early morning rain
the days possibilities rush out ahead of me
david duchow
who you may or may not know
has sent me a video for every track on painkiller
i downloaded them last nite while i slept
i have already seen" not what you say"
an epic track which changes and ebbs n flows
finally ending up in a quagmire of marine ambience
it goes for thirty minutes....
davids videos for my/our songs are on you tube
once you have seen one of dd's vids
theres no mistaking them
in mirror images of nature
david locates an incredible symmetry
gods and devils appear
hindu deities hidden in the patterns of a trees roots
the images merge slowly into each other
they dissolve
producing more illusions and half-sightings
they are brilliant because david harnesses nature
and uses it to produce images with staggering architecture
on" not what you say"
i feel like im inside the brain of a dying man
as his mind throws up random images of his life
rooms in hotels turn red and bulging holes appear
kilbey appears via his selfportraits
and disintegrates into a blue lake
scenes from a childhood move across the screen
and finally we drift
over an oceanic desert
i will be viewing the other ten vids after writing this blog
we will be projecting dds vids at the painkiller gig
10 sept sydney-towne
the only gig
with very special guests
anyway
hats off to dd
in his remote canadian wilderness
carrying on the good fucking fight of art for arts sake
and producing visuals that are so appropriate for my stuff
(they allow much intepretation!)
plans could be afoot to make a visual version of pkiller available
and then
i'd like to get polinski to remix it for surround sound
i cannot imagine anything more fucking trippy
than turning up painkiller real loud
and watching it on a big screen
while all the radiotronics swirl round the room
i dont have a system like that
(i got no system just a little tv)
but if i did
i would love to see that
superb stuff!
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
bassed on a true storey
the new bass is fretless
i never really played a fretless before
gee its 1980
we feel like we're living on the very edge of the future
1980...gary numan and everything...
this means nothing to me oh vienna
and i gotta new bass
no its not a fender but its an ibanez
i couldnt afford a fucking fender
plus i wouldnae have probably known the difference
anyway
on a complete fucking whim
ive bought this fretless bass
traded in my ibanez les paul bass copy with the red strings
you see folks
some instruments like guitars n pianos
well you know where the notes are
others like trombones n violins
you just have to feel
theres no markings or notches
the double bass is like that too
i bought a black fretless bass
and i stuck some wallpaper on it of a naked lady
everybody says its stupid for a singer to play a fretless
but there you go
i wanted to make it harder for myself, didnt i
i bet i played millions of notes that were slightly out too
flat or sharp just slightly
oh boy i loved to slide around on it though
if you plucked a note
and moved yer finger up or down
there was a smooth continuity of notes
not a rattle rattle rattle as your finger passed over the frets
i can sing and play at the same time
i can sing and play complicated bits too
not just boom boom boom
i sing all these words
at the same time
my fingers slide about my fretless
how did i do it?
i dunno
strapping on a bass
feels like putting on my comfy slippers
even stoned or tripping or legless drunk
look at me
i can still play bass and sing
we're making an album up in a real studio
i am in constant conflict with everyone
i have to fight and fight and fight
not to be made 1980s over n over
no matter what it says
i produced that first album
my tricks
my ideas
my overdubs
all my 4 years on 4 track went into it
to maintain purity i needs must offend every bastard i work with
the engineers who dont understand how the church should sound
the producer all puffed up on his own self
the other guys in the band
all for different reasons
peter k n i have always argued
ever since we met
he n i arguing
we go fishing together as teenagers
we argued all the way there
all the way home
and even while we were catching fish
so now we're back together again in the church
and we still argue
but one thing
when we argue
we normally get over it and back to normal quick
not like young mwp whose joined
i seem to upset him and he doesnt talk to me for a week
nick ward is hounding everybody
he is making this
my first record ever
into hell
picking on my words
picking on my singing
most of all
telling me what a rotten bassist i am
how i dont understand anything etc
i had fucking written a hundred great new songs
and all this idiot could do was whine
you see
none of them
except me
really knew what this all could be
dont get me wrong here
peter was already an accomplished and innovative player
but i had to fight to keep it all the way it was sposed to be
i didnt win that fight completely
you can hear that on that first record
the eighties had their way and intruded all over that
i rectified that on the blurred crusade
no more chuggalug guitars
we stopped being a cartoon n became a band
but on the first record
i was struggling with ole mr zeitgeist
and i was a dim visionary
trying to get the others to just trust it
and go with it
but you know
they gotta question everything in heaven n hell
why kilbey why?
dont ask...i cant explain
just fucking do it!
but i dont see why.. i dont understand...
ok dont understand it
just fucking do it like i asked
but i was tiptoeing round everyones ego
one day
walking in town
i went in a music shop
and discovered a brand new roland vocoder
it was a big hefty keyboard
it had these synthetic voice sounds on it
no one had used them yet
and i fell in love
and put it all over the next 4 records
the first time you'll hear it is on
is this where you live
like the drone of a hundred synthetic monks
its all over blurred crusade
in almost every song
i figured out a lovely way the female voices
could shadow guitar lines
i brought this technique to fruition
on the instrumental remote luxury
hear the female vox with the guitar line
i was so cocky about my lyrics
jesus christ
when was the last time you heard an album start with
in the empty place the soul stripped bare.....?
you know
go back to 1980
and check out who was writing stuff like that
and all the chords in that song
including a few doozies i never used again
i never cared for unguarded moment that much
its ok i guess
i got no comment on it
other than every other person that heard it went nuts
and said
thats a hit
yeah im grateful to it i guess
i hear 3 bands in australia did a version each
and toured around with that as some common focus
so be it!
what i came up with almost thirty years ago
still has enough mojo left in it
for a buncha youngsters to still get off on it
god blessem
what i do lasts
yes
you will still be listening to painkiller in twenty years
one does not outgrow my stuff
it comes with a guarantee to suit all times n climes
the songs are eternal
they are not about youth or old age
they are pieces
fractions
merely tiny bits in the puzzle
clues
to people who were interested
my lyrics were pop lyrics granted
that was my canvas
the cartoon world of pop
it was 1980
c'mon!
i never really played a fretless before
gee its 1980
we feel like we're living on the very edge of the future
1980...gary numan and everything...
this means nothing to me oh vienna
and i gotta new bass
no its not a fender but its an ibanez
i couldnt afford a fucking fender
plus i wouldnae have probably known the difference
anyway
on a complete fucking whim
ive bought this fretless bass
traded in my ibanez les paul bass copy with the red strings
you see folks
some instruments like guitars n pianos
well you know where the notes are
others like trombones n violins
you just have to feel
theres no markings or notches
the double bass is like that too
i bought a black fretless bass
and i stuck some wallpaper on it of a naked lady
everybody says its stupid for a singer to play a fretless
but there you go
i wanted to make it harder for myself, didnt i
i bet i played millions of notes that were slightly out too
flat or sharp just slightly
oh boy i loved to slide around on it though
if you plucked a note
and moved yer finger up or down
there was a smooth continuity of notes
not a rattle rattle rattle as your finger passed over the frets
i can sing and play at the same time
i can sing and play complicated bits too
not just boom boom boom
i sing all these words
at the same time
my fingers slide about my fretless
how did i do it?
i dunno
strapping on a bass
feels like putting on my comfy slippers
even stoned or tripping or legless drunk
look at me
i can still play bass and sing
we're making an album up in a real studio
i am in constant conflict with everyone
i have to fight and fight and fight
not to be made 1980s over n over
no matter what it says
i produced that first album
my tricks
my ideas
my overdubs
all my 4 years on 4 track went into it
to maintain purity i needs must offend every bastard i work with
the engineers who dont understand how the church should sound
the producer all puffed up on his own self
the other guys in the band
all for different reasons
peter k n i have always argued
ever since we met
he n i arguing
we go fishing together as teenagers
we argued all the way there
all the way home
and even while we were catching fish
so now we're back together again in the church
and we still argue
but one thing
when we argue
we normally get over it and back to normal quick
not like young mwp whose joined
i seem to upset him and he doesnt talk to me for a week
nick ward is hounding everybody
he is making this
my first record ever
into hell
picking on my words
picking on my singing
most of all
telling me what a rotten bassist i am
how i dont understand anything etc
i had fucking written a hundred great new songs
and all this idiot could do was whine
you see
none of them
except me
really knew what this all could be
dont get me wrong here
peter was already an accomplished and innovative player
but i had to fight to keep it all the way it was sposed to be
i didnt win that fight completely
you can hear that on that first record
the eighties had their way and intruded all over that
i rectified that on the blurred crusade
no more chuggalug guitars
we stopped being a cartoon n became a band
but on the first record
i was struggling with ole mr zeitgeist
and i was a dim visionary
trying to get the others to just trust it
and go with it
but you know
they gotta question everything in heaven n hell
why kilbey why?
dont ask...i cant explain
just fucking do it!
but i dont see why.. i dont understand...
ok dont understand it
just fucking do it like i asked
but i was tiptoeing round everyones ego
one day
walking in town
i went in a music shop
and discovered a brand new roland vocoder
it was a big hefty keyboard
it had these synthetic voice sounds on it
no one had used them yet
and i fell in love
and put it all over the next 4 records
the first time you'll hear it is on
is this where you live
like the drone of a hundred synthetic monks
its all over blurred crusade
in almost every song
i figured out a lovely way the female voices
could shadow guitar lines
i brought this technique to fruition
on the instrumental remote luxury
hear the female vox with the guitar line
i was so cocky about my lyrics
jesus christ
when was the last time you heard an album start with
in the empty place the soul stripped bare.....?
you know
go back to 1980
and check out who was writing stuff like that
and all the chords in that song
including a few doozies i never used again
i never cared for unguarded moment that much
its ok i guess
i got no comment on it
other than every other person that heard it went nuts
and said
thats a hit
yeah im grateful to it i guess
i hear 3 bands in australia did a version each
and toured around with that as some common focus
so be it!
what i came up with almost thirty years ago
still has enough mojo left in it
for a buncha youngsters to still get off on it
god blessem
what i do lasts
yes
you will still be listening to painkiller in twenty years
one does not outgrow my stuff
it comes with a guarantee to suit all times n climes
the songs are eternal
they are not about youth or old age
they are pieces
fractions
merely tiny bits in the puzzle
clues
to people who were interested
my lyrics were pop lyrics granted
that was my canvas
the cartoon world of pop
it was 1980
c'mon!
Friday, August 29, 2008
stay put
meanwhile back in canberra act
i have finally learned to play the bass
i steal my mothers triumph herald and go off driving
i pick up some girls and give them a lift
we go round their house where their mummy is out
and i'm kissing them both
the year is 1973
i'm a lanky skinny devil with freckles
and long bloody hair
i already wrote bel air the other night
and i travelled in the astral above this town
peering and leering down at all the carryings on
i walk thru walls
i appear in the hall
i take long lonely drives into canberras ample hinterland
and i walk beneath the pines on mt stromlo
i sold my violin bass
and now i have a burns baldwin
a big hollow bodied stupid thing
i play with a schlocky cabaret band
and i earn good money
we drive down the coast and play at some places down there
during the drive
the rain is so furious
and the ford anglia we are driving in
has non functioni windscreen wipers
so hugh jumps out
with a potato cut in half
and rubs it all over the windscreen
the stuff in the potato is supposed to repel the water
this might be a good trick in old blightys drizzle
but up the top of the clyde mountain
in a summertime gale
visibility remains close to zero
we stay in some dreary motel
we play at night in the clubs n bars
cranking out the same old tripe
listening to the singer cracking the same old gags
we had the music all written out in chords
and we'd just play along
the singers voice was quite pleasant
and we got paid well
i got time
to think about the music i was playing
why it worked
and
why it didnt
during the long grey days
i wandered the coast
stopping in to tiny towns and having a milkshake
or drifting on lonely rivers at dusk
everything was overloaded with significance
then as now as always as usual
each twig on every tree
each stick of grass
each shadow of a nest
each empty bottle on the side of the road
each sunset in pinkish clouds
each sickle moon cleaving through the oceanic fogs
each person i see
i imagine/intuit/daydream their story
its all falling in on me at once
i talk too much so i spend most time alone
girls are attracted by my looks
but my chattering reveals me as an idiot
strangely enough
i cant play the guitar at all
only the bass
i sometimes find myself somewhere
round a campfire
or at a party
someone thrusts their nylon string yamaha geetar in my hands
and says
oh kilbo can play
hes in a band you know...
but ha ha
im left holding the baby
when i can do nothing at all
i have strange genuine psychic adventures
for example
once an entire room full of people froze
but only i could see it
for a few split seconds
and then...
but only me
only i saw it
the guy playing the organ in the group
is what was called in those days a sex maniac
it was all he ever talked of
or made jokes about
he was only 23
he seemed a hundred to me
such was the gulf that separated me from the others
he also knew obscene phrases
in other languages
which we would liberally sprinkle the show with
gee i'm sure it was really funny too
i drink scotch n coke sometimes and smoke cigs
i play poker machines
and buy magazines with pictures of naked women
i drink vanilla milkshakes and i eat 50 cents worth of chips
i listen to the radio
i watch english comedy shows on a tv with 2 bnw channels
i tend to my 3 pimples
i spend much time looking at myself in the mirror
i can already see the wrinkles and bags forming on my face
my teeth are already an off-white
my hair not as thick n lustrous as i hoped
i want to be someone else
some composite palooka
everynight
carrying my fucking great big amp up some stairs
getting told to always turn down
standing in the background
plunking away on
a stupid song
boom boom boom
i have finally learned to play the bass
i steal my mothers triumph herald and go off driving
i pick up some girls and give them a lift
we go round their house where their mummy is out
and i'm kissing them both
the year is 1973
i'm a lanky skinny devil with freckles
and long bloody hair
i already wrote bel air the other night
and i travelled in the astral above this town
peering and leering down at all the carryings on
i walk thru walls
i appear in the hall
i take long lonely drives into canberras ample hinterland
and i walk beneath the pines on mt stromlo
i sold my violin bass
and now i have a burns baldwin
a big hollow bodied stupid thing
i play with a schlocky cabaret band
and i earn good money
we drive down the coast and play at some places down there
during the drive
the rain is so furious
and the ford anglia we are driving in
has non functioni windscreen wipers
so hugh jumps out
with a potato cut in half
and rubs it all over the windscreen
the stuff in the potato is supposed to repel the water
this might be a good trick in old blightys drizzle
but up the top of the clyde mountain
in a summertime gale
visibility remains close to zero
we stay in some dreary motel
we play at night in the clubs n bars
cranking out the same old tripe
listening to the singer cracking the same old gags
we had the music all written out in chords
and we'd just play along
the singers voice was quite pleasant
and we got paid well
i got time
to think about the music i was playing
why it worked
and
why it didnt
during the long grey days
i wandered the coast
stopping in to tiny towns and having a milkshake
or drifting on lonely rivers at dusk
everything was overloaded with significance
then as now as always as usual
each twig on every tree
each stick of grass
each shadow of a nest
each empty bottle on the side of the road
each sunset in pinkish clouds
each sickle moon cleaving through the oceanic fogs
each person i see
i imagine/intuit/daydream their story
its all falling in on me at once
i talk too much so i spend most time alone
girls are attracted by my looks
but my chattering reveals me as an idiot
strangely enough
i cant play the guitar at all
only the bass
i sometimes find myself somewhere
round a campfire
or at a party
someone thrusts their nylon string yamaha geetar in my hands
and says
oh kilbo can play
hes in a band you know...
but ha ha
im left holding the baby
when i can do nothing at all
i have strange genuine psychic adventures
for example
once an entire room full of people froze
but only i could see it
for a few split seconds
and then...
but only me
only i saw it
the guy playing the organ in the group
is what was called in those days a sex maniac
it was all he ever talked of
or made jokes about
he was only 23
he seemed a hundred to me
such was the gulf that separated me from the others
he also knew obscene phrases
in other languages
which we would liberally sprinkle the show with
gee i'm sure it was really funny too
i drink scotch n coke sometimes and smoke cigs
i play poker machines
and buy magazines with pictures of naked women
i drink vanilla milkshakes and i eat 50 cents worth of chips
i listen to the radio
i watch english comedy shows on a tv with 2 bnw channels
i tend to my 3 pimples
i spend much time looking at myself in the mirror
i can already see the wrinkles and bags forming on my face
my teeth are already an off-white
my hair not as thick n lustrous as i hoped
i want to be someone else
some composite palooka
everynight
carrying my fucking great big amp up some stairs
getting told to always turn down
standing in the background
plunking away on
a stupid song
boom boom boom
Thursday, August 28, 2008
mysticon
q : why are we on this earth ?
a : love is what we came here for
i sit in my room practicing on my bass guitar
the first night i got it home
i just sat there looking at it
my kind n lovely olde dad has bought it for me
oh i had to nag nag nagged em for a bass guitar
bass guitar was driving me out of my mind
i listened to records i could hear this thing underneath it all
when it suddenly ran up into the high registers
i got really excited
i sit down cross legged on the floor
its raining outside
i'm trying to play something
look
i'm getting nowhere....
