heaven
the buddha of that heaven leaned from his cloud saying
oh wont you ever learn to be quiet
everyone has heard your song already
i turned to you then thinking do you agree
is my song not only unwilling but unwanted i stuttered
i appealed to the trees that bark
let me see the rushes
let me hear the mountains deafness
let me endure a hundred lives
let me walk inside the storm
let me wallow in followers
and in my tower of hours in a city of just days
we will recall the war
we will cancel all deaths
we will bring back the slain
we will sing em to life
we will sing such a song...
you interrupted then
with a little smile you shook your head
a little smile so sad and faint
no it said
your smile said no even as you were still
and the rushes rustled no even as they were still
and the cranes called no as they were still in the sky
no no no no no no no no no
everything seemed to be no
until i learned to love no
i loved no more than yes
i loved no more
no love
in love with my own no
maybe it was no all the time
i tried it out
no no no no no no no no no
you interrupted me again
thats not it either you sang in a voice of steal
so i sat songless for a while
thats better they all agreed
thank you yelled the buddha of some heaven
at last said the rushes
good called the cranes disappearing on a horizon
now you said
i must be going
goodbye
i thought i heard you sing from longaway
goodbye drifting on the evening air
goodbye lingering in warm currents
goodbye wafting into foreign windows
goodbye sounding in empty rooms
goodbye goodbye
goodbye
Saturday, June 21, 2008
inter sceptre
the first time i saw you
standing under the rhomboid sun
rosewood and petal moss
little dapples of faded light
your machinery played on and on
and the music travelled in a straight line
picking up velocity and ferocity
notes you had released from the spellish air
as i touched you milesaway
as my fingers burrowed under the veneer
as i approached you in rapid suggestion
dont look at my music so closely you indicated
dont handle my appearance with your eyes
i am not for looking at
undismayed i undid what i had done
how my hands lingered on your softest symphony
how i unfastened the tiny chords binding
how i sang my own song deeper into your neck
all the time
flowers blooming in the misty rain
the vegetation is moist and ready
the streaming of constant flood
the entered entrance
an underground sea
a succession of notes ascenting
a blizzard of icy trumpet blasts
percolating percussion
oh your song streaks towards end of dawn
oh your song maintains its orbit around the sun
oh your song makes me want to fuck the day
oh your song has me hard and so fast
oh your song.....who wrote those words for you
who sat down and went through it over and over
who made you have slightly return
who banged out them lines baby
who gauged your gun and shot off a message
who dallied around the exit waiting for you to come
who showed you how that note was sung
oh your song is a song of surprise
who forced you to fade it out
oh you sing a lot of song for me you said
oh you sing a lot of fucking song baby child creature
do you worship the moon in its pink aureole
do you meddle with your settings ever
do you reassign love thus so easy
oh you sing a lot of nature
oh you sing a lot of creation
oh you sang this world into being
yes you sang
i sing my song forever
for all possible lovers
for the seekers
and for the dead
why do i sing for the dead you sang
can they still hear you sang in answer
listen listen listen a chorus of hushed voices
listen the dead listen she sang
the sweetest voice among them appeared
the dead dont listen yet they cant help but hear
he or she sang in a voice of glass and thorn and silver
the dead were hearing the song and some were answering
some were too sleepy and could not be bothered
some became the effulgence around the bursting moon
some became a ripple of semi quavers breathed on a flute
some became the thud of a drum
some spoke within quickening harp like sighs
oh you sing a lot of dead songs you dead they sang to each other
oh baby lets hasten away from here the dead all sang
and they smiled at you and you answer them in your song
oh baby dont make me die all over again
and this made the dead cry
and they answered you back in their own way
in their own song
and a mans voice burst through their mix
a mans voice singinging like honey
a mans voice sang from long ago
a mans voice so beautiful keening in the darkness
oh his wordless song
oh he sings a lot of song of life and death and life
oh he sings wordlessly of his own death
oh he sings so distantly
oh he sings an elegy for life
oh who wrote those wordless songs
oh who lets him burst in upon the other voices
sshh now listen you sang in my ear
sshh now the dead will listen to him too you whispered like a song
and what of the living i sang back
i sang back to all of them
and what of the living
short time living
long time dead
they sang back sadly
they sang as if in answer to my song
why did you sing that song you sang in whispers
the dead watched me sadly from their differences
the homeless dead finally finding a home
the rich dead
the poor dead
the singing dead
the sleeping dead
the dawn was finishing
and you sang now i must be leaving
and you sang that you were starving
and you sang that you were living
and you sang that you were singing
then the voices one by one they all faded
faded down and away away away
i only heard my own inside my ear
buzzing like a trapped thing
whispering singing questioning
sing another song it tried to say
sing another song? i said
sing another song to day
standing under the rhomboid sun
rosewood and petal moss
little dapples of faded light
your machinery played on and on
and the music travelled in a straight line
picking up velocity and ferocity
notes you had released from the spellish air
as i touched you milesaway
as my fingers burrowed under the veneer
as i approached you in rapid suggestion
dont look at my music so closely you indicated
dont handle my appearance with your eyes
i am not for looking at
undismayed i undid what i had done
how my hands lingered on your softest symphony
how i unfastened the tiny chords binding
how i sang my own song deeper into your neck
all the time
flowers blooming in the misty rain
the vegetation is moist and ready
the streaming of constant flood
the entered entrance
an underground sea
a succession of notes ascenting
a blizzard of icy trumpet blasts
percolating percussion
oh your song streaks towards end of dawn
oh your song maintains its orbit around the sun
oh your song makes me want to fuck the day
oh your song has me hard and so fast
oh your song.....who wrote those words for you
who sat down and went through it over and over
who made you have slightly return
who banged out them lines baby
who gauged your gun and shot off a message
who dallied around the exit waiting for you to come
who showed you how that note was sung
oh your song is a song of surprise
who forced you to fade it out
oh you sing a lot of song for me you said
oh you sing a lot of fucking song baby child creature
do you worship the moon in its pink aureole
do you meddle with your settings ever
do you reassign love thus so easy
oh you sing a lot of nature
oh you sing a lot of creation
oh you sang this world into being
yes you sang
i sing my song forever
for all possible lovers
for the seekers
and for the dead
why do i sing for the dead you sang
can they still hear you sang in answer
listen listen listen a chorus of hushed voices
listen the dead listen she sang
the sweetest voice among them appeared
the dead dont listen yet they cant help but hear
he or she sang in a voice of glass and thorn and silver
the dead were hearing the song and some were answering
some were too sleepy and could not be bothered
some became the effulgence around the bursting moon
some became a ripple of semi quavers breathed on a flute
some became the thud of a drum
some spoke within quickening harp like sighs
oh you sing a lot of dead songs you dead they sang to each other
oh baby lets hasten away from here the dead all sang
and they smiled at you and you answer them in your song
oh baby dont make me die all over again
and this made the dead cry
and they answered you back in their own way
in their own song
and a mans voice burst through their mix
a mans voice singinging like honey
a mans voice sang from long ago
a mans voice so beautiful keening in the darkness
oh his wordless song
oh he sings a lot of song of life and death and life
oh he sings wordlessly of his own death
oh he sings so distantly
oh he sings an elegy for life
oh who wrote those wordless songs
oh who lets him burst in upon the other voices
sshh now listen you sang in my ear
sshh now the dead will listen to him too you whispered like a song
and what of the living i sang back
i sang back to all of them
and what of the living
short time living
long time dead
they sang back sadly
they sang as if in answer to my song
why did you sing that song you sang in whispers
the dead watched me sadly from their differences
the homeless dead finally finding a home
the rich dead
the poor dead
the singing dead
the sleeping dead
the dawn was finishing
and you sang now i must be leaving
and you sang that you were starving
and you sang that you were living
and you sang that you were singing
then the voices one by one they all faded
faded down and away away away
i only heard my own inside my ear
buzzing like a trapped thing
whispering singing questioning
sing another song it tried to say
sing another song? i said
sing another song to day
Friday, June 20, 2008
no delete
my delete button has stopped working
this means this blog will be full of errors
no this is nio joke
fuck it all.....
is there another way to delete?
can someone help me with my bonsai
its a mport jackson fig
and is losing its leaves ...black spots n turning yellow
help i love the plant and will be inconsolable if it dies
i move it around
dont leacve it in hot sunlite
i water it with a fine mist 20 sprays a day
it gets fresh air
i cant believe how much im missing the delete button
you better get used to it baby cos i cant afford a new computer
and im probably too lazy to get it fixed
it means i can never change me mind
im committed to every fucking word n letter that comes out
makes me wanna......aaaaaarghhh11!!!!!!
is there another way to delete
cmon you nerdy fiendss
gotta be two ways to delete
ok things warmed up for me a little yessaday
as in maybe getting myself in hot water
i cant discuss all the details
but it has fallen upon my shoulders
to organize a band to play a very aussie psychedelic masterpiece
at a big do soon in a city in australia
thats not quite as big or nice as sydney
ooops cant take it back
anyway i met another rocjker yessaday
he say wow sk
i was doing this song at this gig
sk say i am already gonna be there
rocker says would you like to do this song
that song? i say...oh yeah
an alltime bonafide wigout meltdown freakout
the very essence of the psychedelic classic
but homegrown...
oh this song blew my mind when i was 16 or so
it defined a whole chunk of australian history
written by a man very unpsychedelic too
neverltheless its a corker
very hard to reproduce live
suddenly i gotta getta band together to play it
behind its singer
hmmm
peter koppes
i rang him...hes on the isle of capri
yeah...just south of surfers paradise
no no the one in friggin iytaly
tim ....maybe yes maybe no
marty in sweden
so.....hmmm
i didnt act last nite
i got just over a week to pull it all together
who am i gonna get?
ok ok sk think straight
muse : you cant discuss it infronta alla them...!
yes yes i can....cant i?/
can i trust ya not to blab?
muse ": dont blow the secrecy on this one knucklehead
but the hoi polloi cant get in to this gig....
better watch it on cable you ninnies
look i gotta see what i can do
have i brittled off more than i can chew
so....help me
how do i delete when the deletes not working?
how do i mend my broken bonsai fig?
who should be in my secretive band to play this unknown song
at a gig youll never go to?
but youll never go to it soon
how can my delete button be cured
are there cockroaches small ones living in my ibook (no joke)?
think of me at 915 swimming in the freezing angry seawater
then in the sauna watching the ocean and sweating it out
then i walk home
get on the phone
even what im supposed to offer em is unclear
whater (disrefgard)
whatever it takes they said...but did theuy meean it?
listen
if youre sitting there with a spare laptop
send it toomey ayt
the time being
dune 3, sandhill 4
windswept beach
c/e of beleaguered old twit)
etc etc
or hit my subscribe
HARB!
this means this blog will be full of errors
no this is nio joke
fuck it all.....
is there another way to delete?
can someone help me with my bonsai
its a mport jackson fig
and is losing its leaves ...black spots n turning yellow
help i love the plant and will be inconsolable if it dies
i move it around
dont leacve it in hot sunlite
i water it with a fine mist 20 sprays a day
it gets fresh air
i cant believe how much im missing the delete button
you better get used to it baby cos i cant afford a new computer
and im probably too lazy to get it fixed
it means i can never change me mind
im committed to every fucking word n letter that comes out
makes me wanna......aaaaaarghhh11!!!!!!
is there another way to delete
cmon you nerdy fiendss
gotta be two ways to delete
ok things warmed up for me a little yessaday
as in maybe getting myself in hot water
i cant discuss all the details
but it has fallen upon my shoulders
to organize a band to play a very aussie psychedelic masterpiece
at a big do soon in a city in australia
thats not quite as big or nice as sydney
ooops cant take it back
anyway i met another rocjker yessaday
he say wow sk
i was doing this song at this gig
sk say i am already gonna be there
rocker says would you like to do this song
that song? i say...oh yeah
an alltime bonafide wigout meltdown freakout
the very essence of the psychedelic classic
but homegrown...
oh this song blew my mind when i was 16 or so
it defined a whole chunk of australian history
written by a man very unpsychedelic too
neverltheless its a corker
very hard to reproduce live
suddenly i gotta getta band together to play it
behind its singer
hmmm
peter koppes
i rang him...hes on the isle of capri
yeah...just south of surfers paradise
no no the one in friggin iytaly
tim ....maybe yes maybe no
marty in sweden
so.....hmmm
i didnt act last nite
i got just over a week to pull it all together
who am i gonna get?
ok ok sk think straight
muse : you cant discuss it infronta alla them...!
yes yes i can....cant i?/
can i trust ya not to blab?
muse ": dont blow the secrecy on this one knucklehead
but the hoi polloi cant get in to this gig....
better watch it on cable you ninnies
look i gotta see what i can do
have i brittled off more than i can chew
so....help me
how do i delete when the deletes not working?
how do i mend my broken bonsai fig?
who should be in my secretive band to play this unknown song
at a gig youll never go to?
but youll never go to it soon
how can my delete button be cured
are there cockroaches small ones living in my ibook (no joke)?
think of me at 915 swimming in the freezing angry seawater
then in the sauna watching the ocean and sweating it out
then i walk home
get on the phone
even what im supposed to offer em is unclear
whater (disrefgard)
whatever it takes they said...but did theuy meean it?
listen
if youre sitting there with a spare laptop
send it toomey ayt
the time being
dune 3, sandhill 4
windswept beach
c/e of beleaguered old twit)
etc etc
or hit my subscribe
HARB!