i pick it up and play with it
but it might as well be a novel in chinese for all the good it does
plonk plonk plonk
i bore myself as i pluck the strings
i dont know nothing at all
i'm sitting there
when a spirit appears in my room
jesus i'm scared
the spirit materialises somewhat
like an olde man
he takes the bass from me
play it like this he says
his fingers glide over my cheap aria violin bass
he slurs slides taps fondles tickles pulls beats slaps it
the low end throbs
the middle pulsates
the high sings
he hands it back to me
plunk plonk...no ...nothing
again the spirit plays a cool run
and then
i try again
no nothing
let me in says the apparition
let me guide your hands
this is all true
all i need is your complicity
he said
well yes
i wanted to play like that
i wanted to be on those intimate terms with my bass
i wanted my fingers to glide o'er the strings like a cool breeze
i wanted to get to the bottom of all music
i wanted to make all the good bits shake
i wanted to dive deeper
i wanted to be able to .......
i didnt know what it exactly was i wanted
but i didnt want to wait that long to find out..
the spirit played a few more phrases
his fingers were a blur of movement
oh it was so much better than a lead guitar
my bass was talking to me
crooning me spells under the spirits vague fingering
singing a song of distant india where i once lived
or a rainy night in a little beach shack
where me n aurora are sitting in the candle light talking
who is aurora?
aurora your gentlest childe
now grown up
she comes to visit you in your shack
by the sea
where you paint paint paint
the rest of your life away
trying to paint the mystery of death while youre still alive
so this is my aurora
she was the...
she was the roamin' goddess of the dawn
sings the strings in my heart
aurora what you doing here? i ask
the bass takes my phrase
takes it and plays it back to me as music
au-ror-a...whatchoo dooing here...
the spirit ceased to pluck on my bass
and as the final notes faded
i became aware of the insistent rain falling on canberra
i thought of my girlfriend lying in her room full of sisters
i thought about the kids at school all sleeping in their beds
or doing homework in the light of a lamp
or watching the black n white shadows of tv
the spirit asked
do you want this?
yes i want it i said and we merged
the spirit inside me felt quite comfortable
we seemed to overlap in some respects
this was all true
did you ever believe me until...
the only real problem was me just turned sweet sixteen
and the spirit was an old olde man in his fifties or sixties
and you know
he had his appetites...
he marched me out of the house
we collected 14 dollars and 85 cents that dad had left
on the telephone table
and we walked down the road to the rex
inside the rex
the spirit marched me up to the bar
give me a shot of vermouth! i said
though i had no idea what that might actually be
aint you a little young to be drinking , son?
i grabbed the bartender
and i pulled him to me
i said
i said a shot of vermouth , sunshine...!
he returned with my drink
i paid him n told him to piss off
some cabaret band were playing
the bass player was a hopeless clumsy sausage fingered fool
against my will
i walked to the little stage
i grabbed the bass off the clown
i thrust him aside
and brandished a fist
when he tried to squabble with me
i punched him in the nose and he backed off moaning
lets play i told the band
they struck up some old stupid song
it was 1970 remember
this is all true somewhere
they played close to you by the carpenters
then played ride captain ride by the blues image
ride captain ride upon your mystery trip
i blazed on the bass
wowee with a relatively big amplifier
(a strauss 100 watts)
and a nicer bass
(a fender telecaster copy)
i let loose a storm of bass notes
i pumped down low
i sang up high
both at the same time
the pumping nature of the low end
was so seditious and lowdown dirty
the women in the room swivelled on their barstools
and focussed their attention elsewhere
suddenly distracted
whilst the high end was singing to them
of distant india
where we all have once lived
and of lovely islands set down in tranquil azure
and of long warm nights in trueloves embrace
suddenly the spirit became bored
he set the bass down
we strolled out
into the lonely canberran night
my fingers itched
the liquor was burning my delicate guts
the tobacco was scorching my throat
it was still raining though
so theres continuity for you
a : love is what we came here for
i sit in my room practicing on my bass guitar
the first night i got it home
i just sat there looking at it
my kind n lovely olde dad has bought it for me
oh i had to nag nag nagged em for a bass guitar
bass guitar was driving me out of my mind
i listened to records i could hear this thing underneath it all
when it suddenly ran up into the high registers
i got really excited
i sit down cross legged on the floor
its raining outside
i'm trying to play something
look
i'm getting nowhere....
i pick it up and play with it
but it might as well be a novel in chinese for all the good it does
plonk plonk plonk
i bore myself as i pluck the strings
i dont know nothing at all
i'm sitting there
when a spirit appears in my room
jesus i'm scared
the spirit materialises somewhat
like an olde man
he takes the bass from me
play it like this he says
his fingers glide over my cheap aria violin bass
he slurs slides taps fondles tickles pulls beats slaps it
the low end throbs
the middle pulsates
the high sings
he hands it back to me
plunk plonk...no ...nothing
again the spirit plays a cool run
and then
i try again
no nothing
let me in says the apparition
let me guide your hands
this is all true
all i need is your complicity
he said
well yes
i wanted to play like that
i wanted to be on those intimate terms with my bass
i wanted my fingers to glide o'er the strings like a cool breeze
i wanted to get to the bottom of all music
i wanted to make all the good bits shake
i wanted to dive deeper
i wanted to be able to .......
i didnt know what it exactly was i wanted
but i didnt want to wait that long to find out..
the spirit played a few more phrases
his fingers were a blur of movement
oh it was so much better than a lead guitar
my bass was talking to me
crooning me spells under the spirits vague fingering
singing a song of distant india where i once lived
or a rainy night in a little beach shack
where me n aurora are sitting in the candle light talking
who is aurora?
aurora your gentlest childe
now grown up
she comes to visit you in your shack
by the sea
where you paint paint paint
the rest of your life away
trying to paint the mystery of death while youre still alive
so this is my aurora
she was the...
she was the roamin' goddess of the dawn
sings the strings in my heart
aurora what you doing here? i ask
the bass takes my phrase
takes it and plays it back to me as music
au-ror-a...whatchoo dooing here...
the spirit ceased to pluck on my bass
and as the final notes faded
i became aware of the insistent rain falling on canberra
i thought of my girlfriend lying in her room full of sisters
i thought about the kids at school all sleeping in their beds
or doing homework in the light of a lamp
or watching the black n white shadows of tv
the spirit asked
do you want this?
yes i want it i said and we merged
the spirit inside me felt quite comfortable
we seemed to overlap in some respects
this was all true
did you ever believe me until...
the only real problem was me just turned sweet sixteen
and the spirit was an old olde man in his fifties or sixties
and you know
he had his appetites...
he marched me out of the house
we collected 14 dollars and 85 cents that dad had left
on the telephone table
and we walked down the road to the rex
inside the rex
the spirit marched me up to the bar
give me a shot of vermouth! i said
though i had no idea what that might actually be
aint you a little young to be drinking , son?
i grabbed the bartender
and i pulled him to me
i said
i said a shot of vermouth , sunshine...!
he returned with my drink
i paid him n told him to piss off
some cabaret band were playing
the bass player was a hopeless clumsy sausage fingered fool
against my will
i walked to the little stage
i grabbed the bass off the clown
i thrust him aside
and brandished a fist
when he tried to squabble with me
i punched him in the nose and he backed off moaning
lets play i told the band
they struck up some old stupid song
it was 1970 remember
this is all true somewhere
they played close to you by the carpenters
then played ride captain ride by the blues image
ride captain ride upon your mystery trip
i blazed on the bass
wowee with a relatively big amplifier
(a strauss 100 watts)
and a nicer bass
(a fender telecaster copy)
i let loose a storm of bass notes
i pumped down low
i sang up high
both at the same time
the pumping nature of the low end
was so seditious and lowdown dirty
the women in the room swivelled on their barstools
and focussed their attention elsewhere
suddenly distracted
whilst the high end was singing to them
of distant india
where we all have once lived
and of lovely islands set down in tranquil azure
and of long warm nights in trueloves embrace
suddenly the spirit became bored
he set the bass down
we strolled out
into the lonely canberran night
my fingers itched
the liquor was burning my delicate guts
the tobacco was scorching my throat
it was still raining though
so theres continuity for you
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
escape velocity
wasted days
wasted nights
where would i be without my painkiller
the sun fizzles in the morning sky like a coward
the grey comes rolling in
a man playing a fender mustang with black eyes
a black man playing a fender with mustang eyes
the source of all music
the gap in reason from which music haemorrhages
the clown in me does his routine
i live it
i am
i am
i am
the mechanism is complicated
the results are unpredictable
i work down a little hole in the sidewalk
danger : poet at work
i get a job delivering babies
i just put my walkmen on and push em thru the letterboxes
i get a job flying plains
and after that
rolling hills
and i meet some woman who took me to her valley
kissed my eyes open in raw daylight
i was unfazed and unphased and undismayed
the people surrounded me
what are you they said
i said i'm the most in the least
i said i'm white hippy moses show me your red sea
why...he's an old man spat out some arrogant youth
silence! ...ordered their witch-chief..
i will interrogate this fool..
i was pushed into a foetid darkness
the witch-chief was inside waiting
lets see if this white man can sing the blues called the crowd
lets see if this white man can jump.. catcalled others
is it a crime to be an olde white man..? i screamed at them
and then i saw them clearly
the indians
the natives
the aborigines
the islanders
the lapps
the inuits
the aztecs
the inca
the mayans
the zulus
this was my audience
and all of them female
and all of them beautiful young fierce proud
you..! they silently thought
you......
sing us a song then ...someone called deep in the auditorium
in my audience of opposites
what could i sing to you ...i whispered in the microphone
which version of me is it i ? i thought to myself
but i caught sight of myself in the screens
and it was the olde tired me
whiter than white
older than olde
masculine in everyway
my lined and planed face
my bristling white beard
my thin wispy hair
my frowning eyebrows
my smirking mouth
my chipped olde teeth
my grey blue eyes like a dull afternoon
sing then...someone shouted
i need a guitar i said into the microphone
a roadie with dreadlocks scurried on
she handed me a plectrum
and scampered back off
i stepped up to the microphone
testing testing ha ha
i strummed the guitar
it was beautiful
it was delicate
it was loud
delicious echoes of violins trailed from its starburst
i strummed a few chords...but what to play
what song to play to my audience of opposites
young dark female
young.....?
i had been young once...but....
i had never regretted being so olde as now
here among the glorious flawless perfection of youth
youth youth that fleeing ungraspable shadow
that brief flash before the long lonely night of death
i searched my heart
for something youthful
but i found only ages strangely numbing contentment
i saw their brown and black and tawny and olive skins
their perfect flesh
not changing with freckles and sunburn and age
not green with envy or pale as a ghost
not redder then a beetroot
i felt bleached
i felt whited out
white through and through
i knew nothing of any others
they frightened me
their unexplained rituals and exuberances shocked me
trapped within my zeitgeist
i ate white bread
i drank white milk
i listened to white music
i had white walls
which had white ants
i loved white chocolate
and white women
my world was a one dimensional blizzard of white
and then thirdly female
yes
but surely
what....?
no
what do i know of childbirth
of the maternal longing rooted deep like brainwashing
monthly courses fucking me up with its malarkey
the brutality of men who save it for women
what do i know of the rapist
the drunken violent father
the murderous husband
the crazy jealous ex-lover
the jeers and whistles and insults
the pressure
the seductions and betrayals
of none of this can i sing
when will you sing demand the young women
he can only sing olde white manly songs they taunted
listen i said
and my voice reverberated around the hall
and i was aware of how olde how male how white it was
just like all the great villains of history
olde white men the lot of em
listen i said into the microphone
in my softest female voice
which was still a croaky thing
listen to me
inside myself
i am not white or olde or male
you are not young or black or woman
they sang in their one thousand languages
i am not guilty i sang
neither are you innocent sang their voices
i had been strumming a kind of g chord
leaving my forth and fifth fingers in place
i dropped the bass note down to an f#
the song felt as if it were sliding away from under us
just like the honeymoon they wait for you to score
i sang
just like the animals they leave outside the door
they girls sang back in all their dialects
just like a welcome mat you lay down on the floor
just like a law for the rich
and a prison for the poor
i was getting thru maybe
i started playing a t rex song
love you oh girl i do love you
it was 1970 on a long winters day
i come home from school and switch on the oil heater
mums gone to england
and dad wont be home from work for ages and ages
and the house seems dark and unfamiliar
i see myself so unsure and hesitant
everything was within me waiting to flower
but look at me here
slim indeed
a chestless bit of a kid
with a prince valiant hairdo
plus nascent side-burns and...
(i am suddenly interrupted)
muse : what about that audience of opposites
the audience of opposites...oh...ah...
... dressed in a flannelette shirt n white cord levis
someone
has left a record here by a group called spirit
the drummer is a real old totally bald guy
like peter garrett forty years ago
there is a song called i got a line on you
what does that mean
i puzzle in the darkness
i got a line on you?
wasted nights
where would i be without my painkiller
the sun fizzles in the morning sky like a coward
the grey comes rolling in
a man playing a fender mustang with black eyes
a black man playing a fender with mustang eyes
the source of all music
the gap in reason from which music haemorrhages
the clown in me does his routine
i live it
i am
i am
i am
the mechanism is complicated
the results are unpredictable
i work down a little hole in the sidewalk
danger : poet at work
i get a job delivering babies
i just put my walkmen on and push em thru the letterboxes
i get a job flying plains
and after that
rolling hills
and i meet some woman who took me to her valley
kissed my eyes open in raw daylight
i was unfazed and unphased and undismayed
the people surrounded me
what are you they said
i said i'm the most in the least
i said i'm white hippy moses show me your red sea
why...he's an old man spat out some arrogant youth
silence! ...ordered their witch-chief..
i will interrogate this fool..
i was pushed into a foetid darkness
the witch-chief was inside waiting
lets see if this white man can sing the blues called the crowd
lets see if this white man can jump.. catcalled others
is it a crime to be an olde white man..? i screamed at them
and then i saw them clearly
the indians
the natives
the aborigines
the islanders
the lapps
the inuits
the aztecs
the inca
the mayans
the zulus
this was my audience
and all of them female
and all of them beautiful young fierce proud
you..! they silently thought
you......
sing us a song then ...someone called deep in the auditorium
in my audience of opposites
what could i sing to you ...i whispered in the microphone
which version of me is it i ? i thought to myself
but i caught sight of myself in the screens
and it was the olde tired me
whiter than white
older than olde
masculine in everyway
my lined and planed face
my bristling white beard
my thin wispy hair
my frowning eyebrows
my smirking mouth
my chipped olde teeth
my grey blue eyes like a dull afternoon
sing then...someone shouted
i need a guitar i said into the microphone
a roadie with dreadlocks scurried on
she handed me a plectrum
and scampered back off
i stepped up to the microphone
testing testing ha ha
i strummed the guitar
it was beautiful
it was delicate
it was loud
delicious echoes of violins trailed from its starburst
i strummed a few chords...but what to play
what song to play to my audience of opposites
young dark female
young.....?
i had been young once...but....
i had never regretted being so olde as now
here among the glorious flawless perfection of youth
youth youth that fleeing ungraspable shadow
that brief flash before the long lonely night of death
i searched my heart
for something youthful
but i found only ages strangely numbing contentment
i saw their brown and black and tawny and olive skins
their perfect flesh
not changing with freckles and sunburn and age
not green with envy or pale as a ghost
not redder then a beetroot
i felt bleached
i felt whited out
white through and through
i knew nothing of any others
they frightened me
their unexplained rituals and exuberances shocked me
trapped within my zeitgeist
i ate white bread
i drank white milk
i listened to white music
i had white walls
which had white ants
i loved white chocolate
and white women
my world was a one dimensional blizzard of white
and then thirdly female
yes
but surely
what....?
no
what do i know of childbirth
of the maternal longing rooted deep like brainwashing
monthly courses fucking me up with its malarkey
the brutality of men who save it for women
what do i know of the rapist
the drunken violent father
the murderous husband
the crazy jealous ex-lover
the jeers and whistles and insults
the pressure
the seductions and betrayals
of none of this can i sing
when will you sing demand the young women
he can only sing olde white manly songs they taunted
listen i said
and my voice reverberated around the hall
and i was aware of how olde how male how white it was
just like all the great villains of history
olde white men the lot of em
listen i said into the microphone
in my softest female voice
which was still a croaky thing
listen to me
inside myself
i am not white or olde or male
you are not young or black or woman
they sang in their one thousand languages
i am not guilty i sang
neither are you innocent sang their voices
i had been strumming a kind of g chord
leaving my forth and fifth fingers in place
i dropped the bass note down to an f#
the song felt as if it were sliding away from under us
just like the honeymoon they wait for you to score
i sang
just like the animals they leave outside the door
they girls sang back in all their dialects
just like a welcome mat you lay down on the floor
just like a law for the rich
and a prison for the poor
i was getting thru maybe
i started playing a t rex song
love you oh girl i do love you
it was 1970 on a long winters day
i come home from school and switch on the oil heater
mums gone to england
and dad wont be home from work for ages and ages
and the house seems dark and unfamiliar
i see myself so unsure and hesitant
everything was within me waiting to flower
but look at me here
slim indeed
a chestless bit of a kid
with a prince valiant hairdo
plus nascent side-burns and...
(i am suddenly interrupted)
muse : what about that audience of opposites
the audience of opposites...oh...ah...
... dressed in a flannelette shirt n white cord levis
someone
has left a record here by a group called spirit
the drummer is a real old totally bald guy
like peter garrett forty years ago
there is a song called i got a line on you
what does that mean
i puzzle in the darkness
i got a line on you?