Thursday, June 19, 2008
in the wake of the 1000th celebration
q : how are you?
a : ok, i got up at 7 00
the girls are all still asleep
q : a lot coming down the line, isnt there?
a : oh yeah...a lot....
last night dave trump sent me the final mix on "operetta"
wow!
q : give us a description...this is the church, isnt it?
a : yeah we're starting to mix the new album
and this track was second cab off the rank
its me playing the piano
i came up with quite a different downwards progression
and thats the choruses
the verses kinda rest on one note
but everything moves around so much you dont really notice
martys playing bass with a pick its very exact playing unlike mine
peters playing elyctric guitar and guitar "strings"
frank kearns from dublin playing lovely 12 string
dave trump playing 6str acoustic guitar
tim plays drums n mellotrons n backing vox
its a bout 6 minutes long
the voices all sing different parts and answer each other
i wanted to get a real opera-ey feel
not that i know anything about opera...
q : any singing thats vaguely operatic?
a : well at one point a new voice of mine bursts into the chorus
and i imagine me appearing on the stage and singing these lines
i did it for tim n trumpy th'other day at the studio
with 2 big cushions up the front of my shirt
to increase the opera singer quotient
q ; what are the words?
a : the phosphorescent rim of the sun turns to face us
and the comets come !!
q : how was the mix
a : beautiful perfect lush gorgeous
q : is it like anything else the church has done?
a : no! its quite different
q : is there anything "churchy" on this new record
a : yeah ...there'll be a few
q : did you ever get the lost paintings back?
a : no and not compensated either
q : how about those glasses?
a : nah...nothing so far
q : cant you use those 10 dollar ones from chemists?
a : i am but they hurt my eyes n gimme headaches
q ; you sometimes allude to a tax problem...?
a : i get my royalties without tax taken out
im s'posed to put 40 per cent aside for the taxman
but i never do and we just spend it and now i owe him
but i aint got it.....
q : what worries you ?
a : just the usual stuff
taking care of my family n stuff...
q : hows your health?
a : good...touch wood
my lungs are a bit congested from smokin' the weed
my ears are really really bad..fizzing ringing hurting
i really am quite deaf, you know
q : someone said to you youre well preserved cos of heroin
a : ha ha...no thats a joke
i mean as an actual substance i dont think heroin
is that wearing n tearing
probably makes your heart beat slower n stuff
but everything else about it just ages you quicksmart!
i really do not recommend it!
q : and the weed?
a : i wish i could stop for a while...i really do..
q : but..
a : well you know...um...its ...ah...
q : yoga...?
a : great breakthroughs
people who dont do yoga cant possibly imagine what its like
q : but its no fun at first...
a : you gotta persevere
the universe dont give up its secrets just like that
q : crowley said there was magic..
a : and there was yoga...
yeah yoga is the force reshaping me
thats when it started 2003
i started doing yoga again regularly
and everything changed
q : are you a new man
a : certainly seems like it
i have acquired charm now
ideas flow uninterrupted
things occur to me
i tap into some deep well
q : ever think you demystify yourself on here
a : sure...thats the gamble or gambit
q : been a bit melancholy lately
a : financial worries plus sometimes existential fears
like
wow im really getting old here....!
q : youre very honest...or are you..?
a : i cant tell anymore..theres always another layer underneath
q : whats all this with the anonymouses?
a : i hate seeing my comments page ruined with rubbish..
after all
my comments are like my guestbook
a message or question from you to me
after having visited my thought-dwelling that day...
theres one particular person
well you all know who it is
i ask you please not to respond
its such a shame to cut everyone off
just to keep out the one idiot
thrashing around in incessant delusion
but in case theyre reading this
PLEASE GO AWAY!
q : whats on today?
a : going over to tims to werk on cherch
q : any last thoughts
a : a deep and respectful appreciation of my readers
a special thanks to subscribers who get no glory
but help keep this ball rolling
and hello to the people..hundreds of em
who never comment
never reveal themselves....
q : one last thing?
a : lets get this fuckin' dog n pony show on the road...!!!!
q : n.a.e.t. 08?
a : ok!!
guest interviewers
pam n perry
a : ok, i got up at 7 00
the girls are all still asleep
q : a lot coming down the line, isnt there?
a : oh yeah...a lot....
last night dave trump sent me the final mix on "operetta"
wow!
q : give us a description...this is the church, isnt it?
a : yeah we're starting to mix the new album
and this track was second cab off the rank
its me playing the piano
i came up with quite a different downwards progression
and thats the choruses
the verses kinda rest on one note
but everything moves around so much you dont really notice
martys playing bass with a pick its very exact playing unlike mine
peters playing elyctric guitar and guitar "strings"
frank kearns from dublin playing lovely 12 string
dave trump playing 6str acoustic guitar
tim plays drums n mellotrons n backing vox
its a bout 6 minutes long
the voices all sing different parts and answer each other
i wanted to get a real opera-ey feel
not that i know anything about opera...
q : any singing thats vaguely operatic?
a : well at one point a new voice of mine bursts into the chorus
and i imagine me appearing on the stage and singing these lines
i did it for tim n trumpy th'other day at the studio
with 2 big cushions up the front of my shirt
to increase the opera singer quotient
q ; what are the words?
a : the phosphorescent rim of the sun turns to face us
and the comets come !!
q : how was the mix
a : beautiful perfect lush gorgeous
q : is it like anything else the church has done?
a : no! its quite different
q : is there anything "churchy" on this new record
a : yeah ...there'll be a few
q : did you ever get the lost paintings back?
a : no and not compensated either
q : how about those glasses?
a : nah...nothing so far
q : cant you use those 10 dollar ones from chemists?
a : i am but they hurt my eyes n gimme headaches
q ; you sometimes allude to a tax problem...?
a : i get my royalties without tax taken out
im s'posed to put 40 per cent aside for the taxman
but i never do and we just spend it and now i owe him
but i aint got it.....
q : what worries you ?
a : just the usual stuff
taking care of my family n stuff...
q : hows your health?
a : good...touch wood
my lungs are a bit congested from smokin' the weed
my ears are really really bad..fizzing ringing hurting
i really am quite deaf, you know
q : someone said to you youre well preserved cos of heroin
a : ha ha...no thats a joke
i mean as an actual substance i dont think heroin
is that wearing n tearing
probably makes your heart beat slower n stuff
but everything else about it just ages you quicksmart!
i really do not recommend it!
q : and the weed?
a : i wish i could stop for a while...i really do..
q : but..
a : well you know...um...its ...ah...
q : yoga...?
a : great breakthroughs
people who dont do yoga cant possibly imagine what its like
q : but its no fun at first...
a : you gotta persevere
the universe dont give up its secrets just like that
q : crowley said there was magic..
a : and there was yoga...
yeah yoga is the force reshaping me
thats when it started 2003
i started doing yoga again regularly
and everything changed
q : are you a new man
a : certainly seems like it
i have acquired charm now
ideas flow uninterrupted
things occur to me
i tap into some deep well
q : ever think you demystify yourself on here
a : sure...thats the gamble or gambit
q : been a bit melancholy lately
a : financial worries plus sometimes existential fears
like
wow im really getting old here....!
q : youre very honest...or are you..?
a : i cant tell anymore..theres always another layer underneath
q : whats all this with the anonymouses?
a : i hate seeing my comments page ruined with rubbish..
after all
my comments are like my guestbook
a message or question from you to me
after having visited my thought-dwelling that day...
theres one particular person
well you all know who it is
i ask you please not to respond
its such a shame to cut everyone off
just to keep out the one idiot
thrashing around in incessant delusion
but in case theyre reading this
PLEASE GO AWAY!
q : whats on today?
a : going over to tims to werk on cherch
q : any last thoughts
a : a deep and respectful appreciation of my readers
a special thanks to subscribers who get no glory
but help keep this ball rolling
and hello to the people..hundreds of em
who never comment
never reveal themselves....
q : one last thing?
a : lets get this fuckin' dog n pony show on the road...!!!!
q : n.a.e.t. 08?
a : ok!!
guest interviewers
pam n perry
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
n.bondi man 53 writes 1000 blogs
a ha!
yes its true
steve kilbey musician
of n. bondi , nsw
today became the first man in his house
to write one thousand blogs
hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
another barrier broken
let assembled multitudes now begin the time being anthym
"oh mighty is the ttb
and wondrous is his blog
we read it every single day
we love to be a cog
we all subscribe subscribe subscribe
else how can our sweet being e'er survibe?
killer killer killer
or is it filler filler filler?
nevermind
he kicks the blind
dont call the ref
hes nearly deaf
rude to carnivores and ign-rant boors
friend to the freak n fiend
never sure just what he meaned..
hose anna hose anna hose anna down!
halle berri halle lujah halle burton
io io ao io
rama lama buddha shoulda coulda woulda
no spex just the cheapies
no finders just weepies
oh grovel on your bellies
oh peel another grape
see him in his litter
bound up in red tape
hes got many dorters
he hasnt got no suns
hes got lotsa add my ration
but hardly any fun(d)s
TIME BEING AD ASTRA IN PECULIO DIMBLEBONG!"
(sound of mellotron trumpets)
yes
can you believe it
1000 blogs full of low rent rants
memories in pluperfect supine
i gave ya honesty
i gave ya lies
i gave ya the troof
i gave ya disguise
i gave ya the earth
and the moon in the skies
all i ever gave ya were words
two thirds baloney
one quarter malarkey
a pinch of powdered newt(on)
with my birthday suit(on)
when the spider bit
n corgan played our hit
n the carnivores split
all that boring drug shit
from humble beginnings
getting 'umbler n 'umbler
against the "straights" i raised my lance
ooh mr humphries one last dance
i never finish what i started
all half-arsed n half hearted
hang on i did finish hurly burly
brought it in on budget early
lots of others all incomplete
not much about tim marty or pete
not much about heyday ...why?
no wonder then no payday nigh
now how hollow this rah rah rah
all for kilbeys blah blah blah
blah blah blah?
yes...blah blah blah
you can read it near or far
naughty stevie with his weed
mixed up in a juvenile deed
a juvenile deed..an immature jape
skylarking and horseplaying
and tomfoolery ...no escape
the being does not like green ham or eggs
he doesnt like lambies balls or chickens legs
he does not like the bum of cow
or cut up cooked up bits of sow
they say you are whatcha eat
so...no dead meat
not much wine or booze
only serves to confuse
oooh nasty tales of smacky days...yawn!
when he thought he was king of dope...pawn!
how he wrote some low rent song
everybody singalong
mangy panther
peter pan
pot addled idjit
renaissance manne
washed up rocker all unclean
avuncular veteran with soya bean
almost vegan
almost human
almost famous
almost blame us
almost with you
almost but not quite
salute the great time being
crawler in the night
breaststroker in the winter sea
oh sweet being please be free
your white old beard is ho-lee
1000 blogs
1000 days
1000 blessings
1000 haze
1000 eyes has the night
the night was all around
the knight errant
kill bee
killsy
kilbo baggings
killaboy slowly
stephen kilby the shy imposter
the saint who is no saint
get your own blog if ya gotta complaint
get down n get with it
get real
get it on
bang a fucking gong
get it on
ONE THOUSAND!
I RULE !!
yes its true
steve kilbey musician
of n. bondi , nsw
today became the first man in his house
to write one thousand blogs
hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
another barrier broken
let assembled multitudes now begin the time being anthym
"oh mighty is the ttb
and wondrous is his blog
we read it every single day
we love to be a cog
we all subscribe subscribe subscribe
else how can our sweet being e'er survibe?
killer killer killer
or is it filler filler filler?
nevermind
he kicks the blind
dont call the ref
hes nearly deaf
rude to carnivores and ign-rant boors
friend to the freak n fiend
never sure just what he meaned..
hose anna hose anna hose anna down!
halle berri halle lujah halle burton
io io ao io
rama lama buddha shoulda coulda woulda
no spex just the cheapies
no finders just weepies
oh grovel on your bellies
oh peel another grape
see him in his litter
bound up in red tape
hes got many dorters
he hasnt got no suns
hes got lotsa add my ration
but hardly any fun(d)s
TIME BEING AD ASTRA IN PECULIO DIMBLEBONG!"
(sound of mellotron trumpets)
yes
can you believe it
1000 blogs full of low rent rants
memories in pluperfect supine
i gave ya honesty
i gave ya lies
i gave ya the troof
i gave ya disguise
i gave ya the earth
and the moon in the skies
all i ever gave ya were words
two thirds baloney
one quarter malarkey
a pinch of powdered newt(on)
with my birthday suit(on)
when the spider bit
n corgan played our hit
n the carnivores split
all that boring drug shit
from humble beginnings
getting 'umbler n 'umbler
against the "straights" i raised my lance
ooh mr humphries one last dance
i never finish what i started
all half-arsed n half hearted
hang on i did finish hurly burly
brought it in on budget early
lots of others all incomplete
not much about tim marty or pete
not much about heyday ...why?
no wonder then no payday nigh
now how hollow this rah rah rah
all for kilbeys blah blah blah
blah blah blah?
yes...blah blah blah
you can read it near or far
naughty stevie with his weed
mixed up in a juvenile deed
a juvenile deed..an immature jape
skylarking and horseplaying
and tomfoolery ...no escape
the being does not like green ham or eggs
he doesnt like lambies balls or chickens legs
he does not like the bum of cow
or cut up cooked up bits of sow
they say you are whatcha eat
so...no dead meat
not much wine or booze
only serves to confuse
oooh nasty tales of smacky days...yawn!
when he thought he was king of dope...pawn!
how he wrote some low rent song
everybody singalong
mangy panther
peter pan
pot addled idjit
renaissance manne
washed up rocker all unclean
avuncular veteran with soya bean
almost vegan
almost human
almost famous
almost blame us
almost with you
almost but not quite
salute the great time being
crawler in the night
breaststroker in the winter sea
oh sweet being please be free
your white old beard is ho-lee
1000 blogs
1000 days
1000 blessings
1000 haze
1000 eyes has the night
the night was all around
the knight errant
kill bee
killsy
kilbo baggings
killaboy slowly
stephen kilby the shy imposter
the saint who is no saint
get your own blog if ya gotta complaint
get down n get with it
get real
get it on
bang a fucking gong
get it on
ONE THOUSAND!
I RULE !!
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
origin of the specious
i'd like to admit to someone i dont know what im doing
i'd like to say that i feel lost
that i'm making it up as i go along
i dont like driving in this fog
i'm not a proper vegan
i'm not a proper singer or painter
i'm not a proper writer or father
i'm not a proper englishman or aussie
i'm just some sorta impostor
(im not a proper impostor)
over n underwhelmed
frustrated with maya
holding on by the thin skin of my tooth
hoping for the best
but really
expecting the worst
broken or burst
i cant get anything to happen
my spells my charms my thaumaturgic works
all but nothing
i seem to want something i cant get
i seem to get something i cant want
i
i
i
i am self obsessed
as you would be obsessed with a tiny agony
i think about myself
as you would think about ruins
i write because i can
because a never ending stream of words will fill my mind
like leaves swirling down from shaken winter trees
like coins thrown from a ship sinking into the lightless depths
like whispers in a war memorial
sibilant and harsh
like the dust from my pastels
colourful pretty temporary patterns
swept up in a minute and gone
swept up in the minute that lasted and lasted
creative yet cretaceous
i throw words around like nobodys business
and it thus remains
nobodys business
im only early cos theres no where else to go
dont do me the disservice of pity
we are imperfect
yet we strive for a perfection implied by faster masters than us
striving in all directions
meagre resources (read re-sources)
hey it feels good to say all of this
hey i can do anything here
hey i can say that one and one equals i dunno
i can say deface my photograph
i can say that im not sure
that i'm even sure what sure means
like a sure fire thing
or a fire under the sea
the blam blamming waves that destroyed the metal fence
am i the time being or a clever counter fit
get paid in confederate dollars n fools gold
an octo-spider
scuttling through space spinning my yarn
what is this?
no cheer ups required
i loathe them
abracadabra
there
im reset...
next!
i'd like to say that i feel lost
that i'm making it up as i go along
i dont like driving in this fog
i'm not a proper vegan
i'm not a proper singer or painter
i'm not a proper writer or father
i'm not a proper englishman or aussie
i'm just some sorta impostor
(im not a proper impostor)
over n underwhelmed
frustrated with maya
holding on by the thin skin of my tooth
hoping for the best
but really
expecting the worst
broken or burst
i cant get anything to happen
my spells my charms my thaumaturgic works
all but nothing
i seem to want something i cant get
i seem to get something i cant want
i
i
i
i am self obsessed
as you would be obsessed with a tiny agony
i think about myself
as you would think about ruins
i write because i can
because a never ending stream of words will fill my mind
like leaves swirling down from shaken winter trees
like coins thrown from a ship sinking into the lightless depths
like whispers in a war memorial
sibilant and harsh
like the dust from my pastels
colourful pretty temporary patterns
swept up in a minute and gone
swept up in the minute that lasted and lasted
creative yet cretaceous
i throw words around like nobodys business
and it thus remains
nobodys business
im only early cos theres no where else to go
dont do me the disservice of pity
we are imperfect
yet we strive for a perfection implied by faster masters than us
striving in all directions
meagre resources (read re-sources)
hey it feels good to say all of this
hey i can do anything here
hey i can say that one and one equals i dunno
i can say deface my photograph
i can say that im not sure
that i'm even sure what sure means
like a sure fire thing
or a fire under the sea
the blam blamming waves that destroyed the metal fence
am i the time being or a clever counter fit
get paid in confederate dollars n fools gold
an octo-spider
scuttling through space spinning my yarn
what is this?
no cheer ups required
i loathe them
abracadabra
there
im reset...
next!
Monday, June 16, 2008
yesterday
yesterday did 2 shows
the first was a vegan expo festival
it was hard going i guess
a noisy room
broad daylight plus fluoros
people buying , talking, laughing
i was mediocre ..the music and ranting
both mediocre and tired
who fucking cares about my almost-veganism
preaching to the converted of course
everyone was already some kinda veg
i got a weak response
someone had to come on to get me more claps
afterwards i was whisked away to talk to supreme master tv
www.SupremeMasterTV.com (not a joke)
a goodnews channel for any who wants it
finding myself outside i wandered away
i did not go back in and talk to my veg friends
i just walked off
into a taxi
someone had given me a letter n some info
on the seventh day adventists and a bible
i perused these items
and then left my bloody prescription glasses in the cab
damn....600 bucks worth i could ill afford to lose
i got home and it was storming
i didnt wanna go back out n do the tibet gig
demoralised by losing my glasses
feeling weird from some lurgie
hungry but no appetite
i feel like im on a big losing streak
anyhow eventually i pulled myself together (mr humphries!!)
and drove the long lonely drive back into town
up old south head road
the red lights dazzling me
i shouldnt have been driving at all
so distracted and non-plussed i was feeling
eventually i find the angel place carpark
(isnt that a song?)
i stumble into the venue
i'd been there for soundcheck
the people involved were real real nice
i was singing utmw with jimmy little
australias first indigenous popstar
i was watching him in 1963 in dapto
jimmy was the most lovely laconic laidback fella
he liked to walk along with his arm round my shoulders
and i remember that reassuring feeling like it was my dad
jimmys down the best version of that song bar none
he found a lazy smoky bar room jazz version
he found the sinatra-esque soul of my original song
his version is on a wonderful record called the messenger
in which
jimmy amazingly reinterprets some of the best aust. songs ever
including
randwick bells
into temptation
are you the one that ive been looking for
cattle n cane
anyway
jimmy sings em all so smoothly
you'll love it
he gives em all a lovely relaxed spin
i was also taken in a room and offered my pick of a row of
little golden buddha statues all in a row
theres like 25 little little ones
and one big little one
i say to the woman
its a test isnt it?
she smiles n says
take any one you want
but i say
theres only one big one
she says
if you want the big one take it!
i say
why should i have the big one
she says someone will have it...why not you?
i boldly snatch up the big-little buddha (its about one inch high)
she smiles at me
and i laugh nervously
it was a test
i had failed
and an hour later the uni-verse shoplifted my glasses from me
instant karma....just add kilbey and stir
anyhow jimmy n i became friends quickly
he has a nice manager too
some of you may know him as buzz bidstrup
drummer for the angels a big oz rock hard rock bunch
(tim just produced acoustic record for their singer, doc(very good))
so me n jimmy and all the rest had to sit on stage all the way through
there were some fantastic acts
tibetan singers who could sing in 2 octaves at once
monks chanting n intoning
drummers drumming up a storm
a choir
katie noonan from george
who is a divine n exquisite singer
she played piano on utmw
buzz played drums
i played bass
me n jimmy sang
what a strange fragile but lovely version
jimmy sings some lines so laidback
he illustrates the song with half ironic gestures
his eyes gaze up and hes seeing the stars themselves
thanks to jimmy utmw has also become a favourite
for many kooris n murris who tell me how that songs been adopted
it means something else to them now
and look
im quite tired of the bloody song
but the fact that these guys like it
fills me with fierce pride
its beyond a pop hit now
its a standard
anyhow
we do a nice version
i jump into the audience
watch the second hour of the show
amazing pieces of indefinable music
didgeridoo and classical instruments
the drummers take up bells n little blocks
the musicians disperse all over the audience
it was magical
amazing
i was truly surprised n inspired
afterwards a sadness amongst all the players
our short lived mission over
a happy ending....
i drive home listening to twilight singers
life is all ups n downs...aint it?
the first was a vegan expo festival
it was hard going i guess
a noisy room
broad daylight plus fluoros
people buying , talking, laughing
i was mediocre ..the music and ranting
both mediocre and tired
who fucking cares about my almost-veganism
preaching to the converted of course
everyone was already some kinda veg
i got a weak response
someone had to come on to get me more claps
afterwards i was whisked away to talk to supreme master tv
www.SupremeMasterTV.com (not a joke)
a goodnews channel for any who wants it
finding myself outside i wandered away
i did not go back in and talk to my veg friends
i just walked off
into a taxi
someone had given me a letter n some info
on the seventh day adventists and a bible
i perused these items
and then left my bloody prescription glasses in the cab
damn....600 bucks worth i could ill afford to lose
i got home and it was storming
i didnt wanna go back out n do the tibet gig
demoralised by losing my glasses
feeling weird from some lurgie
hungry but no appetite
i feel like im on a big losing streak
anyhow eventually i pulled myself together (mr humphries!!)
and drove the long lonely drive back into town
up old south head road
the red lights dazzling me
i shouldnt have been driving at all
so distracted and non-plussed i was feeling
eventually i find the angel place carpark
(isnt that a song?)
i stumble into the venue
i'd been there for soundcheck
the people involved were real real nice
i was singing utmw with jimmy little
australias first indigenous popstar
i was watching him in 1963 in dapto
jimmy was the most lovely laconic laidback fella
he liked to walk along with his arm round my shoulders
and i remember that reassuring feeling like it was my dad
jimmys down the best version of that song bar none
he found a lazy smoky bar room jazz version
he found the sinatra-esque soul of my original song
his version is on a wonderful record called the messenger
in which
jimmy amazingly reinterprets some of the best aust. songs ever
including
randwick bells
into temptation
are you the one that ive been looking for
cattle n cane
anyway
jimmy sings em all so smoothly
you'll love it
he gives em all a lovely relaxed spin
i was also taken in a room and offered my pick of a row of
little golden buddha statues all in a row
theres like 25 little little ones
and one big little one
i say to the woman
its a test isnt it?
she smiles n says
take any one you want
but i say
theres only one big one
she says
if you want the big one take it!
i say
why should i have the big one
she says someone will have it...why not you?
i boldly snatch up the big-little buddha (its about one inch high)
she smiles at me
and i laugh nervously
it was a test
i had failed
and an hour later the uni-verse shoplifted my glasses from me
instant karma....just add kilbey and stir
anyhow jimmy n i became friends quickly
he has a nice manager too
some of you may know him as buzz bidstrup
drummer for the angels a big oz rock hard rock bunch
(tim just produced acoustic record for their singer, doc(very good))
so me n jimmy and all the rest had to sit on stage all the way through
there were some fantastic acts
tibetan singers who could sing in 2 octaves at once
monks chanting n intoning
drummers drumming up a storm
a choir
katie noonan from george
who is a divine n exquisite singer
she played piano on utmw
buzz played drums
i played bass
me n jimmy sang
what a strange fragile but lovely version
jimmy sings some lines so laidback
he illustrates the song with half ironic gestures
his eyes gaze up and hes seeing the stars themselves
thanks to jimmy utmw has also become a favourite
for many kooris n murris who tell me how that songs been adopted
it means something else to them now
and look
im quite tired of the bloody song
but the fact that these guys like it
fills me with fierce pride
its beyond a pop hit now
its a standard
anyhow
we do a nice version
i jump into the audience
watch the second hour of the show
amazing pieces of indefinable music
didgeridoo and classical instruments
the drummers take up bells n little blocks
the musicians disperse all over the audience
it was magical
amazing
i was truly surprised n inspired
afterwards a sadness amongst all the players
our short lived mission over
a happy ending....
i drive home listening to twilight singers
life is all ups n downs...aint it?