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
sydney spleen
ive had that horrible song in my head
that one about sally
jesus, sally is a horrible name too
unless your sally forth...
you know
theres so much of little value out there
you can imagine how the philistine dross
burns the delicate sensibilities of someone like moi
i get to the pool
a guy there is telling me how his 9 year old son has formed a school band
theyre playing oasis songs he says
why? i say (shocked by the sink-ronicity)
because theyre easy and simple to play
(exactly)
and the kids understand the words
(i'm sure they do)
and they have a great singalong factor
(just like baah baah blacksheep)
you should see them he says
dont think i will be attending, though unfortunately...
i have been always been naive and cynical simultaneously
which are 2 nasty traits in a man
but as parallel personality defects
they are truly abysmal
which is why i dont have any friends
because im stupid and smart at once
who can tolerate that?
i am at once incredibly cruel and incredibly kind
i make every individual in the room the subject of my disinterest
look i love and loathe myself in equal measures
dont you?
(actually steve, more people choosing the loathe option)
thats ok
i have met many people
who loved me so much that....yes...
they had begun to loathe...
and of course...
you guessed it
as usual
there were those who came to loathe
but ended up buried deep in love
i love to sit in my high lonely tower
sending down my bitter and envious yet truthful bile
theres a guy whose music i loathe so much
i would rather listen to liam sing a sarah maglockwin song
than abide one second of his puddingy syrup
hes a local guy
hes doing 2 sold out nights at a lovely venue with orch
god wouldnt i rather be swanning around on that stage
dressed in a tux
crooning a few numbers
and cleaning up the bucks
rather than bashing it out
with my crew of evil wasted rockers
in some beer soaked bunker at a million decibels
prob'ly to 50 people and making 5 dollars petrol money
am i envious of this geezer?
well of course i am
but one note of his music or voice
makes me feel so restlessly compelled
to escape its vicinity
lest my poor sensibilities
drown in a mawkish quagmire of sickly goo
ha ha
i was sitting in the car waiting for my kids
and this big islander guy i know approaches me
hey he says
you like rock music dontcha? he says
eeeerrr that depends...i say
he says
dya want this ?
and he thrusts a copy of a free cd of said geezer
that the local rag had given away one sunday
i dont fucking want that ..i hiss at the guy
i dont fucking want it either says the guy
well dont fucking give it to me ..i say
i thought you fucking liked rock music ..says the guy
i do....and that aint it...i say
well you know i like rap and i fucking hate this ..he says
have you listened to it..i say trying to push it back in his hand
the guy sneers ...accidentally...he says
he seems lost for words
i fucking hate music like that
we bicker over the ownership of the record for a while
i needed him to know
that before i accepted and destroyed this platter of noxious tripe
that this was not what we rockers listen to
particularly in view of the raquet painkiller is making
he seemed to think that me being a rocker
this music was falling under my umbrella
when in truth its more like a mix of
the captain n tenille
meets barry manilow
after hes just consumed 8 buckets of fairy floss
the rapper dude wasnt buying it
and finally with a menacing look
he threw the radioactive bit of schmaltz into my car and legged it
there it was
sitting accusingly on my dashboard
the kids hadnt come out yet
i timidly plucked it from its sleeve
stuck it in the cd player
and was just beginning to recoil in horror
when the door opened n a friend jumped in
what ya list'ning to , killer ? he asks
and then
oh
oh no
you dont think i was listening to this...
i was just...
i was just...
my friend gets out
backing away from the car horrified
at what he'd heard in my car
no no
you dont understand ..i miserably wailed
its not....
on the painkiller front
we rehearsed again yesterday
the painkiller crew are mean n desperate rockers
the volume was incendiary
the rock was turned up to 11 n a half
maymi was scorching and blistering
von ryper droned and strummed
bowden tuned in alien magnetic dustdevils
powles pounded and pummelled
i throbbed and ranted
exceeding all possible preconceptions
painkiller is now a living band
full of cut throat violent rock n roll hoodlums
ready to take no quarters and
give no prisoner
listening to us
is shirley the antidote
A FIX FOR A WORLD IN PAIN
PAINKILLER
ONLY >>>
a few days left...!!!!!!
guaranteed no fucking syruppy schlopp!
that one about sally
jesus, sally is a horrible name too
unless your sally forth...
you know
theres so much of little value out there
you can imagine how the philistine dross
burns the delicate sensibilities of someone like moi
i get to the pool
a guy there is telling me how his 9 year old son has formed a school band
theyre playing oasis songs he says
why? i say (shocked by the sink-ronicity)
because theyre easy and simple to play
(exactly)
and the kids understand the words
(i'm sure they do)
and they have a great singalong factor
(just like baah baah blacksheep)
you should see them he says
dont think i will be attending, though unfortunately...
i have been always been naive and cynical simultaneously
which are 2 nasty traits in a man
but as parallel personality defects
they are truly abysmal
which is why i dont have any friends
because im stupid and smart at once
who can tolerate that?
i am at once incredibly cruel and incredibly kind
i make every individual in the room the subject of my disinterest
look i love and loathe myself in equal measures
dont you?
(actually steve, more people choosing the loathe option)
thats ok
i have met many people
who loved me so much that....yes...
they had begun to loathe...
and of course...
you guessed it
as usual
there were those who came to loathe
but ended up buried deep in love
i love to sit in my high lonely tower
sending down my bitter and envious yet truthful bile
theres a guy whose music i loathe so much
i would rather listen to liam sing a sarah maglockwin song
than abide one second of his puddingy syrup
hes a local guy
hes doing 2 sold out nights at a lovely venue with orch
god wouldnt i rather be swanning around on that stage
dressed in a tux
crooning a few numbers
and cleaning up the bucks
rather than bashing it out
with my crew of evil wasted rockers
in some beer soaked bunker at a million decibels
prob'ly to 50 people and making 5 dollars petrol money
am i envious of this geezer?
well of course i am
but one note of his music or voice
makes me feel so restlessly compelled
to escape its vicinity
lest my poor sensibilities
drown in a mawkish quagmire of sickly goo
ha ha
i was sitting in the car waiting for my kids
and this big islander guy i know approaches me
hey he says
you like rock music dontcha? he says
eeeerrr that depends...i say
he says
dya want this ?
and he thrusts a copy of a free cd of said geezer
that the local rag had given away one sunday
i dont fucking want that ..i hiss at the guy
i dont fucking want it either says the guy
well dont fucking give it to me ..i say
i thought you fucking liked rock music ..says the guy
i do....and that aint it...i say
well you know i like rap and i fucking hate this ..he says
have you listened to it..i say trying to push it back in his hand
the guy sneers ...accidentally...he says
he seems lost for words
i fucking hate music like that
we bicker over the ownership of the record for a while
i needed him to know
that before i accepted and destroyed this platter of noxious tripe
that this was not what we rockers listen to
particularly in view of the raquet painkiller is making
he seemed to think that me being a rocker
this music was falling under my umbrella
when in truth its more like a mix of
the captain n tenille
meets barry manilow
after hes just consumed 8 buckets of fairy floss
the rapper dude wasnt buying it
and finally with a menacing look
he threw the radioactive bit of schmaltz into my car and legged it
there it was
sitting accusingly on my dashboard
the kids hadnt come out yet
i timidly plucked it from its sleeve
stuck it in the cd player
and was just beginning to recoil in horror
when the door opened n a friend jumped in
what ya list'ning to , killer ? he asks
and then
oh
oh no
you dont think i was listening to this...
i was just...
i was just...
my friend gets out
backing away from the car horrified
at what he'd heard in my car
no no
you dont understand ..i miserably wailed
its not....
on the painkiller front
we rehearsed again yesterday
the painkiller crew are mean n desperate rockers
the volume was incendiary
the rock was turned up to 11 n a half
maymi was scorching and blistering
von ryper droned and strummed
bowden tuned in alien magnetic dustdevils
powles pounded and pummelled
i throbbed and ranted
exceeding all possible preconceptions
painkiller is now a living band
full of cut throat violent rock n roll hoodlums
ready to take no quarters and
give no prisoner
listening to us
is shirley the antidote
A FIX FOR A WORLD IN PAIN
PAINKILLER
ONLY >>>
a few days left...!!!!!!
guaranteed no fucking syruppy schlopp!
Monday, August 25, 2008
waiter minute
to tell you the truth
i dont know what im gonna write today
i feel disgruntled by myself
tired of my tricks
and unable to surprise myself
it is hard to surprise oneself
and its no wonder really
nevertheless i would like to give myself a little surprise
or get me something nice for my birthday
at time of writing i had only about 12 comments
on yessadays blog... and a load of them had been deleted...
it saddens me to have to turn off the anons
i dont like censorship much
but i never foresaw that some loony would be terrorizing me
at this ripe old age
just for writing a blog
its funny seeing people come n go
i must admit i sometimes regret the whole carny-voor schism
god...
its funny
its hilarious
the politics of running this thing
all the stupid things ive done on here
plus
all the sublime masterpieces
im sorry to be big headed (just one more time)
but tell me please
apart from maybe sam sejavka..
are there any other killers out there
knocking out this shemozzle EVERY day...?
i sit down every day and i come up with something...
big deal killer.....most of it raving on about yerself
isnt egomania a funny thing...?
i was out at tims studio lassanite
re-hursing agonydead'ner
when i was rolling a joint on top of an old music rag
theres liam gallagher...jesus christ....
he stands there with his hands behind his back
singing like a slightly simple boy doing the school anthem
the lyrics are mostly sing-song bilge he didnt even write
his voice is a real one trick pony
he invests the songs with no emotion other than a sneer
(but how could you really...i suppose...?)
and when he does write a song.......
its that one called little james which is so maudlin n twee
that if winnie the pooh sang it to piglet he'd vomit...
and yet this is a tough guy...
and he comes up with
"so play with your toys...though they make noise"
the cleverest thing about liam
is that he refused to sing that absolute stinker
dont look back in anger
gee what an original title....
stick dont in front of another title..et voila
dont catcher in the rye
dont sparkle in the rain , little james
dont get back
dont midsummers night dream
dont stand on the shoulders of midgets
anyway
that bit about telling sally to wait
makes me cringe and want to be anything but a songwriter
because i wonder if my songs ever revile people
in their sheer mediocrity
the way that particular turkey does me
yet
it sold bazillions
its a show stopper
noelle unwraps it triumphantly each night
right near the end
and people go nuts n singalong
and i must be going crazy
its goddamned so awful
its so mundane
its so meaningless in its realest sense
it means nothing
its like mass hypnosis
please someone out there concur with this...?!
anyway in said mag
liam says stuff like
the whole worlds jealous of me...they should be..."
ok in some ways its true...
we do envy your money
and we do envy your success maybe
i certainly envy the clever way you have parlayed
a very small modicum of talent into a stadium sized career
but there you go
a zillion people will eat at mcdonalds tonight
but my fave little veg place closed down....
its the philistine factor
on the other hand
it is perfectly likely
that i could echo liams arrogant words
about myself in some stupid rant
(remember the best songwriter in australia? ha ha)
and well us egotists n egoists
we forgive it in ourselves
but i think liam is not quite right that people are jealous of him
if you asked people who they would rather be
how many would say liam gallagher
youd pick someone with money AND intelligence, wouldnt you..?
like dylan or sir paul
or i dunno
insert someone with money n intelligence here..
dont put me because i have neither
its terrible
but i hate so much music
i always have
i used to hate credence clearwater at school
but i dont mind em now
i used to hate slade
i never really liked that yobbo thing that much
but all the kids at school loved em
i didnt like the blues or country
i didnt like heavy or west coast
i didnt like much prog or folk
im a picky finicky bloke
i dont really like my own stuff that much really
i'm disappointed sometimes it isnt any better
but no one it seems
is on all the time...
i saw" i'm not there" with our cate as bob
and
i'd recommend it to any dylan fan
kinda explores some similar avenues as this blog actually
in another kinda way though
you should see it..
last night rehearsing with stellar crew
ricki rene maymi on guitar
maymi is master of all instruments and jack of none
he is bringing painkiller guitar parts alive
on his gibb-sun 13 string nipple red guitar
joining him
is the man
with the best hair in rock music
scott von ryper from the black ryder
whose jet black locks thickness n sheen
would be the envy of any rocker extant
hes playing twelve string acoustico plus
on keys n radiotronics william bowden
a true master of time n space
who also masters records
on drums timbo powles
who kneads no intro-ductions
simon polinski will mix us on the nite
oh do please come if you can
cos this is painkillers first last n only show prob'ly ever
so pawn your grannies silverware to get there
it will be a good night
10 sept somewhere in sydney
i dont know what im gonna write today
i feel disgruntled by myself
tired of my tricks
and unable to surprise myself
it is hard to surprise oneself
and its no wonder really
nevertheless i would like to give myself a little surprise
or get me something nice for my birthday
at time of writing i had only about 12 comments
on yessadays blog... and a load of them had been deleted...
it saddens me to have to turn off the anons
i dont like censorship much
but i never foresaw that some loony would be terrorizing me
at this ripe old age
just for writing a blog
its funny seeing people come n go
i must admit i sometimes regret the whole carny-voor schism
god...
its funny
its hilarious
the politics of running this thing
all the stupid things ive done on here
plus
all the sublime masterpieces
im sorry to be big headed (just one more time)
but tell me please
apart from maybe sam sejavka..
are there any other killers out there
knocking out this shemozzle EVERY day...?
i sit down every day and i come up with something...
big deal killer.....most of it raving on about yerself
isnt egomania a funny thing...?
i was out at tims studio lassanite
re-hursing agonydead'ner
when i was rolling a joint on top of an old music rag
theres liam gallagher...jesus christ....
he stands there with his hands behind his back
singing like a slightly simple boy doing the school anthem
the lyrics are mostly sing-song bilge he didnt even write
his voice is a real one trick pony
he invests the songs with no emotion other than a sneer
(but how could you really...i suppose...?)
and when he does write a song.......
its that one called little james which is so maudlin n twee
that if winnie the pooh sang it to piglet he'd vomit...
and yet this is a tough guy...
and he comes up with
"so play with your toys...though they make noise"
the cleverest thing about liam
is that he refused to sing that absolute stinker
dont look back in anger
gee what an original title....
stick dont in front of another title..et voila
dont catcher in the rye
dont sparkle in the rain , little james
dont get back
dont midsummers night dream
dont stand on the shoulders of midgets
anyway
that bit about telling sally to wait
makes me cringe and want to be anything but a songwriter
because i wonder if my songs ever revile people
in their sheer mediocrity
the way that particular turkey does me
yet
it sold bazillions
its a show stopper
noelle unwraps it triumphantly each night
right near the end
and people go nuts n singalong
and i must be going crazy
its goddamned so awful
its so mundane
its so meaningless in its realest sense
it means nothing
its like mass hypnosis
please someone out there concur with this...?!
anyway in said mag
liam says stuff like
the whole worlds jealous of me...they should be..."
ok in some ways its true...
we do envy your money
and we do envy your success maybe
i certainly envy the clever way you have parlayed
a very small modicum of talent into a stadium sized career
but there you go
a zillion people will eat at mcdonalds tonight
but my fave little veg place closed down....
its the philistine factor
on the other hand
it is perfectly likely
that i could echo liams arrogant words
about myself in some stupid rant
(remember the best songwriter in australia? ha ha)
and well us egotists n egoists
we forgive it in ourselves
but i think liam is not quite right that people are jealous of him
if you asked people who they would rather be
how many would say liam gallagher
youd pick someone with money AND intelligence, wouldnt you..?
like dylan or sir paul
or i dunno
insert someone with money n intelligence here..
dont put me because i have neither
its terrible
but i hate so much music
i always have
i used to hate credence clearwater at school
but i dont mind em now
i used to hate slade
i never really liked that yobbo thing that much
but all the kids at school loved em
i didnt like the blues or country
i didnt like heavy or west coast
i didnt like much prog or folk
im a picky finicky bloke
i dont really like my own stuff that much really
i'm disappointed sometimes it isnt any better
but no one it seems
is on all the time...
i saw" i'm not there" with our cate as bob
and
i'd recommend it to any dylan fan
kinda explores some similar avenues as this blog actually
in another kinda way though
you should see it..
last night rehearsing with stellar crew
ricki rene maymi on guitar
maymi is master of all instruments and jack of none
he is bringing painkiller guitar parts alive
on his gibb-sun 13 string nipple red guitar
joining him
is the man
with the best hair in rock music
scott von ryper from the black ryder
whose jet black locks thickness n sheen
would be the envy of any rocker extant
hes playing twelve string acoustico plus
on keys n radiotronics william bowden
a true master of time n space
who also masters records
on drums timbo powles
who kneads no intro-ductions
simon polinski will mix us on the nite
oh do please come if you can
cos this is painkillers first last n only show prob'ly ever
so pawn your grannies silverware to get there
it will be a good night
10 sept somewhere in sydney
Sunday, August 24, 2008
always someone behind ya who will call, its nothing at all...
i was recording "undine"
when dad and kathy dropped into the studio
that was when we used to record up on merlin street
not far from the olde mercury towers building
i was just putting the final vocal touches to the title track
i was singing in the darkened booth
sipping occasionally on a glass of johnny walker scotch (silver label)
and puffing on the ever-present weed
my voice was strained and sore
it hurt my throat to go for the high notes
i was singing low and husky
i saw dad first
he was talking to john b the engineer
i could see dad was making john laugh at the console
then i saw kathy
she was peeping shyly round the door in the recording room
there she was as bright as a button as always
we hadnt seen each other for so long now
not since i became quite famous
and i got stories written about me in the newspaper
we had both changed
both of us now were taller and gaunter
are you identical twins ? stupid people had asked us now n then
how can a boy n girl be identical? we'd ask back at the same time
and then face each other
roll our two sets of grey-blue eyes
and storm off
we were friends and twins and brother n sister
we played our own complex games
we had our own language
only dad was allowed in our world
usually dad and kathy ganging up on me
it made me laugh when they played with me
but it made me sad too kathy
that you always took dads side......