Sunday, June 15, 2008
sixty 7
started like any other year in canberra
things were getting stranger in the music scene
the beatles were beginning to mutate before our eyes
but for me
it was the beginning of high school
wow!
it scared and impressed and baffled me more
than anything thats ever happened in show biz
the kids in 5th n sixth form seemed like unreachably cool adults
they had sideboards and smoked cigs n drove cars to school
they had black duffle coats and black suede beatle boots
they had long hair ...i mean long long
the teachers were so much different to primary school
we had separate teachers for each subject now
we had mrs alexander for english who was kinda racey
she was about 22 and wore mini skirts
there was a rumour she was often knickerless
(tho i never saw it)
she spoke in a sarcastic husky voice
and said things like
"oh, really darling...!!"
to smutty little grubby boys like me
she seemed plugged into some groovy current
that woulda been unimaginable back at lyneham primary
which there it was across the meadow
but now a million miles away....
actually the idea of cool
the concept of grooviness
really entered my consciousness at this point
i wasnt born spouting rimbaud and plucking a geetar
up until this point a part of me had lain dormant
that part of me that was all about fashion n looks n coolnesse
and clothes and haircuts n rock music as a hipness index
into my life came a character called neil genge
genge was the same age as me
he'd been in the b classes at primary school
i hadnt had much to do with him
he was slim and about my height
but i'd seen him dish out whippings to the best fighters in our class
at high school genge came into his own
if youve seen the virgin suicides he was like trip fontaine
genge was so good looking and so fucking cool
he had a big sister who must have tipped him off
he always had the latest and best clothes
he always had or knew of the best music
and 13 he already had a string of ex girfriends behind him
clothes hung off him just right
he surfed and was an amazing fast rugby player
he had that sixth sense where he was already always there
the ball flew into his hands and zigzagged down the field
effortlessly avoiding all the oafs and never got hurt
he always knew all the grooviest or heaviest kids from the other schools
he was a all round jack the lad par excellence
and as i watched him in action for 4 years
he influenced me profoundly
we were never really friends
i was too fussy and uncool to fit in with him
he came round my place once
i heard him say the next day
it was the most boring thing he'd ever done
i went round his place once
and it was fabulous
his mother was impossibly friendly and groovy
his bedroom was like an inner sanctum
he had loadsa records i'd never even heard of
even his little brother was another groover in the making
but genge would change
one day your friend next day he'd be leading a bully attack
as his friend you'd spill the beans about such n such
and the next day horror of horror genge'd walk to school with him
double metalwork periods were a scary thing
i was absolutely hopeless at metalwork naturally
and genge n co hounded us mercilessly
he might punch me in the face
or humiliate me in front of girls
or "get" me afterschool
one time he hit me in the balls with pencil case randomly
as he walked past in the corridor
but whenever he was friendly to me
i'd be so relieved i'd act like nothing had happened
but genge could turn on you just like that
i wasnt the only one who he was doing this too either
genge could turn nasty just like that!
genge smoked dope
rooted girls
rode motor bikes
drank in pubs
and had pubic hair
long before anybody else
he was an authority on chicks surf and music
the whole universe seemed to whirl around him
all the girls were impressed (even if they didnt act like it)
all the boys were envious
this close range hero worship
of a kid
sometime friend
sometime persecutor
did my head in
i wanted to be like genge so badly
i'd be walking through canberra on friday night with my dad
and hes nattering away with his olde routine
suddenly genge would appear in all his sartorial elegance
with a bunch of kids i never seen before
a bunch of pretty girls
my dad couldnt understand why i suddenly got angry
and didnt wanna talk to him anymore...
ah genge..what an enigma
i had suddenly apprehended my own nerdiness
i was desperate to emulate genge in every way
but i couldnt never get the right clothes
they never fitted me like him
i could never say the right things
i was just in awe of him
he had probably had more impact on me
than anybody before or since
of course
sgt pepper came out halfway through the year
and everything instantly changed
my red velvet epaulette shirts hit the bottom of the wardrobe
and paisley and floral came in
people in 5th n sixth form grew floppy mustaches
and the whole world seemed to warp into a beatles song
suddenly you were either hip or you werent hip
what was wrong with me?
never content to be me
striving to literally be other people
i hated my clothes and my hair and my records
i mean
they were better than most
but i wanted to be
but never ever could be
some kinda ace face
sgt peppers changed the world not just the music biz
suddenly we started hearing about pot n acid
the very idea of pot n acid changed my world
acid as exemplified by walrus, strawb fields n lucy in the sky
a fucked up technicolour alice in wonderland warping dream-mare
this was where i felt at home
not playing rugby
or doing algebra
nor walking round town on friday night with me dad...
and free love to boot!
gorgeous free love chicks who didnt want oldtime muscle men
they hung off skinny pale english blokes.....
that wont be too much trouble, i thought
the school dances were of such importance
it seemed like colossal events were taking place
when arthur cook jumped up on stage
and danced with the go go girls
one of the go go girls was from our form
called megan
oh she was the epitome of 1967 youthful grooviness
as she did the frug or watusi in her floral clothes
and her hair shook to the frenzied pulse of
the limit 5
a local canberran band
oh wow live loud music
its all too much
i want it
i want this
i want it all
i dont want my pre 67 life of short pants n riding bikes
i dont want to play with my soldiers or any of that
i want clothes and loud music n chicks n pot n acid
and free love and within you without you
and the hole in my shoe was letting in water
and i wish i was in london
in carnaby street
or in san francisco with fucking flowers in my barnet
my mum n dad couldnt dig this trip
us kids were on our own
i looked at our parents ww2 sensibilities
it seemed so blacknwhite
a thing of the past
the beatles were pointing the way
everyone was turning on tuning in dropping out
love love love love love
it was so easy
it was so simple
flower power man
we love you
just ask alice
things were getting stranger in the music scene
the beatles were beginning to mutate before our eyes
but for me
it was the beginning of high school
wow!
it scared and impressed and baffled me more
than anything thats ever happened in show biz
the kids in 5th n sixth form seemed like unreachably cool adults
they had sideboards and smoked cigs n drove cars to school
they had black duffle coats and black suede beatle boots
they had long hair ...i mean long long
the teachers were so much different to primary school
we had separate teachers for each subject now
we had mrs alexander for english who was kinda racey
she was about 22 and wore mini skirts
there was a rumour she was often knickerless
(tho i never saw it)
she spoke in a sarcastic husky voice
and said things like
"oh, really darling...!!"
to smutty little grubby boys like me
she seemed plugged into some groovy current
that woulda been unimaginable back at lyneham primary
which there it was across the meadow
but now a million miles away....
actually the idea of cool
the concept of grooviness
really entered my consciousness at this point
i wasnt born spouting rimbaud and plucking a geetar
up until this point a part of me had lain dormant
that part of me that was all about fashion n looks n coolnesse
and clothes and haircuts n rock music as a hipness index
into my life came a character called neil genge
genge was the same age as me
he'd been in the b classes at primary school
i hadnt had much to do with him
he was slim and about my height
but i'd seen him dish out whippings to the best fighters in our class
at high school genge came into his own
if youve seen the virgin suicides he was like trip fontaine
genge was so good looking and so fucking cool
he had a big sister who must have tipped him off
he always had the latest and best clothes
he always had or knew of the best music
and 13 he already had a string of ex girfriends behind him
clothes hung off him just right
he surfed and was an amazing fast rugby player
he had that sixth sense where he was already always there
the ball flew into his hands and zigzagged down the field
effortlessly avoiding all the oafs and never got hurt
he always knew all the grooviest or heaviest kids from the other schools
he was a all round jack the lad par excellence
and as i watched him in action for 4 years
he influenced me profoundly
we were never really friends
i was too fussy and uncool to fit in with him
he came round my place once
i heard him say the next day
it was the most boring thing he'd ever done
i went round his place once
and it was fabulous
his mother was impossibly friendly and groovy
his bedroom was like an inner sanctum
he had loadsa records i'd never even heard of
even his little brother was another groover in the making
but genge would change
one day your friend next day he'd be leading a bully attack
as his friend you'd spill the beans about such n such
and the next day horror of horror genge'd walk to school with him
double metalwork periods were a scary thing
i was absolutely hopeless at metalwork naturally
and genge n co hounded us mercilessly
he might punch me in the face
or humiliate me in front of girls
or "get" me afterschool
one time he hit me in the balls with pencil case randomly
as he walked past in the corridor
but whenever he was friendly to me
i'd be so relieved i'd act like nothing had happened
but genge could turn on you just like that
i wasnt the only one who he was doing this too either
genge could turn nasty just like that!
genge smoked dope
rooted girls
rode motor bikes
drank in pubs
and had pubic hair
long before anybody else
he was an authority on chicks surf and music
the whole universe seemed to whirl around him
all the girls were impressed (even if they didnt act like it)
all the boys were envious
this close range hero worship
of a kid
sometime friend
sometime persecutor
did my head in
i wanted to be like genge so badly
i'd be walking through canberra on friday night with my dad
and hes nattering away with his olde routine
suddenly genge would appear in all his sartorial elegance
with a bunch of kids i never seen before
a bunch of pretty girls
my dad couldnt understand why i suddenly got angry
and didnt wanna talk to him anymore...
ah genge..what an enigma
i had suddenly apprehended my own nerdiness
i was desperate to emulate genge in every way
but i couldnt never get the right clothes
they never fitted me like him
i could never say the right things
i was just in awe of him
he had probably had more impact on me
than anybody before or since
of course
sgt pepper came out halfway through the year
and everything instantly changed
my red velvet epaulette shirts hit the bottom of the wardrobe
and paisley and floral came in
people in 5th n sixth form grew floppy mustaches
and the whole world seemed to warp into a beatles song
suddenly you were either hip or you werent hip
what was wrong with me?
never content to be me
striving to literally be other people
i hated my clothes and my hair and my records
i mean
they were better than most
but i wanted to be
but never ever could be
some kinda ace face
sgt peppers changed the world not just the music biz
suddenly we started hearing about pot n acid
the very idea of pot n acid changed my world
acid as exemplified by walrus, strawb fields n lucy in the sky
a fucked up technicolour alice in wonderland warping dream-mare
this was where i felt at home
not playing rugby
or doing algebra
nor walking round town on friday night with me dad...
and free love to boot!
gorgeous free love chicks who didnt want oldtime muscle men
they hung off skinny pale english blokes.....
that wont be too much trouble, i thought
the school dances were of such importance
it seemed like colossal events were taking place
when arthur cook jumped up on stage
and danced with the go go girls
one of the go go girls was from our form
called megan
oh she was the epitome of 1967 youthful grooviness
as she did the frug or watusi in her floral clothes
and her hair shook to the frenzied pulse of
the limit 5
a local canberran band
oh wow live loud music
its all too much
i want it
i want this
i want it all
i dont want my pre 67 life of short pants n riding bikes
i dont want to play with my soldiers or any of that
i want clothes and loud music n chicks n pot n acid
and free love and within you without you
and the hole in my shoe was letting in water
and i wish i was in london
in carnaby street
or in san francisco with fucking flowers in my barnet
my mum n dad couldnt dig this trip
us kids were on our own
i looked at our parents ww2 sensibilities
it seemed so blacknwhite
a thing of the past
the beatles were pointing the way
everyone was turning on tuning in dropping out
love love love love love
it was so easy
it was so simple
flower power man
we love you
just ask alice
Saturday, June 14, 2008
digressions
digression 1 (by popular demand)
1965
me and john buser (pronounced buzzer!)
were standing in the park behind my place
a park....?
it was a few acres of long yellow grass
with some trees and swings n a slide
(aust name= slippery dip)(for trivia lovers)
any way me and buzzer are standing there
and i whip out me box of matches (as you do...)
of course the middle of a field with long yellow grass
where the temp is 100 fucking degrees
and it aint rained for ages
(in fact perfect "tinderbox" conditions)
buzzers staring at me laughing
i pull out a match and strike it
i toss it into the grass
the yellow straw about knee high...ha ha
it explodes into flame and i stamp it out pronto
fucking buzzer takes the matches and does the same thing
but he lets his patch burn a little longer
and he stamps it out kinda casually
as opposed to my frightened hurry
ok buzzer i'll up the ante
a bigger burning patch a more sedate stamping out
buzzer goes one better again
he almost sets an uncontrollable patch burning
he starts off slow stamping it out
but in the end hes running round like a madman
he gets it out though...in the end
i take the matches and i flick off a burner into the grass
at the same moment
unknownst to me a little breeze picked up
my patch of burning grass rapidly became the size of a small kitchen
then the size of a bedroom
i just stood there
i was planning on showing buzzer a thing or 2
suddenly we looked at each other
and began stamping it out for all we were worth
too little too late im afraid
the breeze hit it and with a sound like WHOAMP!
the flames coalesced themselves
into a full on burn yer park n house down fire
it was going in all directions at once
wow!
the fire brigade arrived and the cops
all the neighbours at their back fences
most of the park was now a blackened smouldering mess
i was a little shocked n blackened myself
even my mother was quite lost for words
she made me have a bath
and sent me to bed at 2 in the afternoon
ps
there was a happy ending
from the blackened scorched land
now with the yellow weedy strawlike grass gone
guess what?
lovely green lawn emerged ..there till this day
magpie hill, lyneham act
i was the parks inadvertent saviour
digression 2
seems we all had dark days at school
school is like a slice of society all crammed together
we all got bullied
i did some bullying too
moreoften of a verbal nature though
i must admit in all truthfulness
if i had had more physical prowess
i may have been as bad a bully as the worst of em
ah the pack instinct
i once saw big maria (a huge amazonian girl with glandular probs)
hold down a girl and try to force her twin brother to "root" her
down by the storm water drains
where lyneham high met lyneham primary
and 50 kids standing around
chanting do it! do it! do it!
it was like a drug....
yes we were supposed to be being educated
but what is the true purpose of education but to produce cogs
for the great machine
we fill kids heads up with our syllabus propaganda
we make em learn their stuff by rote
we make them spend their childhoods in dreary rooms
all in the end so they can work
no i dont have a better plan or solution
the wheels are in motion with society
as an idea i oppose the system and its education
as a parent i want my children to be educated
so they have a chance in this rat race we find ourselves in
and fuck, the rats are running even faster this year
bullying is much more of an issue in sweden
they hunt down bullies quick smart
in aust
in england
and probably the u.s. by the sound of it
the teachers seemed to turn a bit of a blind eye
especially in "my" day
its a fine line between a bit of mucking about
and bullying
and teachers werent always around everywhere anyway
how could they be?
i had some absolutely wonderful teachers
inspired n inspiring
i had some nasty repressed little turkeys too
everyone copped a bit of abuse sometime
but aint that life...
theres your education right there
i was learning valuable lessons
i was learning how to operate in groups
i was learning to socialize and negotiate
learning people stuff
the lessons were like a prop
all that bullshit i learnt....
its just that people get no choice..
youre born n they immediately inveigle you into the system
your parents turn you over for six hours a day
the system gets you ready
breaks your spirit under the classroom roof
gets you used to sitting still n processing info
gets you used to being part of a team
gets you used to the fact that you must surrender your "freedom"
when the system says so
is the system the best of all possible systems?
i dunno...its awfully hard to tell
we are steeped in the system
we are the system
no one can walk away from the system
to be outside the system terrifies us
we can only hope for gradual non-violent change
as the system becomes more reasonable ...we hope
meanwhile there is that system
and its gonna take children years n years to learn to cope with it
the system sucks in greedily the good learners and clever kidz
these will be assimilated easily and rewarded well
unfortunately education leaves a swathe of misfits in its wake
people who were outraged and enraged by their 12 years of hell
school is tougher than anything outside except for jail
and that aint outside...
in real life you can just avoid the ratbags
in school theyre there all day long; theyre inevitable
they mock ya
they trick ya
they tease ya
they trip you up
they chase you home
they threaten n they punish
theyre at every school in all times
they are gonna be there
just like the nettles n thistles are in the fields
just like the sharks n jellyfish in the sea
nasty bullies
sneaky bossy bullies
crazy giantess bullies
hard physical silent bullies
cowardly bullies
sports star bullies
tricky bullies
friendly seeming bullies
irritating bullies
sarcastic bullies
pious bullies
angry bullies
mistaken bullies
sad bullies
martial arts bullies
body building bullies
reluctant bullies
sneering bullies
mouthy bullies
dancing bullies
multiple bullies
good bullies with bad bullies
girly bullies
tiny bullies
lucky bullies with big brothers
lonely bullies
macho bullies
dumb bullies
ignorant bullies
well spoken bullies from good families
enraged bullies
out of breath bullies
old bullies
cunning bullies
evangelical bullies
melodramatic bullies
ah the list goes on non
who has not been or been bullied by one of these?
yeah schools alright if youre a fish
i got no quarrel with teachers
all in all most teachers are pretty cool
i dont begrudge em their long holidays
imagine teaching kids like....me?!!
1965
me and john buser (pronounced buzzer!)
were standing in the park behind my place
a park....?
it was a few acres of long yellow grass
with some trees and swings n a slide
(aust name= slippery dip)(for trivia lovers)
any way me and buzzer are standing there
and i whip out me box of matches (as you do...)
of course the middle of a field with long yellow grass
where the temp is 100 fucking degrees
and it aint rained for ages
(in fact perfect "tinderbox" conditions)
buzzers staring at me laughing
i pull out a match and strike it
i toss it into the grass
the yellow straw about knee high...ha ha
it explodes into flame and i stamp it out pronto
fucking buzzer takes the matches and does the same thing
but he lets his patch burn a little longer
and he stamps it out kinda casually
as opposed to my frightened hurry
ok buzzer i'll up the ante
a bigger burning patch a more sedate stamping out
buzzer goes one better again
he almost sets an uncontrollable patch burning
he starts off slow stamping it out
but in the end hes running round like a madman
he gets it out though...in the end
i take the matches and i flick off a burner into the grass
at the same moment
unknownst to me a little breeze picked up
my patch of burning grass rapidly became the size of a small kitchen
then the size of a bedroom
i just stood there
i was planning on showing buzzer a thing or 2
suddenly we looked at each other
and began stamping it out for all we were worth
too little too late im afraid
the breeze hit it and with a sound like WHOAMP!
the flames coalesced themselves
into a full on burn yer park n house down fire
it was going in all directions at once
wow!
the fire brigade arrived and the cops
all the neighbours at their back fences
most of the park was now a blackened smouldering mess
i was a little shocked n blackened myself
even my mother was quite lost for words
she made me have a bath
and sent me to bed at 2 in the afternoon
ps
there was a happy ending
from the blackened scorched land
now with the yellow weedy strawlike grass gone
guess what?
lovely green lawn emerged ..there till this day
magpie hill, lyneham act
i was the parks inadvertent saviour
digression 2
seems we all had dark days at school
school is like a slice of society all crammed together
we all got bullied
i did some bullying too
moreoften of a verbal nature though
i must admit in all truthfulness
if i had had more physical prowess
i may have been as bad a bully as the worst of em
ah the pack instinct
i once saw big maria (a huge amazonian girl with glandular probs)
hold down a girl and try to force her twin brother to "root" her
down by the storm water drains
where lyneham high met lyneham primary
and 50 kids standing around
chanting do it! do it! do it!
it was like a drug....
yes we were supposed to be being educated
but what is the true purpose of education but to produce cogs
for the great machine
we fill kids heads up with our syllabus propaganda
we make em learn their stuff by rote
we make them spend their childhoods in dreary rooms
all in the end so they can work
no i dont have a better plan or solution
the wheels are in motion with society
as an idea i oppose the system and its education
as a parent i want my children to be educated
so they have a chance in this rat race we find ourselves in
and fuck, the rats are running even faster this year
bullying is much more of an issue in sweden
they hunt down bullies quick smart
in aust
in england
and probably the u.s. by the sound of it
the teachers seemed to turn a bit of a blind eye
especially in "my" day
its a fine line between a bit of mucking about
and bullying
and teachers werent always around everywhere anyway
how could they be?
i had some absolutely wonderful teachers
inspired n inspiring
i had some nasty repressed little turkeys too
everyone copped a bit of abuse sometime
but aint that life...
theres your education right there
i was learning valuable lessons
i was learning how to operate in groups
i was learning to socialize and negotiate
learning people stuff
the lessons were like a prop
all that bullshit i learnt....
its just that people get no choice..
youre born n they immediately inveigle you into the system
your parents turn you over for six hours a day
the system gets you ready
breaks your spirit under the classroom roof
gets you used to sitting still n processing info
gets you used to being part of a team
gets you used to the fact that you must surrender your "freedom"
when the system says so
is the system the best of all possible systems?
i dunno...its awfully hard to tell
we are steeped in the system
we are the system
no one can walk away from the system
to be outside the system terrifies us
we can only hope for gradual non-violent change
as the system becomes more reasonable ...we hope
meanwhile there is that system
and its gonna take children years n years to learn to cope with it
the system sucks in greedily the good learners and clever kidz
these will be assimilated easily and rewarded well
unfortunately education leaves a swathe of misfits in its wake
people who were outraged and enraged by their 12 years of hell
school is tougher than anything outside except for jail
and that aint outside...
in real life you can just avoid the ratbags
in school theyre there all day long; theyre inevitable
they mock ya
they trick ya
they tease ya
they trip you up
they chase you home
they threaten n they punish
theyre at every school in all times
they are gonna be there
just like the nettles n thistles are in the fields
just like the sharks n jellyfish in the sea
nasty bullies
sneaky bossy bullies
crazy giantess bullies
hard physical silent bullies
cowardly bullies
sports star bullies
tricky bullies
friendly seeming bullies
irritating bullies
sarcastic bullies
pious bullies
angry bullies
mistaken bullies
sad bullies
martial arts bullies
body building bullies
reluctant bullies
sneering bullies
mouthy bullies
dancing bullies
multiple bullies
good bullies with bad bullies
girly bullies
tiny bullies
lucky bullies with big brothers
lonely bullies
macho bullies
dumb bullies
ignorant bullies
well spoken bullies from good families
enraged bullies
out of breath bullies
old bullies
cunning bullies
evangelical bullies
melodramatic bullies
ah the list goes on non
who has not been or been bullied by one of these?
yeah schools alright if youre a fish
i got no quarrel with teachers
all in all most teachers are pretty cool
i dont begrudge em their long holidays
imagine teaching kids like....me?!!
Friday, June 13, 2008
sixty six n onwoods
1966
there i am
my last year of lyneham primary
our teacher was mr petfield
he didnt particularly like me or hate me
he wasnt a bad guy i suppose
he was about as old as i am now
and i imagine the tedium of teaching
a bunch of little 12 year olds every day
my school is visiting our sister school in wollongong
but there are 3 too many kids in our class
for places on the bus trip there
and petfields running a demerit scheme to see who stays behind
thats right
every time a kid does something wrong
they get a chalk mark against their name
i never ever looked like i was gonna go
i had already turn the corner into the next column of marks
before any other kid got on the board
2 kids were off school with illness anyway
so one morning i waved my class goodbye
and i was drafted into the opportunity class
the opportunity class in lyneham canberra 1966 was not funny
in fact it was rather scary
in a separate wing of the school was the opportunity class
full of strange kids who these days would be seen as a.d.d.t
or aspergers
or something
some couldnt speak english properly
some had seeing or hearing problems
and some of them
were working class australian kids
whose parents were literally dirt poor
and these kids were as hard as fucking nails
yeah theyd give any london artful dodger a run for 'is money
and theyd lumped em in from all ages
into this one class
in a weird classroom
in a distant wing
and the teacher was weird too
mr harvey
a big rawboned redfaced ex rugby star or something
and the classroom was weirdly shaped
split level
and the classes were like feeding time at the zoo
and i sat there
amongst these kids with their thick glasses
and handmedown stained n knitted n darned uniforms
you knew some of em were going straight to fucking jail
they knew it too
even at 10 or 11
ooh it was so weird
inside myself im this permanent priggish prude
constantly amazed by how "the other half lives"
i was shocked at how some of the kids smelt of burned wee
or something
i was amazed at their dirty fingernails and
wild unkempt hair
the language they used
and their pronunciations
and mr harvey himself
presiding over this chaotic rabble of kids
with his deep booming voice
his slowly said instructions
that wry half smile in everything he did
god i can still see em all now
oh those poor children
and that awful circus-like class
immigrant kids just landed in australia
from god knows where
and they punch first and never ask questions at all
and here i was
some smartass kid from 6A
sent down here to cool his heels
while the rest of the toffy 6Aers went on hols
it seemed like most of em couldnt read properly
a huge 12 year old darkskinned boy
struggling along with myopic girls who were 9
to read kindergarten texts
of course eventually my class came back
and i was double whammied by all the talk
about places i hadnt been
and people i'd never met
kid in playground 1 : hey what about spikes room?
me: whos spike?
kip2: he wasnt there...
kip1: spike was my billet...
kip2: he had his own flat out the back...
kip1: with his own stereo...
kip2: he had playboys too...
kip1 ; he had all the rollings stones records....
kip2: he had a book about john lennon...
kip1: he had a girlfriend who lived next door...
kip2: and his twin sister....
kip1 : i kissed her...
kip2: yeah he kissed her...