seeing her there, my voice took on a new leash of life
johns voice came on in my headphones
"well schteve ......" in his characteristic slur
"wanna try another one?"
ok i said
and the music rolled in
first of all a lonely accoustic guitar
its playing a f# minor 9th over and over
my bass came meandering in
looser than a golden goose
the drums pitter patter... just like water in fact
an electric guitar crying in gentle wah wah
i get ready to sing
my entry coming up
abrubtly the song rises up to d major
i begin to sing
beneath the surface where i watch you
drift away so drift away
everybody half something else
everybody wants to change
strangely enough
nothing could change you....
the music stopped
b's voice came on
"mate you got it!"
i go back in to them
i have john play them our new album
dad says youre bloody clever, arent you
kathys got some little tears in her eyes and she just nods
but her nod means she really loves it
lets go out and have some dinner dad says
dad lets kathy drive his triumph sable but with much wincing
i sit in the back talking in her ear as she drives
and i ask her about south america
through the rainy streets of alexandria and kensington
kathy began to tell us about her time in argentina
as she braked and accelerated and steered through the shiny night
she met a man, a magic realist
THE magic realist according to some
enrico ruiz revilla
author of the lonely world
now a motion picture starring nicole kidman and tyrone powers
he was on holiday
and had seen my sister acting in shakespeares play beauty stab
and contacted her via her agent
they met and fell head over heels
and kathy had gone off to argentina with him
there they had embarked upon making a film
the film was sometimes called the two beasts
or sometimes
no su amante
anyway things became strange during the early days
things went missing
people changed roles and dropped out of character
the moon turned pink one night with a delicate mauve aureole
a real gun was fired injuring several cameramen
my sister begins to suspect somethings going wrong
but she cant speak much spanish really
shes acting in the film but she only has a few lines in spanish
during the montezumas dream sequence
she says
si no el cortez, entonces algun otro
kathy repeated her phrase a few times in the car
as if hypnotized...
gee thats sounds like real argentinian my girl said dad
thats really good kath i said
no its not really but i'm supposed to be english she said
anyway...
what about your enrico...? asks dad..what was he doing..?
kathy sighed
swinging into neptune street and changing lanes
she drove carefully down the long palm tree lined avenues
presently she begins to speak
dad and i listened in silence to her tale
"rico was obsessed with this fellini movie
or was it the norwegian director alldrig
about a group of people in this castle
changing into birds and flying around
watching everything
all the pain
all the joy
all the struggle
although set in medieval times
some characters appear to be modern
with wrist watches and telephones
usted no penso que entonces fueron inventados
i think my character says...
something like that
but some people understand whats happening
theres this hunter who traps the birds
and oh i dont really know
he does dreadful things to them
i never really understood this part
jesus is in there as this mexican god
i mean it really looked like jesus but in this golden head dress
and enrico and some others took some wild new drug
and some snake ate the birds that had been trained
at the same time as this
argentinas economy had gone all wobbly as enrico said
and our set was being repossessed bit by bit
we drove up into some mountains
and i was lost in a snowstorm
wandering in a white wilderness
my body became numb
i could not feel it
and eventually i did not care
i felt so sleepy and i lay down and slept
and the next thing i knew
i was walking in the door of the studio tonight.."
we arrived at our destination
but dad and i could say nothing
when dad and kathy dropped into the studio
that was when we used to record up on merlin street
not far from the olde mercury towers building
i was just putting the final vocal touches to the title track
i was singing in the darkened booth
sipping occasionally on a glass of johnny walker scotch (silver label)
and puffing on the ever-present weed
my voice was strained and sore
it hurt my throat to go for the high notes
i was singing low and husky
i saw dad first
he was talking to john b the engineer
i could see dad was making john laugh at the console
then i saw kathy
she was peeping shyly round the door in the recording room
there she was as bright as a button as always
we hadnt seen each other for so long now
not since i became quite famous
and i got stories written about me in the newspaper
we had both changed
both of us now were taller and gaunter
are you identical twins ? stupid people had asked us now n then
how can a boy n girl be identical? we'd ask back at the same time
and then face each other
roll our two sets of grey-blue eyes
and storm off
we were friends and twins and brother n sister
we played our own complex games
we had our own language
only dad was allowed in our world
usually dad and kathy ganging up on me
it made me laugh when they played with me
but it made me sad too kathy
that you always took dads side......
seeing her there, my voice took on a new leash of life
johns voice came on in my headphones
"well schteve ......" in his characteristic slur
"wanna try another one?"
ok i said
and the music rolled in
first of all a lonely accoustic guitar
its playing a f# minor 9th over and over
my bass came meandering in
looser than a golden goose
the drums pitter patter... just like water in fact
an electric guitar crying in gentle wah wah
i get ready to sing
my entry coming up
abrubtly the song rises up to d major
i begin to sing
beneath the surface where i watch you
drift away so drift away
everybody half something else
everybody wants to change
strangely enough
nothing could change you....
the music stopped
b's voice came on
"mate you got it!"
i go back in to them
i have john play them our new album
dad says youre bloody clever, arent you
kathys got some little tears in her eyes and she just nods
but her nod means she really loves it
lets go out and have some dinner dad says
dad lets kathy drive his triumph sable but with much wincing
i sit in the back talking in her ear as she drives
and i ask her about south america
through the rainy streets of alexandria and kensington
kathy began to tell us about her time in argentina
as she braked and accelerated and steered through the shiny night
she met a man, a magic realist
THE magic realist according to some
enrico ruiz revilla
author of the lonely world
now a motion picture starring nicole kidman and tyrone powers
he was on holiday
and had seen my sister acting in shakespeares play beauty stab
and contacted her via her agent
they met and fell head over heels
and kathy had gone off to argentina with him
there they had embarked upon making a film
the film was sometimes called the two beasts
or sometimes
no su amante
anyway things became strange during the early days
things went missing
people changed roles and dropped out of character
the moon turned pink one night with a delicate mauve aureole
a real gun was fired injuring several cameramen
my sister begins to suspect somethings going wrong
but she cant speak much spanish really
shes acting in the film but she only has a few lines in spanish
during the montezumas dream sequence
she says
si no el cortez, entonces algun otro
kathy repeated her phrase a few times in the car
as if hypnotized...
gee thats sounds like real argentinian my girl said dad
thats really good kath i said
no its not really but i'm supposed to be english she said
anyway...
what about your enrico...? asks dad..what was he doing..?
kathy sighed
swinging into neptune street and changing lanes
she drove carefully down the long palm tree lined avenues
presently she begins to speak
dad and i listened in silence to her tale
"rico was obsessed with this fellini movie
or was it the norwegian director alldrig
about a group of people in this castle
changing into birds and flying around
watching everything
all the pain
all the joy
all the struggle
although set in medieval times
some characters appear to be modern
with wrist watches and telephones
usted no penso que entonces fueron inventados
i think my character says...
something like that
but some people understand whats happening
theres this hunter who traps the birds
and oh i dont really know
he does dreadful things to them
i never really understood this part
jesus is in there as this mexican god
i mean it really looked like jesus but in this golden head dress
and enrico and some others took some wild new drug
and some snake ate the birds that had been trained
at the same time as this
argentinas economy had gone all wobbly as enrico said
and our set was being repossessed bit by bit
we drove up into some mountains
and i was lost in a snowstorm
wandering in a white wilderness
my body became numb
i could not feel it
and eventually i did not care
i felt so sleepy and i lay down and slept
and the next thing i knew
i was walking in the door of the studio tonight.."
we arrived at our destination
but dad and i could say nothing
Saturday, August 23, 2008
water table
sydney lashed by violent storms
the rain comes rushing in diagonally
the palms weird in the grey light
people huddle under awnings
puddles form in the mornings
natalie lies sleeping in bed all warm n aromatic
scarlet lies on a cushion in my room
curled up and slightly sad about something
she comes and sits on my lap
muttering something softly
she finds a headless figurine which happens to be on my desk
she regards it with big blue sad eyes
is it any good now her heads gone ? i say
she shakes her big head and gently sets it down
last night dublin frank n janice n marlon
came over for a minestrone soup
ricki rene maymi was also on hand
i was being tested
frank keeps teling me
that crunchie and violet crumble bars are the same
this is the sort of heresy you'd expect from a gaelic type
all puffed up on euros and leprechaun carving grants
but anyway i had set him straight
they are completely different i said
give me the blindfold taste test
so after soupy n salad
out came crunchie bar n violet crumble bar
i was blindfolded
yes yes
come on
and voila
they give me a bit
its crunchie
it dissolves in the mouth all sugary
yep thats a crunchie i say
next i get the violet crumble
its all chewy the chocolates different everything
thats the crumble i say
a big cheer
of course i was right
and you shouldnt bet on a certainty
no one else could get the taste test right
including the wild n glamourous rocker maymi
who couldnt tell a crunchie from a crumble if it bit his ass
the kids all tried
but were more interested in just eating the candy
frank himself tried
got it wrong
and said
theyre completely different
AFTER HE WAS THE ONE SAYING THEY WERE THE SAME!!!
aint that just like a bloody irishman
nk refused the blindfold on the basis it might mess up her hair-do
and scarlet was peeping
and she didnt know or care
she just wanted some more chocky
ricki n frank then went off to jlks
to prepare a future esoteric music club track
and i tried to get tibor the falcon outta the drive
but some idiots had parked us in
janice n young marlon had to walk home
i backed tibor down the drive all angry in the dark
and probably reversed over all the flowers
(down the side of this house this smorning)
after getting the 3 children down to sleep
my wife showed me some new clothes she had bought
(with subscribers generous subscriptions, of course )
and i was quite taken...
maybe that is not the quite the right word
but anyway....
wake up this morning kissing my wife
open my eyes
and there is scarlet watching me mournfully
i thought kids would be happy to see parents kissing
but not little bloody sk
who starts to writhe and groan
real tears!
and everything
just coz daddy kissed mummy good morning
christ! sometimes youre just wrong whatever you do
i get up and take scarlet back in to the doodles
hey evie
i gotta delivery for ya
evie goodnaturedly n half asleep makes room for the woofle
whose kicking n growling like little tassie devil in a trap
she goes into the doodles bed roughly
but they envelope her in their warm sleepiness
and eventually
as i walk back to my room
i hear her protests gradually diminish into silence
believe me
if you wake up early on a saturday
and youre kissing your little sweetie good morning
the last thing you want in yer face
is an angry little moaning woofle
so....
anyway
lets see what saturday will bring...
all of you in my thoughts
sk
the rain comes rushing in diagonally
the palms weird in the grey light
people huddle under awnings
puddles form in the mornings
natalie lies sleeping in bed all warm n aromatic
scarlet lies on a cushion in my room
curled up and slightly sad about something
she comes and sits on my lap
muttering something softly
she finds a headless figurine which happens to be on my desk
she regards it with big blue sad eyes
is it any good now her heads gone ? i say
she shakes her big head and gently sets it down
last night dublin frank n janice n marlon
came over for a minestrone soup
ricki rene maymi was also on hand
i was being tested
frank keeps teling me
that crunchie and violet crumble bars are the same
this is the sort of heresy you'd expect from a gaelic type
all puffed up on euros and leprechaun carving grants
but anyway i had set him straight
they are completely different i said
give me the blindfold taste test
so after soupy n salad
out came crunchie bar n violet crumble bar
i was blindfolded
yes yes
come on
and voila
they give me a bit
its crunchie
it dissolves in the mouth all sugary
yep thats a crunchie i say
next i get the violet crumble
its all chewy the chocolates different everything
thats the crumble i say
a big cheer
of course i was right
and you shouldnt bet on a certainty
no one else could get the taste test right
including the wild n glamourous rocker maymi
who couldnt tell a crunchie from a crumble if it bit his ass
the kids all tried
but were more interested in just eating the candy
frank himself tried
got it wrong
and said
theyre completely different
AFTER HE WAS THE ONE SAYING THEY WERE THE SAME!!!
aint that just like a bloody irishman
nk refused the blindfold on the basis it might mess up her hair-do
and scarlet was peeping
and she didnt know or care
she just wanted some more chocky
ricki n frank then went off to jlks
to prepare a future esoteric music club track
and i tried to get tibor the falcon outta the drive
but some idiots had parked us in
janice n young marlon had to walk home
i backed tibor down the drive all angry in the dark
and probably reversed over all the flowers
(down the side of this house this smorning)
after getting the 3 children down to sleep
my wife showed me some new clothes she had bought
(with subscribers generous subscriptions, of course )
and i was quite taken...
maybe that is not the quite the right word
but anyway....
wake up this morning kissing my wife
open my eyes
and there is scarlet watching me mournfully
i thought kids would be happy to see parents kissing
but not little bloody sk
who starts to writhe and groan
real tears!
and everything
just coz daddy kissed mummy good morning
christ! sometimes youre just wrong whatever you do
i get up and take scarlet back in to the doodles
hey evie
i gotta delivery for ya
evie goodnaturedly n half asleep makes room for the woofle
whose kicking n growling like little tassie devil in a trap
she goes into the doodles bed roughly
but they envelope her in their warm sleepiness
and eventually
as i walk back to my room
i hear her protests gradually diminish into silence
believe me
if you wake up early on a saturday
and youre kissing your little sweetie good morning
the last thing you want in yer face
is an angry little moaning woofle
so....
anyway
lets see what saturday will bring...
all of you in my thoughts
sk
Friday, August 22, 2008
post 1066
baby
its like an arrow in my eye
the far thing
neither beast norman
shutting down merrie olde england
the blurred crusade...well here we go
lord parlophone having annexed lyonesse and tir na nog
approached in the etherworld by an indian spirit
he whose mountain is ever clear
and having laid waste much of south umbria
then surrounded his brother
the earl lee byrd
whereupon germany promptly sat by the rhine figuring out perspective
and some old housewives did toil upon the kilbeaux tapestry
william (billy) the conqueror
heard the 12 string burns
and captain cook us up some great southern land
french entered anglo-saxon
and begot our luverly land-gwidge
lord steven of the lowlands
architect of the resistance
already tres formidable
a renaissance man in an era of pure dross
consulted long with his lords in hyperborea
and unleashed a silvery blast on his great horn
summoning his free champions
count pieter de rooos
lord pipe-ah
and the dutch rebel dyke plog
they fought a valiant camp pain
bringing down the houses of york-razy
and laying siege to the hole of fame
steven
who looked like a true king of old
with a proper medieval beard and everything
a special gap between the mustache
a man for all seasons
a panther in late autumn
king leer
faithful servant of his sovereign liege
upholder of the queens sheets
licking her wounds in the east tower
richard gear
shorn chronologically
oh mi lady
lord steven with the gap in his mustache
awaits your royal pleasure
in the room with soft carpets
and tiny things tinkling in the august breezes
see how his shiny chain mail clings to his bulging calves
his lute slung over his back
his grey eyes in a weather beaten yet serene face
his hand e'er on the pommel of his great sword
lest any should catch him unawares
oh even in medieval days
even in these darkling ages
a handsome man is still a handsome man
and a relief that this good kind somewhat modern looking man
should save his queens country for last
as he knelt
pledging his troth
fulfilling her oath
and craving a boon
pulling forth her own royal map
she showed him the deep fertile valleys of wessex
the lovely hills of bristol
the impregnability of her ports
the already held hampton wicke
her loyal serpent
thrust his sturdy dagger down into the map
the queen started in surprise
well-in guard n city...no no
you cannot go in there my lord
suddenly billy the kid conquer or
called mad uncle willie by his nephew cuthbert the badly-named
and called big king willie by his chambermaid ethel redding
and called king-o for short but not for long
by his plotting scheming half brother alice
meanwhile the bishop of woosta-sheer
a saucey sod
and loyal to duke umheer-offen
signed the deal with plantagenet records and tapes
and executed 40 serfs at their single launch
baron fatso from little italy was not yet on the scene
i'm almost with you said william the conk
as he gave hereward the wake up
youre fucking history mate called out king harold
hey you should check out david bowie in an eyepatch
because dude youre gonna be needing one !called back william
in norman
(oooh!)
archers let loose he commanded
still in norman
the sun was blotted out by their shafts
their black feathered bolts rained down ...oh harry!
oh england!
we are lost
we are lost!
now we'll have to learn how to spell rendez-vous
and pronounce raison d'etre
and learn to eat what...?
bits of froggies?
meanwhile the queen stitched diligently at the kilbeaux tapas tree
and evil barren carrere
a french ponce and cheat
took off with the royalties
the houses of lang-caster
the houses of tele- caster
the houses of love and viscount guy de shad-wicke
the knights of malteasers
the bish shops and the bash shops
the slurping usurper cnut the burper
and little bonno his jester
all the tennys court with their grande balls
all perished in the sword shortage of 66
scotland took back their kilts
and the japanese attacked wales
the french went on to invent berets
the italians gave us italian and italian garlic dressing
the maltese gave us falcons
the english gave us toffee and crosse and blackwells marmalade
the irish gave us belfast frank and dublin frank
the isle of man gave us testicles
and the normans gave us wisdom
see...?