me: groan
there i am
my last year of lyneham primary
our teacher was mr petfield
he didnt particularly like me or hate me
he wasnt a bad guy i suppose
he was about as old as i am now
and i imagine the tedium of teaching
a bunch of little 12 year olds every day
my school is visiting our sister school in wollongong
but there are 3 too many kids in our class
for places on the bus trip there
and petfields running a demerit scheme to see who stays behind
thats right
every time a kid does something wrong
they get a chalk mark against their name
i never ever looked like i was gonna go
i had already turn the corner into the next column of marks
before any other kid got on the board
2 kids were off school with illness anyway
so one morning i waved my class goodbye
and i was drafted into the opportunity class
the opportunity class in lyneham canberra 1966 was not funny
in fact it was rather scary
in a separate wing of the school was the opportunity class
full of strange kids who these days would be seen as a.d.d.t
or aspergers
or something
some couldnt speak english properly
some had seeing or hearing problems
and some of them
were working class australian kids
whose parents were literally dirt poor
and these kids were as hard as fucking nails
yeah theyd give any london artful dodger a run for 'is money
and theyd lumped em in from all ages
into this one class
in a weird classroom
in a distant wing
and the teacher was weird too
mr harvey
a big rawboned redfaced ex rugby star or something
and the classroom was weirdly shaped
split level
and the classes were like feeding time at the zoo
and i sat there
amongst these kids with their thick glasses
and handmedown stained n knitted n darned uniforms
you knew some of em were going straight to fucking jail
they knew it too
even at 10 or 11
ooh it was so weird
inside myself im this permanent priggish prude
constantly amazed by how "the other half lives"
i was shocked at how some of the kids smelt of burned wee
or something
i was amazed at their dirty fingernails and
wild unkempt hair
the language they used
and their pronunciations
and mr harvey himself
presiding over this chaotic rabble of kids
with his deep booming voice
his slowly said instructions
that wry half smile in everything he did
god i can still see em all now
oh those poor children
and that awful circus-like class
immigrant kids just landed in australia
from god knows where
and they punch first and never ask questions at all
and here i was
some smartass kid from 6A
sent down here to cool his heels
while the rest of the toffy 6Aers went on hols
it seemed like most of em couldnt read properly
a huge 12 year old darkskinned boy
struggling along with myopic girls who were 9
to read kindergarten texts
of course eventually my class came back
and i was double whammied by all the talk
about places i hadnt been
and people i'd never met
kid in playground 1 : hey what about spikes room?
me: whos spike?
kip2: he wasnt there...
kip1: spike was my billet...
kip2: he had his own flat out the back...
kip1: with his own stereo...
kip2: he had playboys too...
kip1 ; he had all the rollings stones records....
kip2: he had a book about john lennon...
kip1: he had a girlfriend who lived next door...
kip2: and his twin sister....
kip1 : i kissed her...
kip2: yeah he kissed her...
me: groan
Thursday, June 12, 2008
the raw-ing sixties
1961
me n my dad sitting in the garage
we got this german shepherd dog
called duke the second
hes a really stupid bloody dog
he jumped over the fence
and has eaten some of mrs paytens chickens
and theyre very angry now, our neighbours
his ears wont stand up
which frustrates my dad
who keeps saying
he doesnt even bloody look anything like an alsation..
we discover he has "mastoiditis'" in his ears
so my dads trying to rub this cream in his sore ears
but the dog keeps turning round n biting him
me and dad are trying to sing the dog asleep
so we can rub this cream in
"go to sleep old dukey
close your peepy byes
go to sleep old dukey
go to sleepy-byes"
but the dog keeps growling and biting at us
his ears never did stand up
he pushed his luck with the chickens too
and he ended up somewhere else
where someone wanted a floppy eared stupid chickenkiller alsation
1962
i was in love with shirley urban
pale gold hair in plaits
olive skin
pale blue eyes...linger on...
she never seemed to say much
she seemed to smile and giggle a lot
i think she might have been a czech
did she care for me?
i doubt it
i was so incredibly shy
i just watched from a distance
until we did the grand old duke of york one day
that was a dance where you held hands
and me n shirley held hands
and danced under the other kids hands
that song still gives me butterflies
but nothing ever eventuated
i blamed the clodhopper shoes my mother bought me
paddle shoes they were called
like big bloody boats they were
with this rubber bumper bar going round the outside
i knew i hated em
and then one day i noticed garry simpsons shoes
with chiseled square toes...oh they were beautiful
how could i ever get shirley urban with shoes like these???
1963
into primary school
my teacher was mrs peacock
sexuality began to swirl into my world
there was a rumour that some kids had seen
mr doust "rooting" mrs peacock on a table
in a room thru a keyhole
i always felt strangely about her after that, i must say
i imagined her on a table being "rooted" all the time
i didnt know what "rooted" meant
but it sure sounded like something i needed to investigate
a boy in 6th grade gave us youngsters some tips one day
i remember his name was teddy aitken
and he had dyed his hair blond with lemon juice
to show he was a surfie
he told us your balls were called your cods
and your dick was called your tool or your mule (!?)
he said said a root was when you put your tool
against a girls "crack"
jesus....where did this all happen ? we youngsters chorused
in the bush usually...teddy said with authority
you take em out in the bush and you root em he said
well this sent my mind whirling
i hadnt connected this with babies yet
my mother had had russell my brother last year
but i didnt know there was any hanky panky involved
mum said god put babies in ladies tummies
and that seemed ok to me
then dad took me to a father n son night
where i finally figured it out...
you mean we all got here
because men were putting their tools on ladies cracks??
i decided to try out my racey new vocabulary on mrs peacock
my next composition was something like
i was riding my mule and fishing for cods
and i saw a crack and tripped over some roots
and i lost my big tool...etc
my parents were called up the school
and i got a stern talking to
hmmm...the groan-ups were hip to our lingo
that same year i came across my first copy of playboy
nothing in my life up to that moment
had prepared me for the sight of the centrefolded girl
her huge "nellies" as my dad called em
or her naked pink bottom running with suds
as she stood up in the bath revealing all
wow! i thought to myself
anxiety and something else growing in me now
1964
we moved to shepparton victoria
i went to a new school for the first time
they played different football down here
and they laughed at my rugby style
we listened to beatle records all the time
russell with a plastic bowl on his head imitating a beatle do
both of us strumming badminton raquets
russell was quite a twinkle toes n took his beatling seriously
he bopped around all flush faced as if it were life or death
i fell in love with a girl called christine cameron
she sometimes had blue teeth from (i guess) drinking ink
i thought her blue teeth were the loveliest thing i had seen
we wrote with a pen n nib n ink from a well
i loved the smell of indian ink
which some us were allowed to use sometimes for art
after a rough start i became dux of the class
my first and only dux-hood (# 1 in class)
at the very end of 64 we moved to canberra
1965
a lot happened in 65
i burned down a park
i met and fought nigel murray
later to become known as nick ward
i got accused of sending dirty letters to anna struss
which i didnt do
but the headmaster left me alone with her father
this austrian madman
who pulled me around by my ears
and grabbed my chin and yanked me about
the letter had said
"lets have a root n see how many babies we get"
and it was signed by me
the idiots who sent it had even signed it stephen kilby
but hey
it didnt stop the cops coming round our house
ha ha
its 1965 and these 2 coppers knock at our front door
very seriously investigating this obscene letter
my mum opens the door
the first thing they see is this nude my dad had painted
next thing
theres a playboy lying around
my mother said
we believe in giving our children a very broadminded upbringing
the cops were certain they had their man
even when the other kids
admitted to it
they reckoned they were "covering up" for me
have i told y'all that story before?
boy the anxiety was starting to rev up now
wow
that was a lot just to get to 66
now i got rsi again
ok tomorrow
66 -70
love
stephen
me n my dad sitting in the garage
we got this german shepherd dog
called duke the second
hes a really stupid bloody dog
he jumped over the fence
and has eaten some of mrs paytens chickens
and theyre very angry now, our neighbours
his ears wont stand up
which frustrates my dad
who keeps saying
he doesnt even bloody look anything like an alsation..
we discover he has "mastoiditis'" in his ears
so my dads trying to rub this cream in his sore ears
but the dog keeps turning round n biting him
me and dad are trying to sing the dog asleep
so we can rub this cream in
"go to sleep old dukey
close your peepy byes
go to sleep old dukey
go to sleepy-byes"
but the dog keeps growling and biting at us
his ears never did stand up
he pushed his luck with the chickens too
and he ended up somewhere else
where someone wanted a floppy eared stupid chickenkiller alsation
1962
i was in love with shirley urban
pale gold hair in plaits
olive skin
pale blue eyes...linger on...
she never seemed to say much
she seemed to smile and giggle a lot
i think she might have been a czech
did she care for me?
i doubt it
i was so incredibly shy
i just watched from a distance
until we did the grand old duke of york one day
that was a dance where you held hands
and me n shirley held hands
and danced under the other kids hands
that song still gives me butterflies
but nothing ever eventuated
i blamed the clodhopper shoes my mother bought me
paddle shoes they were called
like big bloody boats they were
with this rubber bumper bar going round the outside
i knew i hated em
and then one day i noticed garry simpsons shoes
with chiseled square toes...oh they were beautiful
how could i ever get shirley urban with shoes like these???
1963
into primary school
my teacher was mrs peacock
sexuality began to swirl into my world
there was a rumour that some kids had seen
mr doust "rooting" mrs peacock on a table
in a room thru a keyhole
i always felt strangely about her after that, i must say
i imagined her on a table being "rooted" all the time
i didnt know what "rooted" meant
but it sure sounded like something i needed to investigate
a boy in 6th grade gave us youngsters some tips one day
i remember his name was teddy aitken
and he had dyed his hair blond with lemon juice
to show he was a surfie
he told us your balls were called your cods
and your dick was called your tool or your mule (!?)
he said said a root was when you put your tool
against a girls "crack"
jesus....where did this all happen ? we youngsters chorused
in the bush usually...teddy said with authority
you take em out in the bush and you root em he said
well this sent my mind whirling
i hadnt connected this with babies yet
my mother had had russell my brother last year
but i didnt know there was any hanky panky involved
mum said god put babies in ladies tummies
and that seemed ok to me
then dad took me to a father n son night
where i finally figured it out...
you mean we all got here
because men were putting their tools on ladies cracks??
i decided to try out my racey new vocabulary on mrs peacock
my next composition was something like
i was riding my mule and fishing for cods
and i saw a crack and tripped over some roots
and i lost my big tool...etc
my parents were called up the school
and i got a stern talking to
hmmm...the groan-ups were hip to our lingo
that same year i came across my first copy of playboy
nothing in my life up to that moment
had prepared me for the sight of the centrefolded girl
her huge "nellies" as my dad called em
or her naked pink bottom running with suds
as she stood up in the bath revealing all
wow! i thought to myself
anxiety and something else growing in me now
1964
we moved to shepparton victoria
i went to a new school for the first time
they played different football down here
and they laughed at my rugby style
we listened to beatle records all the time
russell with a plastic bowl on his head imitating a beatle do
both of us strumming badminton raquets
russell was quite a twinkle toes n took his beatling seriously
he bopped around all flush faced as if it were life or death
i fell in love with a girl called christine cameron
she sometimes had blue teeth from (i guess) drinking ink
i thought her blue teeth were the loveliest thing i had seen
we wrote with a pen n nib n ink from a well
i loved the smell of indian ink
which some us were allowed to use sometimes for art
after a rough start i became dux of the class
my first and only dux-hood (# 1 in class)
at the very end of 64 we moved to canberra
1965
a lot happened in 65
i burned down a park
i met and fought nigel murray
later to become known as nick ward
i got accused of sending dirty letters to anna struss
which i didnt do
but the headmaster left me alone with her father
this austrian madman
who pulled me around by my ears
and grabbed my chin and yanked me about
the letter had said
"lets have a root n see how many babies we get"
and it was signed by me
the idiots who sent it had even signed it stephen kilby
but hey
it didnt stop the cops coming round our house
ha ha
its 1965 and these 2 coppers knock at our front door
very seriously investigating this obscene letter
my mum opens the door
the first thing they see is this nude my dad had painted
next thing
theres a playboy lying around
my mother said
we believe in giving our children a very broadminded upbringing
the cops were certain they had their man
even when the other kids
admitted to it
they reckoned they were "covering up" for me
have i told y'all that story before?
boy the anxiety was starting to rev up now
wow
that was a lot just to get to 66
now i got rsi again
ok tomorrow
66 -70
love
stephen
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
memory lane changer
1945
les n joyce meet
our lives are merely trees of possibilities
end of the war
summer of peace
1948
les n joyce get married
i do i do i do
to have and to hold
time being a glimmer in the eye
time being coming down the line
time being getting ready
re: in car, nate
1954
oh a little bundle of joy arrives
1955
see me in my pram asleep
a golden child with tiny angels a'hovering
hear my dulcet tones
when i gurgle out my first phrase of da da esque poetry
1956
see me walking talking living boy
see my budgie napoleon
see me fly my red plane and my blue plane
see me in watercolour memory garden
the summer nights in sweetbriar
dad bangin' on a piana
1957
im in australia
look its the ninety fifties
men were men
n women had those horrible hairdos with all the spray
how poisonous was all that bloody spray
sprayed all over yer face n in yer scalp
airborne glue
conditions in australia a little "rawer" than england
especially the matter of sanitation
hey les can do well here tho
he's a photographer n pianist n mechanic
n a all round cockney geezer
hes bloody funny too that leslie
aint 'e , ladies
ooh that les....such a comedian
1958
dapto
oh idyllic days before i started school
sitting up in bed colouring
next to me mums having her afternoon nap
mum n dad have these curtains diffusing soft light in their room
im very quiet n still
i dont want to wake mum up
i am the custodian n guardian of her nap
i will keep still
and in the delicacy of each movement
in the extreme quietness and slowness of each moment
i colour my book in
such marvellous stories
little toy sailors riding fish that looked like dolphins
hobgoblins and witches
a door in a tree leads to a faery feast
the midnight hour kidnapped n rescued by a mouse
a fierce old man with a beard who turns out to be friendly
(first time i saw the word "fierce"...will always associate with that book)
i discover my favourite colours among my pencils were pink n mauve
they had some important link i could never fathom
same as the letters j and f
those two letters have some link my young heart told me
maybe coming from before....?