tomorrow: unravelling the 8 henrys
its like an arrow in my eye
the far thing
neither beast norman
shutting down merrie olde england
the blurred crusade...well here we go
lord parlophone having annexed lyonesse and tir na nog
approached in the etherworld by an indian spirit
he whose mountain is ever clear
and having laid waste much of south umbria
then surrounded his brother
the earl lee byrd
whereupon germany promptly sat by the rhine figuring out perspective
and some old housewives did toil upon the kilbeaux tapestry
william (billy) the conqueror
heard the 12 string burns
and captain cook us up some great southern land
french entered anglo-saxon
and begot our luverly land-gwidge
lord steven of the lowlands
architect of the resistance
already tres formidable
a renaissance man in an era of pure dross
consulted long with his lords in hyperborea
and unleashed a silvery blast on his great horn
summoning his free champions
count pieter de rooos
lord pipe-ah
and the dutch rebel dyke plog
they fought a valiant camp pain
bringing down the houses of york-razy
and laying siege to the hole of fame
steven
who looked like a true king of old
with a proper medieval beard and everything
a special gap between the mustache
a man for all seasons
a panther in late autumn
king leer
faithful servant of his sovereign liege
upholder of the queens sheets
licking her wounds in the east tower
richard gear
shorn chronologically
oh mi lady
lord steven with the gap in his mustache
awaits your royal pleasure
in the room with soft carpets
and tiny things tinkling in the august breezes
see how his shiny chain mail clings to his bulging calves
his lute slung over his back
his grey eyes in a weather beaten yet serene face
his hand e'er on the pommel of his great sword
lest any should catch him unawares
oh even in medieval days
even in these darkling ages
a handsome man is still a handsome man
and a relief that this good kind somewhat modern looking man
should save his queens country for last
as he knelt
pledging his troth
fulfilling her oath
and craving a boon
pulling forth her own royal map
she showed him the deep fertile valleys of wessex
the lovely hills of bristol
the impregnability of her ports
the already held hampton wicke
her loyal serpent
thrust his sturdy dagger down into the map
the queen started in surprise
well-in guard n city...no no
you cannot go in there my lord
suddenly billy the kid conquer or
called mad uncle willie by his nephew cuthbert the badly-named
and called big king willie by his chambermaid ethel redding
and called king-o for short but not for long
by his plotting scheming half brother alice
meanwhile the bishop of woosta-sheer
a saucey sod
and loyal to duke umheer-offen
signed the deal with plantagenet records and tapes
and executed 40 serfs at their single launch
baron fatso from little italy was not yet on the scene
i'm almost with you said william the conk
as he gave hereward the wake up
youre fucking history mate called out king harold
hey you should check out david bowie in an eyepatch
because dude youre gonna be needing one !called back william
in norman
(oooh!)
archers let loose he commanded
still in norman
the sun was blotted out by their shafts
their black feathered bolts rained down ...oh harry!
oh england!
we are lost
we are lost!
now we'll have to learn how to spell rendez-vous
and pronounce raison d'etre
and learn to eat what...?
bits of froggies?
meanwhile the queen stitched diligently at the kilbeaux tapas tree
and evil barren carrere
a french ponce and cheat
took off with the royalties
the houses of lang-caster
the houses of tele- caster
the houses of love and viscount guy de shad-wicke
the knights of malteasers
the bish shops and the bash shops
the slurping usurper cnut the burper
and little bonno his jester
all the tennys court with their grande balls
all perished in the sword shortage of 66
scotland took back their kilts
and the japanese attacked wales
the french went on to invent berets
the italians gave us italian and italian garlic dressing
the maltese gave us falcons
the english gave us toffee and crosse and blackwells marmalade
the irish gave us belfast frank and dublin frank
the isle of man gave us testicles
and the normans gave us wisdom
see...?
tomorrow: unravelling the 8 henrys
Thursday, August 21, 2008
the soft blue approach of the water
on the long days in oceania
when i have run out of words
i send you down to the shops to buy me some
get half a pound of mixed adjectives i say
but no adverbs...theyre cheaper up the junction
while i'm waiting
i take drugs
i write some songs
i touch up a few portraits
i choreograph the sculptures
i parse the colours on my i-life
i switch on summer from a slot-machine
(i shoulda put the Cat out)
i loll in my hammock as the south seas winds blow
someone gently strummin' a uke
plunka plunka plunka plunka plunka in the afternoon
grant comes over to my beach shack
totin' his maton guitar
and the inevitable bottle of red
dont let me smoke any of this ...grant says
taking a huge puff on my spliff
dont let me drink any of this ..i say
taking a huge gulp on his bottle
bloody pot gets me all stoned ..he says
(like i'm forcing him to do it)
after we are both pleasantly refreshed
grant starts to tune up his guitar and talk
so steven how have you been filling the long hours here?
well grantley i wrote a couple of songs just this morning.....
grant laughs
yeah ...i bet their real beauties too...
actually, grant, scarlets just gone down the shops
to get me some new adjectives.....i say
grant rolls his eyes
oh...i just got some...
really?
grant lights up a stuyvo
has to be stuyvo soft pack
dont give grant a stuyvo hard pack cig...he'll know
as he inhales he closes his eyes and winces a little
and then he blows it all out upward n away
in some schoolboy smoking gesture he has never seemed to've outgrown
he chucks down the vino from the bottle reluctantly
(havent you got a clean glass...?!)
everything about grant is a soft kind ironic fussiness
he talks quietly but he laughs heartily
i love to bignote myself to him
and oh how he loves to laugh
fuck em grantley...i'll show em..the kids 'll love my new songs
grant almost chokes on his cigarette in merriment
yes steven...oh ha ha ha ha..i'm sure they will...
the fucking critics grant...they cant understand me...i'm too good
grants rolled up in a ball laughing
who could understand you steven.. ha ha ..except me
you wont fucken laugh grant when i got my own tv show
no....no one will... he says
presently scarlet kilbey returns with the adjectives
sorry dad she says
what are you sorry for sweetheart ? says grant
i dont think dads gonna want any of these.....
i poke thru them
too latinate
maybe this one
oh no...too cliched
hmmm....too ordinary
this one.......too florid
this one....too obvious
this ones good....oh i already used it
this one....nah! too obscure even for me
grant starts to strum out a tune
he's got a capo on the fourth fret
and he's picking the guitar slowly
"i cant believe (he sang)
i cant believe that you left me on new years eve
i was taking you to the dance
now my tears just water the plants...."
scarlet says i like it!
grant continues
but the song has gone all minor-y
and sad
"i cant believe i never saw
how you loved me less
as i loved you more
and i cant believe
that you dont know
that i want you back
and i miss you so..."
gee thats pretty sad there grantley ...i find i'm saying
you really think so says grant
warming up to it now
you really think its sad..?
i do says scarlet kilbey
shes 5 foot 10 inches tall
she has wild hair that looks like a dryads
she has the deepest blue eyes
like looking at a summer sky
dad what should i do with these adjectives ?she says
ah ...i dunno....stick em inna cupboard i s'pose... i say
its beginning to rain
grants off strumming again
he's changed the capo up two frets
and hes picking out this countryish thing with a D shape
he starts singing
his beautiful voice up close is always a treat
"the rain is falling down on my true loves town
where the clouds roll down upon the brown river
everything i have i give her
everything she does
makes me love her"
did you write that, grant ...i ask
most of it...he winked at scarlet
most of it...
public domain?
traditional arrangement...
oh the old trad arr....?
send royalties to g w mc then....
immediately!
we all have a laugh
gee oceania is beautiful this time of year ..i say
a little warm though perhaps steven says grant
dabbing at his forehead with a little hanky
god hes got a bloody hanky...i exclaim
its alright steven...he says...
i know you old people like their warm climes...!
we all have another good laugh
grant produces another bottle
he lights another ciggie with the same malarkey as previous
he takes the capo off the guitar altogether
and begins to strum strum strum
the soft rain keeps falling
and grant strums between 2 simple chords
but with subtle differences each time
a melody seemed to imply itself somewhere in the chords
grant looked at us and smiled
then he looked off at some point miles away
and some deep sadness informed his song
he began eventually to sing
" i remember you from a dream
walking beside me
we were a team...."
he choked up a little
oh grant ...scarlet says
he continued
"i remember the way your smile curled
around words like
i give you my world
and i dont think
that i'll find you in this place..."
jesus thats another sad one too... i said
grant seemed well satisfied with himself
he put his guitar down and uncrossed his legs
he looked at scarlet
hey listen to this he said
"you move around on your island
your baby blues shine like diamonds"
i nodded my head
thats very nice
i said
when i have run out of words
i send you down to the shops to buy me some
get half a pound of mixed adjectives i say
but no adverbs...theyre cheaper up the junction
while i'm waiting
i take drugs
i write some songs
i touch up a few portraits
i choreograph the sculptures
i parse the colours on my i-life
i switch on summer from a slot-machine
(i shoulda put the Cat out)
i loll in my hammock as the south seas winds blow
someone gently strummin' a uke
plunka plunka plunka plunka plunka in the afternoon
grant comes over to my beach shack
totin' his maton guitar
and the inevitable bottle of red
dont let me smoke any of this ...grant says
taking a huge puff on my spliff
dont let me drink any of this ..i say
taking a huge gulp on his bottle
bloody pot gets me all stoned ..he says
(like i'm forcing him to do it)
after we are both pleasantly refreshed
grant starts to tune up his guitar and talk
so steven how have you been filling the long hours here?
well grantley i wrote a couple of songs just this morning.....
grant laughs
yeah ...i bet their real beauties too...
actually, grant, scarlets just gone down the shops
to get me some new adjectives.....i say
grant rolls his eyes
oh...i just got some...
really?
grant lights up a stuyvo
has to be stuyvo soft pack
dont give grant a stuyvo hard pack cig...he'll know
as he inhales he closes his eyes and winces a little
and then he blows it all out upward n away
in some schoolboy smoking gesture he has never seemed to've outgrown
he chucks down the vino from the bottle reluctantly
(havent you got a clean glass...?!)
everything about grant is a soft kind ironic fussiness
he talks quietly but he laughs heartily
i love to bignote myself to him
and oh how he loves to laugh
fuck em grantley...i'll show em..the kids 'll love my new songs
grant almost chokes on his cigarette in merriment
yes steven...oh ha ha ha ha..i'm sure they will...
the fucking critics grant...they cant understand me...i'm too good
grants rolled up in a ball laughing
who could understand you steven.. ha ha ..except me
you wont fucken laugh grant when i got my own tv show
no....no one will... he says
presently scarlet kilbey returns with the adjectives
sorry dad she says
what are you sorry for sweetheart ? says grant
i dont think dads gonna want any of these.....
i poke thru them
too latinate
maybe this one
oh no...too cliched
hmmm....too ordinary
this one.......too florid
this one....too obvious
this ones good....oh i already used it
this one....nah! too obscure even for me
grant starts to strum out a tune
he's got a capo on the fourth fret
and he's picking the guitar slowly
"i cant believe (he sang)
i cant believe that you left me on new years eve
i was taking you to the dance
now my tears just water the plants...."
scarlet says i like it!
grant continues
but the song has gone all minor-y
and sad
"i cant believe i never saw
how you loved me less
as i loved you more
and i cant believe
that you dont know
that i want you back
and i miss you so..."
gee thats pretty sad there grantley ...i find i'm saying
you really think so says grant
warming up to it now
you really think its sad..?
i do says scarlet kilbey
shes 5 foot 10 inches tall
she has wild hair that looks like a dryads
she has the deepest blue eyes
like looking at a summer sky
dad what should i do with these adjectives ?she says
ah ...i dunno....stick em inna cupboard i s'pose... i say
its beginning to rain
grants off strumming again
he's changed the capo up two frets
and hes picking out this countryish thing with a D shape
he starts singing
his beautiful voice up close is always a treat
"the rain is falling down on my true loves town
where the clouds roll down upon the brown river
everything i have i give her
everything she does
makes me love her"
did you write that, grant ...i ask
most of it...he winked at scarlet
most of it...
public domain?
traditional arrangement...
oh the old trad arr....?
send royalties to g w mc then....
immediately!
we all have a laugh
gee oceania is beautiful this time of year ..i say
a little warm though perhaps steven says grant
dabbing at his forehead with a little hanky
god hes got a bloody hanky...i exclaim
its alright steven...he says...
i know you old people like their warm climes...!
we all have another good laugh
grant produces another bottle
he lights another ciggie with the same malarkey as previous
he takes the capo off the guitar altogether
and begins to strum strum strum
the soft rain keeps falling
and grant strums between 2 simple chords
but with subtle differences each time
a melody seemed to imply itself somewhere in the chords
grant looked at us and smiled
then he looked off at some point miles away
and some deep sadness informed his song
he began eventually to sing
" i remember you from a dream
walking beside me
we were a team...."
he choked up a little
oh grant ...scarlet says
he continued
"i remember the way your smile curled
around words like
i give you my world
and i dont think
that i'll find you in this place..."
jesus thats another sad one too... i said
grant seemed well satisfied with himself
he put his guitar down and uncrossed his legs
he looked at scarlet
hey listen to this he said
"you move around on your island
your baby blues shine like diamonds"
i nodded my head
thats very nice
i said
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
remedial
the silent dark lake where we used to sit
in summers long days
listening to swans and larks
the reeds rustled
the ants bustled
an old rowboat fallen into disrepair
the three of us
joined hands and danced down the path
we hid from each other and ran on ahead
we walked the forest paths to rollingen
and swam over to the other side
theyre were no other sounds
but a breeze in the pines
and the caw caw of the crow
the lowing of cattle somewhere
the grass all lush and green
oh such a gentle northern sun
its rays friendly and warming
the spell of childhood still not fallen from your eyes
so i was the dopey leader
and you 2
learned to swim and climb so easily
i was amazed by your alien litheness
by your subtle strengths and good natures
cartwheels and somersaults along the forest paths
and chatter chatter chatter
you were finishing each others words
getting angry with each other
we kicked stones along and gave them names
we saw foxes and once a weasel
and e trod on a tiny snake who quickly slithered away
later
when i was long gone
your mother found one of you in the forest
on your own
what are you doing here ? she said
do you think ....you said
if i walked far enough into this forest i'd find my father..?
in summers long days
listening to swans and larks
the reeds rustled
the ants bustled
an old rowboat fallen into disrepair
the three of us
joined hands and danced down the path
we hid from each other and ran on ahead
we walked the forest paths to rollingen
and swam over to the other side
theyre were no other sounds
but a breeze in the pines
and the caw caw of the crow
the lowing of cattle somewhere
the grass all lush and green
oh such a gentle northern sun
its rays friendly and warming
the spell of childhood still not fallen from your eyes
so i was the dopey leader
and you 2
learned to swim and climb so easily
i was amazed by your alien litheness
by your subtle strengths and good natures
cartwheels and somersaults along the forest paths
and chatter chatter chatter
you were finishing each others words
getting angry with each other
we kicked stones along and gave them names
we saw foxes and once a weasel
and e trod on a tiny snake who quickly slithered away
later
when i was long gone
your mother found one of you in the forest
on your own
what are you doing here ? she said
do you think ....you said
if i walked far enough into this forest i'd find my father..?
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
gravitas
got the disturbing news my daughter elli is back in hospital
i feel so powerless
and although i love her so dearly
she
being the most like me of all my kids
and i
still being a kid myself in so many ways
we clashed a little during her time here
over a lot of the usual teen-olde guy malarkey
elli thinks im a scruffy old bohemian ratbag
she doesnt care that i wrote some song last century
i'm just a bit of a hopeless case to her
and before you protest
oh i'd love to have a dad like you
think
ive been absent
ive been an addict
ive been unreliable
plus the fact that i'm a moody son of a bitch
and it dont all add up to father christmas
elli is so like me
that we almost became opposites
no me being in the church means nothing to her
she'd rather i had a proper job and wore nice clothes
shes over the bricklayer look in spades
shes bloody beautiful
shes bloody intelligent
shes got everything
including this disease getting at her all the time
shes 17
her sister started their new school yesterday
ellis in hospital getting lumbar punctures and dye scans
and i dont know what to say or do
except wring my hands and feel demoralized
everything is so complicated between us
i never wanted this stand off
but its like .....
lets face it all my relationships are fraught with this....
everybody is always slightly disappointed me
i can see why too
but with elli being so very much like me
it makes it all so hard to understand
like fighting with an aspect of yerself
a cruel beautiful female seventeen year old aspect
with a swedish accent and a haughty manner
and now shes sick
and i want to wrap my arms around her
like any father would
and there is this distance
this distance....
not merely physical
an estrangement or something...
i just wanted to tell the world
how much i love that young woman...
i feel so powerless
and although i love her so dearly
she
being the most like me of all my kids
and i
still being a kid myself in so many ways
we clashed a little during her time here
over a lot of the usual teen-olde guy malarkey
elli thinks im a scruffy old bohemian ratbag
she doesnt care that i wrote some song last century
i'm just a bit of a hopeless case to her
and before you protest
oh i'd love to have a dad like you
think
ive been absent
ive been an addict
ive been unreliable
plus the fact that i'm a moody son of a bitch
and it dont all add up to father christmas
elli is so like me
that we almost became opposites
no me being in the church means nothing to her
she'd rather i had a proper job and wore nice clothes
shes over the bricklayer look in spades
shes bloody beautiful
shes bloody intelligent
shes got everything
including this disease getting at her all the time
shes 17
her sister started their new school yesterday
ellis in hospital getting lumbar punctures and dye scans
and i dont know what to say or do
except wring my hands and feel demoralized
everything is so complicated between us
i never wanted this stand off
but its like .....
lets face it all my relationships are fraught with this....
everybody is always slightly disappointed me
i can see why too
but with elli being so very much like me
it makes it all so hard to understand
like fighting with an aspect of yerself
a cruel beautiful female seventeen year old aspect
with a swedish accent and a haughty manner
and now shes sick
and i want to wrap my arms around her
like any father would
and there is this distance
this distance....
not merely physical
an estrangement or something...
i just wanted to tell the world
how much i love that young woman...
Monday, August 18, 2008
kiss off
lying in my bunk
half asleep
the bus goes on n on
moving thru the black rainy night
i hear ploogie laughing and talking to the driver
i hear muffled music
i smell dope smoke drifting down the corridor
i roll over and sleep on
i dream as always of things going wrong
guitar necks with too many frets
microphones that go all limp
sounds that are stifled and unable to manifest
i stand onstage stark naked plucking at my stringless bass
a phone rings in a motel room
the roadcrew snorting an eightball
the entrance has been barred
the exit has been alarmed
the load-in was hours ago
i'm walking down the street in some midwestern town
trying to find a veggie restaurant
my hair is dyed auburn
my earrings are 2 blue mexican crosses
a green suede jacket and green suede boots
i'm lost
ive taken the wrong turn
i'm out of my depth
i'm on my own
i'm not thinkin' straight
i'm jet lagged and confused
ive been up all night asleep
my pockets are full of belgian francs and dutch black cats
i sit down at a table
someone sets down a glass of water
its starts to rain again
my room wont be ready for ages
i wonder where tom went
ive still got my dads ring on
i take it off
and try for the one thousandth time
to read the inscription or whatever it is
but
i cant
the rain beats down steadily
gee i really miss......
who do i miss...?
cant think of anybody just right now....
300 gigs
300 smokes
300 drinks
300 reviews
300 how do you dos
the road......
maybe i'm only pretending
i tried to make myself tougher
but i just ended up emptier
the restaurant is is dark n warm
candles burn on
is this the sanctuary then....?
all sanctuary is temporary
the continuous state is exposure
raw nerves exposed
headaches and stomach aches
nervousness
loneliness
intoxication
hangovers
bullying and being bullied
accusing and defending
hiding in some temporary haven
but you always find yourself
the people clap but you feel worse
actually youre not even that good
youre so so
and you sometimes really know
you nibble at the food
people in here
husbands n wives
colleagues
friends
all quietly eating
a low drone of muted conversation
people living the real lives here in this city
the drudgery
the constancy
the hovels
the palatial haciendas
the fishwives
the soulmates
the crab grass and washing machines
the soft summer nights in the gardens
do you pity or envy them?
as usual with you i s'pose its both
you can never just see things for what they are
nothings black n white...even black n white
living in the suburbs
oh it could be so good or so bad
the possibilities fork out before you
you take out that huge green notebook
oh you were writing a lot of stuff in those days
you walked around the back streets of oklahoma
you can still see it now
those gentle lanes on the edge of the city
a motel with a pool
you sat up all night
imagining the lives of these people
whose back gardens you glanced into
as the 4 of you drifted down this lane
a long long back alley
that connected up all the houses
lovely homes spaced well apart
on this afternoon
the 4 of you
the 4 of us
had smoked marijuana and walked down this lane
the motel backed right onto this lane
and you'd smoked and walked and talked
probably argued and bickered
or ganged up on someone
but i was drinking it in
and that night after the gig
i opened the book and the words fell out
about some imaginary woman who lived up the lane
and her bizarre life
and her white skin and her scarlet cocktail dress
and i wrote about the men in her life
i imagined them and imagined them..
sitting at the table of my motel room
on the outskirts of somewhere in oklahoma
in 1988
and their lives are realer to me than my own
where is that book now?
(the solid book we wrote cannot be found today)
i sold it to get money for schmack in the 'orrible nineties
ha ha said the clown
meanwhile in a parallel universe
i'm sitting in cincinatti or pittsburgh or birmingham
or goulburn or somewhere
nibbling on some jap-mex yum cha
when
"steve?"
i look up
its this girl from arista whos been on tour with us
arranging things
things like meeting people
and meeting more people
and signing things and being polite
this is horrible to say
but i have never remembered this girls name
so i just call her arista
"arista...?"
shes tracked me down
after all that is her job
she tracks down rude and air headed ninnies like me
so that we may do interviews n shake peoples hands etc
we are sorta adversaries
her representing law
me representing chaos
after all theres no way they can MAKE you do an interview
so it falls to people like "arista"
who is actually a nice sweet person
its just that she represents schedules n work n all that
i'm trying to get my head around everything at once
be all fucking things to all people
and i gotta go n meet some retailers....
the retailers never like me...
who would...?
i wasnt s'posed to be liked...
you werent supposed to get up close to me and like me
i was an obnoxious git and i had freckles
see
the illusion was instantly shattered
under the glare of commercial introspection...
so
leave me here
in this sanctuary
the soft buzz of talk
the rainy day
the glow of a fireplace
nothing here alters or affects me
i can be neutral
i can rest
leave me here
then
half asleep
the bus goes on n on
moving thru the black rainy night
i hear ploogie laughing and talking to the driver
i hear muffled music
i smell dope smoke drifting down the corridor
i roll over and sleep on
i dream as always of things going wrong
guitar necks with too many frets
microphones that go all limp
sounds that are stifled and unable to manifest
i stand onstage stark naked plucking at my stringless bass
a phone rings in a motel room
the roadcrew snorting an eightball
the entrance has been barred
the exit has been alarmed
the load-in was hours ago
i'm walking down the street in some midwestern town
trying to find a veggie restaurant
my hair is dyed auburn
my earrings are 2 blue mexican crosses
a green suede jacket and green suede boots
i'm lost
ive taken the wrong turn
i'm out of my depth
i'm on my own
i'm not thinkin' straight
i'm jet lagged and confused
ive been up all night asleep
my pockets are full of belgian francs and dutch black cats
i sit down at a table
someone sets down a glass of water
its starts to rain again
my room wont be ready for ages
i wonder where tom went
ive still got my dads ring on
i take it off
and try for the one thousandth time
to read the inscription or whatever it is
but
i cant
the rain beats down steadily
gee i really miss......
who do i miss...?
cant think of anybody just right now....
300 gigs
300 smokes
300 drinks
300 reviews
300 how do you dos
the road......
maybe i'm only pretending
i tried to make myself tougher
but i just ended up emptier
the restaurant is is dark n warm
candles burn on
is this the sanctuary then....?
all sanctuary is temporary
the continuous state is exposure
raw nerves exposed
headaches and stomach aches
nervousness
loneliness
intoxication
hangovers
bullying and being bullied
accusing and defending
hiding in some temporary haven
but you always find yourself
the people clap but you feel worse
actually youre not even that good
youre so so
and you sometimes really know
you nibble at the food
people in here
husbands n wives
colleagues
friends
all quietly eating
a low drone of muted conversation
people living the real lives here in this city
the drudgery
the constancy
the hovels
the palatial haciendas
the fishwives
the soulmates
the crab grass and washing machines
the soft summer nights in the gardens
do you pity or envy them?
as usual with you i s'pose its both
you can never just see things for what they are
nothings black n white...even black n white
living in the suburbs
oh it could be so good or so bad
the possibilities fork out before you
you take out that huge green notebook
oh you were writing a lot of stuff in those days
you walked around the back streets of oklahoma
you can still see it now
those gentle lanes on the edge of the city
a motel with a pool
you sat up all night
imagining the lives of these people
whose back gardens you glanced into
as the 4 of you drifted down this lane
a long long back alley
that connected up all the houses
lovely homes spaced well apart
on this afternoon
the 4 of you
the 4 of us
had smoked marijuana and walked down this lane
the motel backed right onto this lane
and you'd smoked and walked and talked
probably argued and bickered
or ganged up on someone
but i was drinking it in
and that night after the gig
i opened the book and the words fell out
about some imaginary woman who lived up the lane
and her bizarre life
and her white skin and her scarlet cocktail dress
and i wrote about the men in her life
i imagined them and imagined them..
sitting at the table of my motel room
on the outskirts of somewhere in oklahoma
in 1988
and their lives are realer to me than my own
where is that book now?
(the solid book we wrote cannot be found today)
i sold it to get money for schmack in the 'orrible nineties
ha ha said the clown
meanwhile in a parallel universe
i'm sitting in cincinatti or pittsburgh or birmingham
or goulburn or somewhere
nibbling on some jap-mex yum cha
when
"steve?"
i look up
its this girl from arista whos been on tour with us
arranging things
things like meeting people
and meeting more people
and signing things and being polite
this is horrible to say
but i have never remembered this girls name
so i just call her arista
"arista...?"
shes tracked me down
after all that is her job
she tracks down rude and air headed ninnies like me
so that we may do interviews n shake peoples hands etc
we are sorta adversaries
her representing law
me representing chaos
after all theres no way they can MAKE you do an interview
so it falls to people like "arista"
who is actually a nice sweet person
its just that she represents schedules n work n all that
i'm trying to get my head around everything at once
be all fucking things to all people
and i gotta go n meet some retailers....
the retailers never like me...
who would...?
i wasnt s'posed to be liked...
you werent supposed to get up close to me and like me
i was an obnoxious git and i had freckles
see
the illusion was instantly shattered
under the glare of commercial introspection...
so
leave me here
in this sanctuary
the soft buzz of talk
the rainy day
the glow of a fireplace
nothing here alters or affects me
i can be neutral
i can rest
leave me here
then
Sunday, August 17, 2008
vapourized trail
i am the delver
i am the toucher
i am moving thru the night
you dont see me but you feel me
i am a hard bastard
im hard like steal
im hard like winning
im hard like diamond bay
i am an unrelenting machine
rolling over the lands cape
i am the insinuator
in sin you ate her
wine drinker
night rider
dream lover
i unravel
i measure
i cut
i look and i see
i take baby
oh i take
but i give and i give
i give no quarter
i give examples
i give you twenty minutes minimum
oh i am kind to be cruel
oh i am a man
the best and the worst
i am the thinking mans man
an educated brute
destroyer of naive virtue
i am undiminished
i am mojo n uncut
i am dark and thirsty
i know how to make my move
i break all the rules
i have two turns at once
i always roll double six
double six
double six
i am a black knight
moving down the white queens diagonal
i am a feather legged joker
trumping your fucking ace
i am the father
i am the masculine form
i am firming up the deal
i buy futures
and i have no present
i am the hoarse whisperer
i am the husky throated love song singer
i handle everything
i squeeze all the fruit
i finger all the strings
i pull out all the stops
i leave no turn unstoned
i am never drunk
i am never soft
i am never lost for words
i am never shy
i am never tepid or insipid
i am yang....bang!
i am loki... i love my mischief
as a metal i am mercury
as a number i am 13
as an animal i am panther
in music i am bass clef
in colour i am cobalt blue
as a drug i am nepenthe
as a car i am a banged up mustang that overheats
as a master i am pitiless
as a slave i am rebellious
as a worker i am useless
as a waiter i am impatience
as a conspirator i am ruthless
as an optimist i am hopeless
as an animal i'm quite human
as a saint i'm ridiculous
as a sinner i'm quite good
i'm back with 2 beasts
i'm the most in the least
i am no ordinary man
no jim jim
i am everyman everyday everywhere
one foot in the grave
one foot in my shoe
one foot ahead of the other
when the world sleeps i am awake
plotting my course
plowing my furrow
sifting thru the options
detaching from this plane
i make two wrongs maker write
i memorize the clouds
i stretch into the stars
you can say what you like
you can do as you think fit
i dont care
i go down to the bottom
i go up to the top
i survive
i prevail
i struggle
i am defeated
i resurface
i reconsider
i adjust
i adapt
i attack i release i sustain i decay
ive seen it all
i noticed
i got mentioned
i was there
so long ago
you were just a child but i was there all the same
when you were learning how to tie your choose
i was out there somewhere
delivering the bizness
saving the universe from the eighties
writing the wrong song
my fabrics dont shrink or stretch
my dish has not decayed despite 2 decades
i always knew what i was doing even when i was lost
even when i was lost i never foundered
even when i foundered i was always fine
even what i borrowed became mine
i sing my own praises
i blow my own trumpet
i pat myself on the back
i gotta hand it to me
i got shake my hand
and i gotta shake my head
and i gotta getta move on
i gotta get it right
just for once
look at me raving on to you
i'm this
i'm that
oh you know that its true
i'm down on my luck
but i'm still in the ring
i'm a lover and a fighter
i'm a negotiator too
and a humane shield
and a renaissance man sipping soy rococo
i am sir stephen in the storey of oh!
i am a cool breeze on a stifling night
i am the voice of unreason
i am the intemperate one
i am the experimenter
i am the man within a child
i am the man within a woman
i am the oak inside the acorn
i am the acorn inside the earth
i am the earth within cold space
i am charged
i am positive
i am plus
i am on
i am
i am
i am
i am outbound
i am the toucher
i am moving thru the night
you dont see me but you feel me
i am a hard bastard
im hard like steal
im hard like winning
im hard like diamond bay
i am an unrelenting machine
rolling over the lands cape
i am the insinuator
in sin you ate her
wine drinker
night rider
dream lover
i unravel
i measure
i cut
i look and i see
i take baby
oh i take
but i give and i give
i give no quarter
i give examples
i give you twenty minutes minimum
oh i am kind to be cruel
oh i am a man
the best and the worst
i am the thinking mans man
an educated brute
destroyer of naive virtue
i am undiminished
i am mojo n uncut
i am dark and thirsty
i know how to make my move
i break all the rules
i have two turns at once
i always roll double six
double six
double six
i am a black knight
moving down the white queens diagonal
i am a feather legged joker
trumping your fucking ace
i am the father
i am the masculine form
i am firming up the deal
i buy futures
and i have no present
i am the hoarse whisperer
i am the husky throated love song singer
i handle everything
i squeeze all the fruit
i finger all the strings
i pull out all the stops
i leave no turn unstoned
i am never drunk
i am never soft
i am never lost for words
i am never shy
i am never tepid or insipid
i am yang....bang!
i am loki... i love my mischief
as a metal i am mercury
as a number i am 13
as an animal i am panther
in music i am bass clef
in colour i am cobalt blue
as a drug i am nepenthe
as a car i am a banged up mustang that overheats
as a master i am pitiless
as a slave i am rebellious
as a worker i am useless
as a waiter i am impatience
as a conspirator i am ruthless
as an optimist i am hopeless
as an animal i'm quite human
as a saint i'm ridiculous
as a sinner i'm quite good
i'm back with 2 beasts
i'm the most in the least
i am no ordinary man
no jim jim
i am everyman everyday everywhere
one foot in the grave
one foot in my shoe
one foot ahead of the other
when the world sleeps i am awake
plotting my course
plowing my furrow
sifting thru the options
detaching from this plane
i make two wrongs maker write
i memorize the clouds
i stretch into the stars
you can say what you like
you can do as you think fit
i dont care
i go down to the bottom
i go up to the top
i survive
i prevail
i struggle
i am defeated
i resurface
i reconsider
i adjust
i adapt
i attack i release i sustain i decay
ive seen it all
i noticed
i got mentioned
i was there
so long ago
you were just a child but i was there all the same
when you were learning how to tie your choose
i was out there somewhere
delivering the bizness
saving the universe from the eighties
writing the wrong song
my fabrics dont shrink or stretch
my dish has not decayed despite 2 decades
i always knew what i was doing even when i was lost
even when i was lost i never foundered
even when i foundered i was always fine
even what i borrowed became mine
i sing my own praises
i blow my own trumpet
i pat myself on the back
i gotta hand it to me
i got shake my hand
and i gotta shake my head
and i gotta getta move on
i gotta get it right
just for once
look at me raving on to you
i'm this
i'm that
oh you know that its true
i'm down on my luck
but i'm still in the ring
i'm a lover and a fighter
i'm a negotiator too
and a humane shield
and a renaissance man sipping soy rococo
i am sir stephen in the storey of oh!
i am a cool breeze on a stifling night
i am the voice of unreason
i am the intemperate one
i am the experimenter
i am the man within a child
i am the man within a woman
i am the oak inside the acorn
i am the acorn inside the earth
i am the earth within cold space
i am charged
i am positive
i am plus
i am on
i am
i am
i am
i am outbound
Saturday, August 16, 2008
avoid disappointment ; enjoy ttb ice-cold now
i'm kilbey
who are you?
i paid my dews before you were outta short pants
and they call me old man skyriver
giver of boons
tinker of tunes
i sing but i dont dance
i been to jail
i been to france
i been to helvetia n back
with out e'er a backwoods glance
(e'er.....how poncy!)
yes i am the velvet throated poet
oh how i know it and then
blow it!