1959
at one of our seemingly endless picnics
here we all are by the side of a lagoon on a perma-sunday
the dads are all snoozing in deck chairs
the mums are all getting lunch ready
the kids are all floating round on blow up toys
theres joyce with a flask of hot tea
theres les with his new fangled movie camera
a movie camera....that les...!
hes gotta have all the latest gadgets
he sweeps in low and films all the ladies legs
they all have a giggle except mum
shes used to his antics
oh look
that little freckle face kid
hes a skinny little sod
his hair is short backnsides and bleached sandy by the sun
his shoulders are red n peeling
so hes swimming with a t shirt on which he hates
some of my relatives are really lovely
aunty ivy was nice to me
seeming like she came from another age
aunty lou my dads sister was a hard lady to handle
she fomented revolt n dissent with all her rellies
humphing n tut tut tutting n shh n rolling her eyes
she wound em up n she set em against each other
a real matriach worthy of a roman dynasty
lou used to try to set me dad against me
it hurt me that my dad was taking flack from his big sister
over me n my bad behaviour
my cheekiness towards the groan-ups
my lack of the required subservience
the way i didnt eat my dinner
the only food i liked was fried egg n chips...!
lou had a million little aphorisms along the lines of
children should be seen n not heard
kinda trip
still on days like these
life seemed endlessly pleasurable
but anxiety had begun to pop into my stomach
a general uneasiness as i began to suss the lie of the land
1960
i go to a school
everyday i go there and get educated
i learn how to sing christmas carols
i learn how to daydream
i learn how to look at the pretty girls
i learn how to compete
i learn the hit of winning
i learn the miss of losing
i learn the currents of popularity
i learn to compare
i learn to bully and be bullied
i learn to get in fights
i learn to avoid fights
i get threepence
wrapped in my hanky for bus fare n after school
my mum has already made my lunch and playlunch
at 11 oclock we drink warm milk left in the playground
(it wasnt supposed to be warm....)
we use this paint that had a wonderful smell
we do a play
we have yo yo experts come to school
we have a fancy dress competition
we catch the bus home
i watch superman starring george reeves
i watch zorro
i watch rin tin tin
i watch lassie
i watch the cisco kid
i watch robin hood
and the adventures of lancelot
mr squiggle n the gillypops
i watch bandstand
i go to bed at 7 30
dad tells me a story
anxiety creeping more
school is frightening
i realise i'll never have those days with my mother again
they were over before i knew it
i decide i dont really like school
tomorrow
the roaring sixties
les n joyce meet
our lives are merely trees of possibilities
end of the war
summer of peace
1948
les n joyce get married
i do i do i do
to have and to hold
time being a glimmer in the eye
time being coming down the line
time being getting ready
re: in car, nate
1954
oh a little bundle of joy arrives
1955
see me in my pram asleep
a golden child with tiny angels a'hovering
hear my dulcet tones
when i gurgle out my first phrase of da da esque poetry
1956
see me walking talking living boy
see my budgie napoleon
see me fly my red plane and my blue plane
see me in watercolour memory garden
the summer nights in sweetbriar
dad bangin' on a piana
1957
im in australia
look its the ninety fifties
men were men
n women had those horrible hairdos with all the spray
how poisonous was all that bloody spray
sprayed all over yer face n in yer scalp
airborne glue
conditions in australia a little "rawer" than england
especially the matter of sanitation
hey les can do well here tho
he's a photographer n pianist n mechanic
n a all round cockney geezer
hes bloody funny too that leslie
aint 'e , ladies
ooh that les....such a comedian
1958
dapto
oh idyllic days before i started school
sitting up in bed colouring
next to me mums having her afternoon nap
mum n dad have these curtains diffusing soft light in their room
im very quiet n still
i dont want to wake mum up
i am the custodian n guardian of her nap
i will keep still
and in the delicacy of each movement
in the extreme quietness and slowness of each moment
i colour my book in
such marvellous stories
little toy sailors riding fish that looked like dolphins
hobgoblins and witches
a door in a tree leads to a faery feast
the midnight hour kidnapped n rescued by a mouse
a fierce old man with a beard who turns out to be friendly
(first time i saw the word "fierce"...will always associate with that book)
i discover my favourite colours among my pencils were pink n mauve
they had some important link i could never fathom
same as the letters j and f
those two letters have some link my young heart told me
maybe coming from before....?
1959
at one of our seemingly endless picnics
here we all are by the side of a lagoon on a perma-sunday
the dads are all snoozing in deck chairs
the mums are all getting lunch ready
the kids are all floating round on blow up toys
theres joyce with a flask of hot tea
theres les with his new fangled movie camera
a movie camera....that les...!
hes gotta have all the latest gadgets
he sweeps in low and films all the ladies legs
they all have a giggle except mum
shes used to his antics
oh look
that little freckle face kid
hes a skinny little sod
his hair is short backnsides and bleached sandy by the sun
his shoulders are red n peeling
so hes swimming with a t shirt on which he hates
some of my relatives are really lovely
aunty ivy was nice to me
seeming like she came from another age
aunty lou my dads sister was a hard lady to handle
she fomented revolt n dissent with all her rellies
humphing n tut tut tutting n shh n rolling her eyes
she wound em up n she set em against each other
a real matriach worthy of a roman dynasty
lou used to try to set me dad against me
it hurt me that my dad was taking flack from his big sister
over me n my bad behaviour
my cheekiness towards the groan-ups
my lack of the required subservience
the way i didnt eat my dinner
the only food i liked was fried egg n chips...!
lou had a million little aphorisms along the lines of
children should be seen n not heard
kinda trip
still on days like these
life seemed endlessly pleasurable
but anxiety had begun to pop into my stomach
a general uneasiness as i began to suss the lie of the land
1960
i go to a school
everyday i go there and get educated
i learn how to sing christmas carols
i learn how to daydream
i learn how to look at the pretty girls
i learn how to compete
i learn the hit of winning
i learn the miss of losing
i learn the currents of popularity
i learn to compare
i learn to bully and be bullied
i learn to get in fights
i learn to avoid fights
i get threepence
wrapped in my hanky for bus fare n after school
my mum has already made my lunch and playlunch
at 11 oclock we drink warm milk left in the playground
(it wasnt supposed to be warm....)
we use this paint that had a wonderful smell
we do a play
we have yo yo experts come to school
we have a fancy dress competition
we catch the bus home
i watch superman starring george reeves
i watch zorro
i watch rin tin tin
i watch lassie
i watch the cisco kid
i watch robin hood
and the adventures of lancelot
mr squiggle n the gillypops
i watch bandstand
i go to bed at 7 30
dad tells me a story
anxiety creeping more
school is frightening
i realise i'll never have those days with my mother again
they were over before i knew it
i decide i dont really like school
tomorrow
the roaring sixties
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
a winters tail
hunkered down under the perma-fog
get up early
smoke a joint on the balc
gonna write a blog
what about?
i dunno yet
i cant even get the italics to work
i cant cut or paste
i cant slash and burn
i get led away easily
dont sleep well
the taxman is still patiently waiting
the unanswered letters remain that way
im a stupid bull(y) in an expensive china shoppe
yelling bluffing bucking and snorting
it feels good to admit my shortcomings
how did they pack so much into one man?
i am alternatively hyper-aware or thick as a brick
i am becoming deaf as a post 991
and blind as a (cricket) bat
the outside is harder for me to apprehend these days
i detect patterns of everything going right
and everything going wrong
currents of loathing and loving swirl around me
secrets and gossip and suspicions and implications
i can never make myself understood
only about 10 people in the whole wide world i feel comfortable with
all the others are getting an act
whoops steven youre falling out of character
for him your this way
for her your that way
for this other him your something else
for the other her your something less
see...?!! you can lose track of who you are that way
sometimes after meeting some people
earthy types
straight shooters
men of few words
i see them stride away thinking
i never wanna talk to that fool again
either gushing or sulkily silent
this weekend....
gotta deal with a loada strangers
whats p.c.? what isnt p.c.?
for example i know the dalai eats meat....?!
i just come straight from the vegan do....all fired up
relax...i aint gonna get to meet the druid
what do you say to that guy?
hi ...err dalai...oh can i call you dal?
so you liked starfish?
er...hows it goin' with china...these days..uh huh.oh really?
still ...you see what i'm saying
personally i dont care what any of em do
i want to make a big olde fortune
(hey i'd be a wonderful heir....)
i want one of them big old houses in lavender bay
where its leafy and quiet
where i could hide in my library on days like these
winter days full of discontent
padded on all sides and every direction by money
i would doze in my armchair and dream of a world
i would banish noise from my plush secluded room
you might see me
a shadowy lonely figure in the window of some great house
staring out at the foggy harbour
as i stroke my faithful abyssinian cat
you would wonder who that rich distant man is
and you would wonder at my silent austere days
separated in my warm rooms from the rampaging rabble
no damp
no bills
no rent
no gigs
no flights
no can you change this
or please dont do thats
no one could reach me
hidden in my labyrinth of rooms
i do yoga as the rain falls down and down
the leaves are green and rubbery around my tower windows
i look in the mirror and see that im changing
an old man with hollow cheeks i am
dabbling in magic from my grimoires
becoming stranger and stranger day by day
unable to tell the true life apart
i am the unlonely
content in my own company
still the blasted rain falls
i watch from my tower as people scramble below
i know nothing of their worlds
i am up here changing lead into gold
i am up here invoking black angels
i am up here singing up the storm electric
i am up here the austral faust
as the money pours in and my powers grow
i practice qi gong for hours
i find i can hold my breath for 45 minutes
i find i can locate hidden doors
i become aware of ....other things
theres a knock knock knocking at my door
it vaguely penetrates my transmagical trance
i hear the servant send whoever it was away brusquely
i hear the door close
i imagine the footsteps away in the deluge
i imagine or do i hear a car start up and drive away
there is no northern hemisphere
there is no internet
there is no melbourne or perth
there is no surrounding patina of suburbs
the fog on the harbour blurs everything to silver grey
the rainfall drowns all other sound
its continual and continuous
the rain streaks across my windows driven by the winds
northern gales
southerly busters
howling incessant demanding
inside my fire glows
i poke at its glowing coals
i watch the flaming armies for hours
i have no need to eat
occasionally i sip at water
i sleep for centuries
i grow horns
and great leathery wings
finally a lovely tail
which writhes around of its own accord
i climb up to the top of my tower
and i fly
away into the turbulent sky
get up early
smoke a joint on the balc
gonna write a blog
what about?
i dunno yet
i cant even get the italics to work
i cant cut or paste
i cant slash and burn
i get led away easily
dont sleep well
the taxman is still patiently waiting
the unanswered letters remain that way
im a stupid bull(y) in an expensive china shoppe
yelling bluffing bucking and snorting
it feels good to admit my shortcomings
how did they pack so much into one man?
i am alternatively hyper-aware or thick as a brick
i am becoming deaf as a post 991
and blind as a (cricket) bat
the outside is harder for me to apprehend these days
i detect patterns of everything going right
and everything going wrong
currents of loathing and loving swirl around me
secrets and gossip and suspicions and implications
i can never make myself understood
only about 10 people in the whole wide world i feel comfortable with
all the others are getting an act
whoops steven youre falling out of character
for him your this way
for her your that way
for this other him your something else
for the other her your something less
see...?!! you can lose track of who you are that way
sometimes after meeting some people
earthy types
straight shooters
men of few words
i see them stride away thinking
i never wanna talk to that fool again
either gushing or sulkily silent
this weekend....
gotta deal with a loada strangers
whats p.c.? what isnt p.c.?
for example i know the dalai eats meat....?!
i just come straight from the vegan do....all fired up
relax...i aint gonna get to meet the druid
what do you say to that guy?
hi ...err dalai...oh can i call you dal?
so you liked starfish?
er...hows it goin' with china...these days..uh huh.oh really?
still ...you see what i'm saying
personally i dont care what any of em do
i want to make a big olde fortune
(hey i'd be a wonderful heir....)