(a mod 'un de quincy!)
the fool on the hill
man i'm sitting here so still
still i'm sad.....
my encyclopedia brain
with half the letters missing
dont go dissing me cur
youre just a blur on the silent screen
youre like something in be tween
have you come to praise or bury me
have you come to drown or ferry me
hey i rhyme on time; how very me
i am so self obsessed i forgotten my name
i hate myself but its love to blame
viva la difference but its all the same
hey did i ever tell ya bout the time
i was recording in manhattan
i got the vu meters to flatten
ya see i could detect a pattern
i was snorting some brown powder
i was supping on some vegan potato chowder
i was strumming my bass much louder....
never mind me
i often digress
i bullshit you
then i truly confess
bless you reader
hail thee oh subscriber
you kindness doth sustain me
(can ya lend us a fiver?)
i am the keeper of the flaming frame
sleeper you should keeper
the words seem to have ironed things out
the dope seems to have cleared things up
steve kilbey all defiant despite his recent losses
knocked out by phil e stein
and mod n times
the killer as they call him
has adjourned to his corner
yoga is massaging his shoulders
chi gong takes the mouthguard out of his gob
and
swimming tries to stitch his swollen eye
in every painting you do kil-bo
one eye bigger than the other...why bother
and why twins
i guess he's not a mono zygotic kinda guy
aha
the rhythm n rhyme have disinte-grated
all the hoo hah now a-bated
whats left?
a slinky bass line
the smudge of a shadow on yer eyeline
the whisper of some words on yer grapevine
enjoy me freely
i wont be a round forever
they dont do this model so much these days
i hear the new guys dont know their eros from their venus
how much distance i must put between us
the australian us
the euro-pean us
the dream bus is calling us
too much
magic bust
magic free dirt
hey every body call me mr guy forks
cos i am discombobulated
sometimes im good
sometimes im mournful
sometiimes im friendly
sometimes im scornful
im an arrogant little prat
an irritating brat
scare the hell out of a bat
prattling on with this n that
how much do i promise
much
how much do i deliver
little
a brittle precious little
hey i'm everything at fucking once
no one here knows what i can n cannot do
i can spell through as thru
cos i'm so good
that i make mistakes
like swimming in black lakes
full of voracious vermillion snakes
like the lamia who ate rael
or buffalo ballet by john cale
if there was a rock ph.d i'd be at yale
i always fail
i always fall
i always fill yer head with nonsense, thats all....
why do you love me love love me do
you love me oh say it long and hard
say it with your credit card
say it with a glassy shard
or something i possibly marred
i'm kilbey
i'm my own man
but you could rent me...anybody can
for half an hour
increase your power
beauty like a hairy flower
knock 'er over n wow 'er
i am the one they simply call him
i was once known as slim
i got vitality n vim
my receiving is dim
dim, sim
flim flam
no ham or spam
was glam
now damn!
clown prince the neverking
not that anyone was wondering
nice day here...no thundering
guess i'll have a fucking swim under then
poach some pears
see to my affairs
trim my beards hairs
listen to some kevin ayers
descend the stares
never see
suntanned druglord
glares
for all the tourists
down by the sea
who are you?
i paid my dews before you were outta short pants
and they call me old man skyriver
giver of boons
tinker of tunes
i sing but i dont dance
i been to jail
i been to france
i been to helvetia n back
with out e'er a backwoods glance
(e'er.....how poncy!)
yes i am the velvet throated poet
oh how i know it and then
blow it!
(a mod 'un de quincy!)
the fool on the hill
man i'm sitting here so still
still i'm sad.....
my encyclopedia brain
with half the letters missing
dont go dissing me cur
youre just a blur on the silent screen
youre like something in be tween
have you come to praise or bury me
have you come to drown or ferry me
hey i rhyme on time; how very me
i am so self obsessed i forgotten my name
i hate myself but its love to blame
viva la difference but its all the same
hey did i ever tell ya bout the time
i was recording in manhattan
i got the vu meters to flatten
ya see i could detect a pattern
i was snorting some brown powder
i was supping on some vegan potato chowder
i was strumming my bass much louder....
never mind me
i often digress
i bullshit you
then i truly confess
bless you reader
hail thee oh subscriber
you kindness doth sustain me
(can ya lend us a fiver?)
i am the keeper of the flaming frame
sleeper you should keeper
the words seem to have ironed things out
the dope seems to have cleared things up
steve kilbey all defiant despite his recent losses
knocked out by phil e stein
and mod n times
the killer as they call him
has adjourned to his corner
yoga is massaging his shoulders
chi gong takes the mouthguard out of his gob
and
swimming tries to stitch his swollen eye
in every painting you do kil-bo
one eye bigger than the other...why bother
and why twins
i guess he's not a mono zygotic kinda guy
aha
the rhythm n rhyme have disinte-grated
all the hoo hah now a-bated
whats left?
a slinky bass line
the smudge of a shadow on yer eyeline
the whisper of some words on yer grapevine
enjoy me freely
i wont be a round forever
they dont do this model so much these days
i hear the new guys dont know their eros from their venus
how much distance i must put between us
the australian us
the euro-pean us
the dream bus is calling us
too much
magic bust
magic free dirt
hey every body call me mr guy forks
cos i am discombobulated
sometimes im good
sometimes im mournful
sometiimes im friendly
sometimes im scornful
im an arrogant little prat
an irritating brat
scare the hell out of a bat
prattling on with this n that
how much do i promise
much
how much do i deliver
little
a brittle precious little
hey i'm everything at fucking once
no one here knows what i can n cannot do
i can spell through as thru
cos i'm so good
that i make mistakes
like swimming in black lakes
full of voracious vermillion snakes
like the lamia who ate rael
or buffalo ballet by john cale
if there was a rock ph.d i'd be at yale
i always fail
i always fall
i always fill yer head with nonsense, thats all....
why do you love me love love me do
you love me oh say it long and hard
say it with your credit card
say it with a glassy shard
or something i possibly marred
i'm kilbey
i'm my own man
but you could rent me...anybody can
for half an hour
increase your power
beauty like a hairy flower
knock 'er over n wow 'er
i am the one they simply call him
i was once known as slim
i got vitality n vim
my receiving is dim
dim, sim
flim flam
no ham or spam
was glam
now damn!
clown prince the neverking
not that anyone was wondering
nice day here...no thundering
guess i'll have a fucking swim under then
poach some pears
see to my affairs
trim my beards hairs
listen to some kevin ayers
descend the stares
never see
suntanned druglord
glares
for all the tourists
down by the sea
Friday, August 15, 2008
steve naive: the lucky guy
dear fiendss
seemz ive hit the jackpot this smorning
as i peruse the amazing list of free goodies
awaiting my confirmation
no...not that christian malarkey with a wafer n wine
but
all i have to do is confirm
that i'm stevekilbey@gmail.com
(and if i'm not...then who else is?)
its that easy
then
i'm gonna get..
(drum roll please and cheesy show-biz music...)
2 petrol vouchers
i myer gift cert
one b and w gift cert
one woolworths gift cert
a pink i-phone (wow!)
a sony-wega lcd tv
a toshiba laptop
an apple i-phone
need cash? 500 bucks no questions asked
a 500 gift card
a J+B hi fi card
and we all thought that this world
was full of cynical hucksters
playing the old pea n shell game
with gullible idiots som moi
and then
this miraculous cornucopia of stuff
arrives in my e-mail box
all merely awaiting
confirmation
am i stevekilbey...?
yes i am!
heres yer stuff, then, you lucky sod
thank you very much!
wow...a PINK i-phone
i'll be texting all my friends like crazy
maybe i'll get some brian mcfudgeon ring tones
and download some cooool movies too
and same way cooool games
maybe thats what i'll spend my first five hundred on
that other five hundred....hmmmm
maybe some breakdance lessons
or that autographed spandau ballet kilt
i wont be needing petrol
not with my 2 vouchers
which are small printed pieces of paper
entitling the bear to goods and services
sorry i mean the bearer
what would a grown bear do with a spandau ballet kilt?
i wonder if bears do get certificates from each other
dear bruin this stone entitles you to one large salmon
honey vouchers
confirmation needed: one pink pickanick basket..
anyway
gee i'm looking forward to my sat laptop by tosh
wonder if its compatible with my new sony wega lcd tv?
wonder what i'll get in myer.....some way cooool clothes i'm sure
a pair of those jeans that makes your arse hang out
and yer legs look like sausages...yes
and a fcuk tommy hill-frigger t shirt
and a justin timberlake hat
you know those ones that make you look like a complete fucknuckle
you know
i need to investigate this for my own site
free words awaiting you now
blog vouchers
rant gift certs
etc
anyhow
i'll be seeing you all soon.....
on easy street
seemz ive hit the jackpot this smorning
as i peruse the amazing list of free goodies
awaiting my confirmation
no...not that christian malarkey with a wafer n wine
but
all i have to do is confirm
that i'm stevekilbey@gmail.com
(and if i'm not...then who else is?)
its that easy
then
i'm gonna get..
(drum roll please and cheesy show-biz music...)
2 petrol vouchers
i myer gift cert
one b and w gift cert
one woolworths gift cert
a pink i-phone (wow!)
a sony-wega lcd tv
a toshiba laptop
an apple i-phone
need cash? 500 bucks no questions asked
a 500 gift card
a J+B hi fi card
and we all thought that this world
was full of cynical hucksters
playing the old pea n shell game
with gullible idiots som moi
and then
this miraculous cornucopia of stuff
arrives in my e-mail box
all merely awaiting
confirmation
am i stevekilbey...?
yes i am!
heres yer stuff, then, you lucky sod
thank you very much!
wow...a PINK i-phone
i'll be texting all my friends like crazy
maybe i'll get some brian mcfudgeon ring tones
and download some cooool movies too
and same way cooool games
maybe thats what i'll spend my first five hundred on
that other five hundred....hmmmm
maybe some breakdance lessons
or that autographed spandau ballet kilt
i wont be needing petrol
not with my 2 vouchers
which are small printed pieces of paper
entitling the bear to goods and services
sorry i mean the bearer
what would a grown bear do with a spandau ballet kilt?
i wonder if bears do get certificates from each other
dear bruin this stone entitles you to one large salmon
honey vouchers
confirmation needed: one pink pickanick basket..
anyway
gee i'm looking forward to my sat laptop by tosh
wonder if its compatible with my new sony wega lcd tv?
wonder what i'll get in myer.....some way cooool clothes i'm sure
a pair of those jeans that makes your arse hang out
and yer legs look like sausages...yes
and a fcuk tommy hill-frigger t shirt
and a justin timberlake hat
you know those ones that make you look like a complete fucknuckle
you know
i need to investigate this for my own site
free words awaiting you now
blog vouchers
rant gift certs
etc
anyhow
i'll be seeing you all soon.....
on easy street
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
tomorrows blog today
the world within the world within
the cut
the incision
the revelation
we travel and travel
we move together
we leave
i am coldness
you are heat
you signal the oncoming era
i hark back to an age of larks
let science and magic then blend
let us put asunder these strange bonds of matter
michael before me
gabriel behind me
the alchemical smell of melting metal
of sulphur
of blood
of sperm
the temperate layers of flesh
the unyieilding skin of gold
the flash of light when elementals appear
the claustrophobic laboratory
what door now opens
what path can be found
which way out
which way in
which of us will go first?
me?
yes?
i plunge in like a fool
in to what
into what i do not know
i fall and fall and fall
i never become used to this falling
ah my friend has joined me
falling past me so fast
sickening jump
falling faster gaining speed
we suddenly collide
smashing full on into the wall of sleep
jolting us like solid ice
we disintegrate on impact
we break into a thousand agonizing pieces
our names are obliterated
we are given up
in liquid slowness something reassembles me
some divine process perhaps
taking oh so long
you are ready before me
you are ready to leave but you kindly will wait
the process fits us with beautiful wings
and we soar away
out of the deep abyss and its gloom
and we spiral up towards the brightest star
and we fly up up into the great sky of the earth
and you sing a mournful song as we break free
in cold space
we spirits pass
our winged shoulders pump the airless tracts
we flow in the wake of novas
we in the slipstream of the hurtling moon
where the dead make their abode
the dead moon full of dead souls
watching the world
waiting to be reborn as a helpless child
as the moon curves to take us
we alter our course
into the depths of whatever is out there which is mostly nothing
with the occasional some-thing moving through it
eventually we are sucked into spaces rip
flung into black and blacker voids
even as spirit i am afraid
we huddle in the pit
in the deep pit of the universe
where everything curves
and everything oozes
and everything slips
pulled down by eventuality...
a devil approaches us
burning in the flame of old evil
a delightful old devil
roasted red like a dried up pig
dribbling like a fiend
and poking at us
like delicacies on a hook
satan you lying bastard
satan you filthy monster
satan morningstar devourer of children
not so .....says the devil
his breath stinking of brimstone and rotten garlic
his breath stinking of cheap perfume and gelatine
his breath stinking of listerine and white paint
not so ...says the devil
his tongue black and leathery
his tongue coated in green moss
his tongue forked like the serpent
not so...says the devil
his voice like velvet against glass
his voice like water lapping a pier
his voice like machinery seizing up
satan you treacherous toad
you are a very rude man says the devil
his grip is fiery
like a million bull ants biting
like a wasp colony inside your skin
his scorpion fingers
his vampire nails
his dragon wings beating foully
this is no illusion
this is no dream
this is no shadow play
he snaps his blackened reddish fingers
articulated like a lobster
and hell yawns open suddenly
and you struggle fiercely against where he has us pinned
you beat at his pinioned wings
and scratch at his eyes
screaming the name of every god you can remember
and he roars at some of those names
and others make him laugh
and still others make him cower
so the old brute knows fear, eh.....?
emboldened you break free and dart away
he turns toward me
his eyes a flaming darkness
his teeth black with flecks of blood and foam
his nostrils flared and misshapen
you....! he says
stand back wicked one ....i hopelessly shout
into his smouldering face
then you have returned with something
something that makes him snarl
spinning to face you
back for more? he asks in a deafening whisper
reaching up for you
like a giant reaching for a fly
like a monstrous child reaching for a gnat
like an angry bear reaching for a bee
you are unafraid
you hurl a stone
and like goliath
he totters
this way
and
that way
and
this way
and that way again
gasping and clutching at his forehead
where the stone lies embedded
it is a sun blazing in the night of evil
it is a star burning brightly in the caverns of black space
it was all your hope and love and strength
dont fade , star......
the prints of darkness pierced by light
the measure of him taken
his demise was assured
from the very beginning
silently we ascend
me scorched and bleeding
my wings damaged
i limp thru the skies
you pale and nearly lifeless
my old friend
in the light of cosmic rays
in the clear light radiating out from unknown sources
in the sublunar dimness
in the frozen beam of distant planets
i see your face
as we flee that dreadful place
your face like a hurt angel
your face with its noble angles
your face now quiet and drawn
the fearslayer
the master of self
the constant
you
the cut
the incision
the revelation
we travel and travel
we move together
we leave
i am coldness
you are heat
you signal the oncoming era
i hark back to an age of larks
let science and magic then blend
let us put asunder these strange bonds of matter
michael before me
gabriel behind me
the alchemical smell of melting metal
of sulphur
of blood
of sperm
the temperate layers of flesh
the unyieilding skin of gold
the flash of light when elementals appear
the claustrophobic laboratory
what door now opens
what path can be found
which way out
which way in
which of us will go first?
me?
yes?
i plunge in like a fool
in to what
into what i do not know
i fall and fall and fall
i never become used to this falling
ah my friend has joined me
falling past me so fast
sickening jump
falling faster gaining speed
we suddenly collide
smashing full on into the wall of sleep
jolting us like solid ice
we disintegrate on impact
we break into a thousand agonizing pieces
our names are obliterated
we are given up
in liquid slowness something reassembles me
some divine process perhaps
taking oh so long
you are ready before me
you are ready to leave but you kindly will wait
the process fits us with beautiful wings
and we soar away
out of the deep abyss and its gloom
and we spiral up towards the brightest star
and we fly up up into the great sky of the earth
and you sing a mournful song as we break free
in cold space
we spirits pass
our winged shoulders pump the airless tracts
we flow in the wake of novas
we in the slipstream of the hurtling moon
where the dead make their abode
the dead moon full of dead souls
watching the world
waiting to be reborn as a helpless child
as the moon curves to take us
we alter our course
into the depths of whatever is out there which is mostly nothing
with the occasional some-thing moving through it
eventually we are sucked into spaces rip
flung into black and blacker voids
even as spirit i am afraid
we huddle in the pit
in the deep pit of the universe
where everything curves
and everything oozes
and everything slips
pulled down by eventuality...
a devil approaches us
burning in the flame of old evil
a delightful old devil
roasted red like a dried up pig
dribbling like a fiend
and poking at us
like delicacies on a hook
satan you lying bastard
satan you filthy monster
satan morningstar devourer of children
not so .....says the devil
his breath stinking of brimstone and rotten garlic
his breath stinking of cheap perfume and gelatine
his breath stinking of listerine and white paint
not so ...says the devil
his tongue black and leathery
his tongue coated in green moss
his tongue forked like the serpent
not so...says the devil
his voice like velvet against glass
his voice like water lapping a pier
his voice like machinery seizing up
satan you treacherous toad
you are a very rude man says the devil
his grip is fiery
like a million bull ants biting
like a wasp colony inside your skin
his scorpion fingers
his vampire nails
his dragon wings beating foully
this is no illusion
this is no dream
this is no shadow play
he snaps his blackened reddish fingers
articulated like a lobster
and hell yawns open suddenly
and you struggle fiercely against where he has us pinned
you beat at his pinioned wings
and scratch at his eyes
screaming the name of every god you can remember
and he roars at some of those names
and others make him laugh
and still others make him cower
so the old brute knows fear, eh.....?
emboldened you break free and dart away
he turns toward me
his eyes a flaming darkness
his teeth black with flecks of blood and foam
his nostrils flared and misshapen
you....! he says
stand back wicked one ....i hopelessly shout
into his smouldering face
then you have returned with something
something that makes him snarl
spinning to face you
back for more? he asks in a deafening whisper
reaching up for you
like a giant reaching for a fly
like a monstrous child reaching for a gnat
like an angry bear reaching for a bee
you are unafraid
you hurl a stone
and like goliath
he totters
this way
and
that way
and
this way
and that way again
gasping and clutching at his forehead
where the stone lies embedded
it is a sun blazing in the night of evil
it is a star burning brightly in the caverns of black space
it was all your hope and love and strength
dont fade , star......