i want one of them big old houses in lavender bay
where its leafy and quiet
where i could hide in my library on days like these
winter days full of discontent
padded on all sides and every direction by money
i would doze in my armchair and dream of a world
i would banish noise from my plush secluded room
you might see me
a shadowy lonely figure in the window of some great house
staring out at the foggy harbour
as i stroke my faithful abyssinian cat
you would wonder who that rich distant man is
and you would wonder at my silent austere days
separated in my warm rooms from the rampaging rabble
no damp
no bills
no rent
no gigs
no flights
no can you change this
or please dont do thats
no one could reach me
hidden in my labyrinth of rooms
i do yoga as the rain falls down and down
the leaves are green and rubbery around my tower windows
i look in the mirror and see that im changing
an old man with hollow cheeks i am
dabbling in magic from my grimoires
becoming stranger and stranger day by day
unable to tell the true life apart
i am the unlonely
content in my own company
still the blasted rain falls
i watch from my tower as people scramble below
i know nothing of their worlds
i am up here changing lead into gold
i am up here invoking black angels
i am up here singing up the storm electric
i am up here the austral faust
as the money pours in and my powers grow
i practice qi gong for hours
i find i can hold my breath for 45 minutes
i find i can locate hidden doors
i become aware of ....other things
theres a knock knock knocking at my door
it vaguely penetrates my transmagical trance
i hear the servant send whoever it was away brusquely
i hear the door close
i imagine the footsteps away in the deluge
i imagine or do i hear a car start up and drive away
there is no northern hemisphere
there is no internet
there is no melbourne or perth
there is no surrounding patina of suburbs
the fog on the harbour blurs everything to silver grey
the rainfall drowns all other sound
its continual and continuous
the rain streaks across my windows driven by the winds
northern gales
southerly busters
howling incessant demanding
inside my fire glows
i poke at its glowing coals
i watch the flaming armies for hours
i have no need to eat
occasionally i sip at water
i sleep for centuries
i grow horns
and great leathery wings
finally a lovely tail
which writhes around of its own accord
i climb up to the top of my tower
and i fly
away into the turbulent sky
Monday, June 09, 2008
post 991
no adjectives harmed writing this blog
your time being contains only free range nouns
the verbs offered themselves direct from the english language
the vowels are organic
the consonants are prepared with love
this blog is made with only the finest ingredients
memories may contain traces of nostalgia
rants may contain swearing and or bullshit
self portraits may contain rampant egoism
family tales may contain mawkish sentimentality
time being may contain staggering genius or staggering about
time being often bitter often sweet
time being originally produced in england
time being recommends himself
time being becoming older and younger
warning! some sentences may use paradoxes
consult your heart before attempting to decipher
dont use ttb products if sealine tampered with
somebody (the vegetalista) said its all for YOU
time being flies trans astral starways
time being stays at participating planets
time being accepts donations and flattery
time being does not accept things easily
time being not prepared beforehand
see conditions*
if unsure how to use time being
never read time being whilst vehicle is in motion
never ingest time being whilst near an open flame
alcohol and other drugs may increase ttbs effects
consult doctor if you take up the blues
university tests may indicate ttb has more vitamin x than competitors
some dentists may tend to read the ttb and have less tooth deCay
some vets read ttb to their pets and report glossier coats
(not recommended for indian mynah birds with headaches)
ttb may contain traces of hypocrisy
ttb is unfiltered therefore crankiness may not have settled
ttb was fresh when it left ttbs premises
ttb readers have reported dizziness after long periods of use
ttb may contain hesitation and repetition
if so simply discard and dispose of thoughtfully
may contain drug nudity and frontal references
ttb does not recommend hedonism or intoxicated sensualism
ttb is not affiliated in any way with steve kilbey
aka steven john kilbey
ttb not responsible for any losses of virginians
ttb not responsible for uninsured thoughts
ttb uses cash and recommends hundred dollar bills
and fifty dollar petes
ttb swims at bondi eye-sores the home of winter schwimming
ttb does bimbong yoga with much binkle-banksing
ttb appearing near you sooner than you suspected
ttb drinks berry v and would like a sponsa-ship
ttb uses pam n perry products certified a orgasmic
ttb salutes sue c
ttb hails mem
ttb honours gee-none
ttb whispers kraal-man
ttb beatifies jolly hordern
ttb appreciates jenny oxjewelhuntbruin
ttb likes kurtains shankar
ttb regards davis matthewson
ttb admires harri fiores
ttb aknowledges persekrist
ttb bids all a good night
* all ttbs rooms are unconditioned
your time being contains only free range nouns
the verbs offered themselves direct from the english language
the vowels are organic
the consonants are prepared with love
this blog is made with only the finest ingredients
memories may contain traces of nostalgia
rants may contain swearing and or bullshit
self portraits may contain rampant egoism
family tales may contain mawkish sentimentality
time being may contain staggering genius or staggering about
time being often bitter often sweet
time being originally produced in england
time being recommends himself
time being becoming older and younger
warning! some sentences may use paradoxes
consult your heart before attempting to decipher
dont use ttb products if sealine tampered with
somebody (the vegetalista) said its all for YOU
time being flies trans astral starways
time being stays at participating planets
time being accepts donations and flattery
time being does not accept things easily
time being not prepared beforehand
see conditions*
if unsure how to use time being
never read time being whilst vehicle is in motion
never ingest time being whilst near an open flame
alcohol and other drugs may increase ttbs effects
consult doctor if you take up the blues
university tests may indicate ttb has more vitamin x than competitors
some dentists may tend to read the ttb and have less tooth deCay
some vets read ttb to their pets and report glossier coats
(not recommended for indian mynah birds with headaches)
ttb may contain traces of hypocrisy
ttb is unfiltered therefore crankiness may not have settled
ttb was fresh when it left ttbs premises
ttb readers have reported dizziness after long periods of use
ttb may contain hesitation and repetition
if so simply discard and dispose of thoughtfully
may contain drug nudity and frontal references
ttb does not recommend hedonism or intoxicated sensualism
ttb is not affiliated in any way with steve kilbey
aka steven john kilbey
ttb not responsible for any losses of virginians
ttb not responsible for uninsured thoughts
ttb uses cash and recommends hundred dollar bills
and fifty dollar petes
ttb swims at bondi eye-sores the home of winter schwimming
ttb does bimbong yoga with much binkle-banksing
ttb appearing near you sooner than you suspected
ttb drinks berry v and would like a sponsa-ship
ttb uses pam n perry products certified a orgasmic
ttb salutes sue c
ttb hails mem
ttb honours gee-none
ttb whispers kraal-man
ttb beatifies jolly hordern
ttb appreciates jenny oxjewelhuntbruin
ttb likes kurtains shankar
ttb regards davis matthewson
ttb admires harri fiores
ttb aknowledges persekrist
ttb bids all a good night
* all ttbs rooms are unconditioned
Sunday, June 08, 2008
the united future presents : oomph n imprecation
suddenly 9 billion tvs went black
outraged and telly addicted idiots sucked in their breath angrily
city officials glared at the blankness muttering
security guards n toll booth operators spat curses
nursing mommies gawked ...the soapies had been inta-rupted
as the whole world stared in horror at their dead screens
a flickering image replaced the utter tripe they had been mainlining
a mans face solidified upon the screen
a man in a tangled flowery forest
oh a handsome man stared out at the dumb world
no mere youth this man had true authority
around him the medicinal vines n whispering lianas interwove
weird flowers with huge thorns
darknesses under leaves
sick and strange blooms grew in that living jungle
that sentient jumbled vegetal mass of buds n stems n trunks
branches snaked behind him
becoming him
embracing him
the man seemed dark n dull within the bright forest
but his eyes penetrated the warm murk
all around him
around the edge of the tvs perimeter
skulls burn in red n yellow flames
red rimmed eyes watched
following your every move
the jungle hovered protectively around the man
who remained in the liquid shadows
who flickered in n out of your consciousness
the man gazed out silently at his captive audients
as the plantlife rustled around him and vibrated
as the trees shot up the earth
as their sap ran narcotic in a sticky flood
as dreamy drugs oozed from tiny nicks in stamens
as all the wonderful things vishnu included began to move
only some will understand
only some will not joke
only some will receive this revelation in good faith
silence if you can say nothing that will shed light
keep your mouth closed if you cannot match these words
keep your mind still
let your heart beat slowly
close your eyes
you will still see that mans face on your screen
yes you will see with your closed eyes
yes you can listen instead of prattling away
see the mans sad stern face
his eyes full of detached compassion
his vague sympathy
the foliage moves around him in some unfelt zephyr
the plants curl right out of your computer screen
the plants wriggle n writhe
you are struck motionless
you are rendered intrance
you are brought into focus
the background n inane chatter of your mind falls away
the ceaseless knot in your stomach relaxes
your blood pressure goes down n down
the blood pumps round your body smoothly
in great crimson spurts of life
still the man regards you
still the vegetation is not still
it weaves n wanders n bustles n hassles
the venus fly traps open n close
in a lewd flora-sexual come on
pollen shakes everywhere
rude little bees
the tiny hairs of the plants are in motion
small mouths are open
the plantlife is bumping n grinding
the flowers are all making love
but the sadman never loses his gaze
he watches you amidst the gyrating n bucking roots n leaves
the vegetalista
the lonely one
finally he utters a word
his lips form a single syllable
every one heard it in their own language
though the vegetalista spoke in holy and high english
the voice was soft sad and soothing
the voice sang as it spoke
the voice spoke as it sank
the mans eyes narrowed and harrowed
tiny points of light issued forth
presently he spoke the word
the word you wanted to hear
he spoke that word from your commandeered tv set
from your cheap little idiot box
or your widescreen plasmatic feelaround monstrosity
the vegetalista spoke and the plantlife was still
everything in the world was listening
every thing had been leading up to now
all those long seconds from yesterdays were so you could arrive here
the events
the cities in the dust
the long lives in the sun
all of it n everything
so that you could focus on this single syllable
the outside world recedes
there is now nothing but the word
the winged word which flies from his curved lips
the word
the word is
YOU
outraged and telly addicted idiots sucked in their breath angrily
city officials glared at the blankness muttering
security guards n toll booth operators spat curses
nursing mommies gawked ...the soapies had been inta-rupted
as the whole world stared in horror at their dead screens
a flickering image replaced the utter tripe they had been mainlining
a mans face solidified upon the screen
a man in a tangled flowery forest
oh a handsome man stared out at the dumb world
no mere youth this man had true authority
around him the medicinal vines n whispering lianas interwove
weird flowers with huge thorns
darknesses under leaves
sick and strange blooms grew in that living jungle
that sentient jumbled vegetal mass of buds n stems n trunks
branches snaked behind him
becoming him
embracing him
the man seemed dark n dull within the bright forest
but his eyes penetrated the warm murk
all around him
around the edge of the tvs perimeter
skulls burn in red n yellow flames
red rimmed eyes watched
following your every move
the jungle hovered protectively around the man
who remained in the liquid shadows
who flickered in n out of your consciousness
the man gazed out silently at his captive audients
as the plantlife rustled around him and vibrated
as the trees shot up the earth
as their sap ran narcotic in a sticky flood
as dreamy drugs oozed from tiny nicks in stamens
as all the wonderful things vishnu included began to move
only some will understand
only some will not joke
only some will receive this revelation in good faith
silence if you can say nothing that will shed light
keep your mouth closed if you cannot match these words
keep your mind still
let your heart beat slowly
close your eyes
you will still see that mans face on your screen
yes you will see with your closed eyes
yes you can listen instead of prattling away
see the mans sad stern face
his eyes full of detached compassion
his vague sympathy
the foliage moves around him in some unfelt zephyr
the plants curl right out of your computer screen
the plants wriggle n writhe
you are struck motionless
you are rendered intrance
you are brought into focus
the background n inane chatter of your mind falls away
the ceaseless knot in your stomach relaxes
your blood pressure goes down n down
the blood pumps round your body smoothly
in great crimson spurts of life
still the man regards you
still the vegetation is not still
it weaves n wanders n bustles n hassles
the venus fly traps open n close
in a lewd flora-sexual come on
pollen shakes everywhere
rude little bees
the tiny hairs of the plants are in motion
small mouths are open
the plantlife is bumping n grinding
the flowers are all making love
but the sadman never loses his gaze
he watches you amidst the gyrating n bucking roots n leaves
the vegetalista
the lonely one
finally he utters a word
his lips form a single syllable
every one heard it in their own language
though the vegetalista spoke in holy and high english
the voice was soft sad and soothing
the voice sang as it spoke
the voice spoke as it sank
the mans eyes narrowed and harrowed
tiny points of light issued forth
presently he spoke the word
the word you wanted to hear
he spoke that word from your commandeered tv set
from your cheap little idiot box
or your widescreen plasmatic feelaround monstrosity
the vegetalista spoke and the plantlife was still
everything in the world was listening
every thing had been leading up to now
all those long seconds from yesterdays were so you could arrive here
the events
the cities in the dust
the long lives in the sun
all of it n everything
so that you could focus on this single syllable
the outside world recedes
there is now nothing but the word
the winged word which flies from his curved lips
the word
the word is
YOU
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