the prints of darkness pierced by light
the measure of him taken
his demise was assured
from the very beginning
silently we ascend
me scorched and bleeding
my wings damaged
i limp thru the skies
you pale and nearly lifeless
my old friend
in the light of cosmic rays
in the clear light radiating out from unknown sources
in the sublunar dimness
in the frozen beam of distant planets
i see your face
as we flee that dreadful place
your face like a hurt angel
your face with its noble angles
your face now quiet and drawn
the fearslayer
the master of self
the constant
you
abide with me
all you need is a way in
a way in
a way in
the palms open
the patient vegetation
the path half stoned
the gate swings
sometimes you cant take a trick
sometimes it doesnt matter if youre good or bad
the more desperate you are......
when you start trying to force things....
when everything keeps going wrong
people misunderstand
no ones on your side
you think of the outrages and you bristle
you think of the truth and it scalds
you think of all the times....
this place.
nice weather
you grew up here
all those snakes and spiders
never got you once
the sun got you tho
got you good when you werent looking
nothing brings you pleasure anymore
its just a fight
you cant ever win now
its just.....this and that...
red tape
accounts
an appointment
take your medicine
get something fixed
you cant get what you need back there
words glide from you if you want...but so what?
its all kinda moot
a done deal
nothing personal
destiny after all
accept it all as it comes.....bah!
the rats keep running faster
nibble nibble gnaw gnaw
whats undone is undone
time and tide
lost all your letters when the ship sank
bad poker game / dead mans hand
you start to remember something
it happened a long long time ago
somehow you can still see it in your mind
did this happen to you.....?
is this a story....?
remember
youd worked hard
youd done what was asked and you were resting
and then that thought came
that burning thought arrived in your mind
the name of a city
a place you had to go
ive already done so much you moaned at it
but the name of the city was your only reply
get someone else you thought
but still just that name
no no im not going you thought ...didnt you
im not going there no no
but the name was like a gong crashing in your head
it seems to appease it when
you walk to the docks
2 ships
one to your destination
another to another city altogether
joppa
at the last moment
you jump on the other ship
you pay for your ticket with your last bit of cash
you settle down in your berth
you look in the mirror
an old man
white beard sunburnt face
penetrating eyes but what do they penetrate if not yourself
it feels better now we are out at sea
the name has stopped pounding
the sea air is cool and soothing
you feel tired
you lay down and sleep
when you awake
the ship is starting to go up and down
waves fling it about on an agitated sea
the water crashes over the deck
the sailors work at the ropes
they pull in the sails
they strain at the oars
the ship sails down into a huge green chasm of water
the captain is screaming to the men through the storm
the ship is as helpless as the smallest leaf on a tree
it spins and lists and shudders
the sailors are praying and crying out
still you hide in your berth
though there is no hiding place to be had
the name of the city pounds in your brain
NINEVEH
NINEVEH
NINEVEH
finally
even you
even you
the most stubborn old fool ever
you realise
you realise how it must be
its me you scream
its me
its me
its me!
you stand on the deck
awash with water
you stare into that wild water
you stare into the grey green depths
at the white crested waves
no one tries to stop you
and you jump
the shock of the cold water
water fills your lungs
you cough and splutter
the sea swallows you down
the water is calm again
the sailors somehow save their ship and get to joppa
while you
in some stinking purgatory
some fishy darkness
you in the slime and guts
breathing as you can
eating as you can
travelling somewhere
you know
you can never escape your destiny
what must be
it seems
must be
and you were picked
chosen
selected
this task was fallen to you
the monster spits you out
on the cold sand
you have arrived
a way in
a way in
the palms open
the patient vegetation
the path half stoned
the gate swings
sometimes you cant take a trick
sometimes it doesnt matter if youre good or bad
the more desperate you are......
when you start trying to force things....
when everything keeps going wrong
people misunderstand
no ones on your side
you think of the outrages and you bristle
you think of the truth and it scalds
you think of all the times....
this place.
nice weather
you grew up here
all those snakes and spiders
never got you once
the sun got you tho
got you good when you werent looking
nothing brings you pleasure anymore
its just a fight
you cant ever win now
its just.....this and that...
red tape
accounts
an appointment
take your medicine
get something fixed
you cant get what you need back there
words glide from you if you want...but so what?
its all kinda moot
a done deal
nothing personal
destiny after all
accept it all as it comes.....bah!
the rats keep running faster
nibble nibble gnaw gnaw
whats undone is undone
time and tide
lost all your letters when the ship sank
bad poker game / dead mans hand
you start to remember something
it happened a long long time ago
somehow you can still see it in your mind
did this happen to you.....?
is this a story....?
remember
youd worked hard
youd done what was asked and you were resting
and then that thought came
that burning thought arrived in your mind
the name of a city
a place you had to go
ive already done so much you moaned at it
but the name of the city was your only reply
get someone else you thought
but still just that name
no no im not going you thought ...didnt you
im not going there no no
but the name was like a gong crashing in your head
it seems to appease it when
you walk to the docks
2 ships
one to your destination
another to another city altogether
joppa
at the last moment
you jump on the other ship
you pay for your ticket with your last bit of cash
you settle down in your berth
you look in the mirror
an old man
white beard sunburnt face
penetrating eyes but what do they penetrate if not yourself
it feels better now we are out at sea
the name has stopped pounding
the sea air is cool and soothing
you feel tired
you lay down and sleep
when you awake
the ship is starting to go up and down
waves fling it about on an agitated sea
the water crashes over the deck
the sailors work at the ropes
they pull in the sails
they strain at the oars
the ship sails down into a huge green chasm of water
the captain is screaming to the men through the storm
the ship is as helpless as the smallest leaf on a tree
it spins and lists and shudders
the sailors are praying and crying out
still you hide in your berth
though there is no hiding place to be had
the name of the city pounds in your brain
NINEVEH
NINEVEH
NINEVEH
finally
even you
even you
the most stubborn old fool ever
you realise
you realise how it must be
its me you scream
its me
its me
its me!
you stand on the deck
awash with water
you stare into that wild water
you stare into the grey green depths
at the white crested waves
no one tries to stop you
and you jump
the shock of the cold water
water fills your lungs
you cough and splutter
the sea swallows you down
the water is calm again
the sailors somehow save their ship and get to joppa
while you
in some stinking purgatory
some fishy darkness
you in the slime and guts
breathing as you can
eating as you can
travelling somewhere
you know
you can never escape your destiny
what must be
it seems
must be
and you were picked
chosen
selected
this task was fallen to you
the monster spits you out
on the cold sand
you have arrived
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
titanic gardens
the residue of my long life settling
full of envy full of woe
trying to escape ourself
people hammer on my soft skin
demanding loyalties or royalties
the harbour still treats me as a stranger
the streets mislead me still
the signs ignore me
i run to my old house
i cant find it through my vale of tears
and the tears tore
and inside were globes which contained scenes
in each scene i saw.....oh!
richman
poorman
beggarman
steve
steve what happened to your eyes
steve what happened to your ears
steve what happened to your years
its a long story....
but i will try to
the word never comes
i am pushed into a cell with criminals
what are you in for i say?
murder!
arson!
treason!
and you ....?......they ask
i stared down at my hand
a joker (no one laughing)
king of (night)clubs
jack of (paste) diamonds
7 of (broken) hearts
and a white knight
i looked up at my new friends
self obsession i confessed
they moaned as one
and hid in the corners of the jail
monster screamed the murderer
my father comes to collect me
he still smells of old spice and a faint tobacco tinge
we drive home in silence
the red tail lights go on and on
as we drive past the steelworks
youve bloody shown me up steven ...my father says
i squirm in my seat
nothing ever makes me sadder than letting him down
through more tears the black night and red tail lights blur
port kembla goes by and out of memory
my father scrolls through the dial on the radio
dusty springfield sings
i just dont know what to do with myself
a beautiful and melancholic song
the french horns seem to blow from a lovelorn wilderness
the strings seem to weep as they play out their lines
dusty sings
just waiting for you...i dont know what else to do
i can see her there
broken hearted and lonely
in a darkened room
the telephone which never rings
a light flashes in the rain somewhere
unfeeling cars zoom through the wet streets
cars that reached their destination 40 years ago
everything that happens in the singers world is past
love affairs all over
no morning no light
she waits so patiently on your song
we know her lover will never come back
we see it all...
we?
but who is we?
i look around and see no one seems to share my great vantage point
its just me on my own
with my little complex of sub-mes
seeing future present and past
future: too late
past :too early
present: how soon is soon?
everyone gets tired of me and walks away
as they disappear
i remember the important thing i had to say
but by the time i proclaim my new axiom
all out of earshot
are you out of earshot? asked a salesman
offering me a selection of the very finest
i peered down at the tiny jars that stood on the shelves
earshot original recipe
earshot with vanilla wisps
eyeshot blodshot and red
knuckledust with ghost macadamia
treeflesh kosher
elbow grease with velvetesse
song fragments with poignant lyric chips
oil of a lark sky
message from a deadfriend
morning sap
as i was thinking about which i could most seriously use
kathy woke up in the back seat
where are we now dad? she asked
oh ho ho youve been asleep a long way, little girl ..dad said
dad is that the thirroul pool ?she asked
dad laughed and changed the dial on the radio
bits and pieces of news and sport and classical go on n off
dad keeps tuning till he finds some proper music
the beatles come on
oh dad listen its the beatles! kathy squeals with delight
theyre as good as beethoven she says
dad smiles and turns it up
gee this is a good song he says
we all feel like part of something new
the beatles have come along
and the whole world is laughing with relief
everyone loves their songs
and then....
trouble brews on their horizon
i dont like that woman though says dad
thats not yet dad says kathy from behind him
shes stroking dads hair which so nicely sits against his neck
dads got side burns and a sea lion mustache
i dont know why they have to be weird he grumbles
mclennon has gone solo
i put a tape of it in the player
titanic gardens spread out in a dream ...he sings
...everything for my haze
baby did a sad sad thing
ive been gone for days and days and..
thats a mellotron says kathy
i like that other song better says dad
the one about the sea lion
sealine? i say
no he means
all you ever needed was love
kathy starts to sing
everytime you come and go
whenever you forget you really know
all you ever needed was love..
dad and i whistle the french anthem bit
ha ha ha we all laugh
by now a blue had impinged on the black
day was coming
they dropped me off at home
i walked wearily up the drive
little stones and sandy soil
palm trees and weeds
concrete and an old broken hose
bits of paper and honeysuckle vines
i put my guitar case down
and stumble through the door
its tuesday
the morning has come
my arms ache
my throat is sore
my my
oh my
full of envy full of woe
trying to escape ourself
people hammer on my soft skin
demanding loyalties or royalties
the harbour still treats me as a stranger
the streets mislead me still
the signs ignore me
i run to my old house
i cant find it through my vale of tears
and the tears tore
and inside were globes which contained scenes
in each scene i saw.....oh!
richman
poorman
beggarman
steve
steve what happened to your eyes
steve what happened to your ears
steve what happened to your years
its a long story....
but i will try to
the word never comes
i am pushed into a cell with criminals
what are you in for i say?
murder!
arson!
treason!
and you ....?......they ask
i stared down at my hand
a joker (no one laughing)
king of (night)clubs
jack of (paste) diamonds
7 of (broken) hearts
and a white knight
i looked up at my new friends
self obsession i confessed
they moaned as one
and hid in the corners of the jail
monster screamed the murderer
my father comes to collect me
he still smells of old spice and a faint tobacco tinge
we drive home in silence
the red tail lights go on and on
as we drive past the steelworks
youve bloody shown me up steven ...my father says
i squirm in my seat
nothing ever makes me sadder than letting him down
through more tears the black night and red tail lights blur
port kembla goes by and out of memory
my father scrolls through the dial on the radio
dusty springfield sings
i just dont know what to do with myself
a beautiful and melancholic song
the french horns seem to blow from a lovelorn wilderness
the strings seem to weep as they play out their lines
dusty sings
just waiting for you...i dont know what else to do
i can see her there
broken hearted and lonely
in a darkened room
the telephone which never rings
a light flashes in the rain somewhere
unfeeling cars zoom through the wet streets
cars that reached their destination 40 years ago
everything that happens in the singers world is past
love affairs all over
no morning no light
she waits so patiently on your song
we know her lover will never come back
we see it all...
we?
but who is we?
i look around and see no one seems to share my great vantage point
its just me on my own
with my little complex of sub-mes
seeing future present and past
future: too late
past :too early
present: how soon is soon?
everyone gets tired of me and walks away
as they disappear
i remember the important thing i had to say
but by the time i proclaim my new axiom
all out of earshot
are you out of earshot? asked a salesman
offering me a selection of the very finest
i peered down at the tiny jars that stood on the shelves
earshot original recipe
earshot with vanilla wisps
eyeshot blodshot and red
knuckledust with ghost macadamia
treeflesh kosher
elbow grease with velvetesse
song fragments with poignant lyric chips
oil of a lark sky
message from a deadfriend
morning sap
as i was thinking about which i could most seriously use
kathy woke up in the back seat
where are we now dad? she asked
oh ho ho youve been asleep a long way, little girl ..dad said
dad is that the thirroul pool ?she asked
dad laughed and changed the dial on the radio
bits and pieces of news and sport and classical go on n off
dad keeps tuning till he finds some proper music
the beatles come on
oh dad listen its the beatles! kathy squeals with delight
theyre as good as beethoven she says
dad smiles and turns it up
gee this is a good song he says
we all feel like part of something new
the beatles have come along
and the whole world is laughing with relief
everyone loves their songs
and then....
trouble brews on their horizon
i dont like that woman though says dad
thats not yet dad says kathy from behind him
shes stroking dads hair which so nicely sits against his neck
dads got side burns and a sea lion mustache
i dont know why they have to be weird he grumbles
mclennon has gone solo
i put a tape of it in the player
titanic gardens spread out in a dream ...he sings
...everything for my haze
baby did a sad sad thing
ive been gone for days and days and..
thats a mellotron says kathy
i like that other song better says dad
the one about the sea lion
sealine? i say
no he means
all you ever needed was love
kathy starts to sing
everytime you come and go
whenever you forget you really know
all you ever needed was love..
dad and i whistle the french anthem bit
ha ha ha we all laugh
by now a blue had impinged on the black
day was coming
they dropped me off at home
i walked wearily up the drive
little stones and sandy soil
palm trees and weeds
concrete and an old broken hose
bits of paper and honeysuckle vines
i put my guitar case down
and stumble through the door
its tuesday
the morning has come
my arms ache
my throat is sore
my my
oh my
Monday, August 11, 2008
back up
where do words lead us ....?
can you imagine a world without words....
everything i do and think and perceive
is mediated thru a screen of words
look
we cant even discuss words
without using words
most people need words
but
i am a word addict
words are my forte
words are where i come into my own
the english language
oh i take liberties with it
i have no reverence for it
it is a block of marble waiting to be shaped
everytime i sing or speak or write
this language frustrates me
it is only a so so language
i need finer instruments to exactly plot my course
once i could speak sanskrit and latin
in greek i could hold forth in its splendid tongue
now i am hoi polloi
a common english speaking tom dick or harry
born over and over
to play all parts
still my soul retains memories
fractured vistas
impossible times
moods i slip into
these are not steven kilbey
my soul memories seem never to be erased completely bare
things linger on in the half light of intuition and instinct
oh inside me is some graceful man who is an expert on all arts
he tries to communicate but...
damn!
the words get in the way
dont think in words the man seems to say
but as its happening
my mind drowning in words
which word
this word
that word
my stupid clumsy mind
stuffed full of all the words it ate
gorging on 4 syllable latinate desserts
knocking it all back with thesaurus absinthe
you think i can ever make these words stop
the graceful man is saying stop
let go of these words
i can get through
but my mind is trying to make a list of its favourite words
1 silver
2 languid
3 mercury
4 pluperfect
5.......
no stop
the graceful man does not communicate in words
he insinuates
he projects thoughts as wordless pictures and feelings
he says
you are me but for all these words...
world without word
but the word was that first thing
everything was waiting for god to say become
god said become
and it all became
but words.....
in what strange and wondrous language does god talk
i wonder
is it fixed
or does it meander
like english picking up a little french here
a little danish there
a little bit of anglo bloody saxon
put it thru the middle ages
from generation to generation the language is bent
misused
even improved
still i say
i do not love english half as much
as some other language always on the tip of my tongues mind
some magnificent way of expressing the simplest things
imagine a world where everyone was a poet....
would that be too much?
would there be any audience left
imagine a world with no audiences
no readers
no fans
a world where everyone could sing and paint and dance and sculpt
or would it be wonderful/filled with wonders
the city filled with buildings all painted by parallel picassos
the sound of sweet music fills the air
but who trims the lawns
who delivers the goods and bads
who unblocks the pipes
or sees to the wires
where are the doctors
where are the mechanics
where are the midwives and the glaziers
no
some must do
some must observe
some must work
some must hammer and saw and connect and reimburse
or
could it be
that they would hammer in time
saw in rhythm
connect with a poetic flourish
reimburse with gracious flare.....
i cant leave words alone though
the combinations are obsessing me
the power they have
do you mean if i write a certain combination of words
especially words with a musical note attached
sung
then complete strangers will love me?
huh
can you imagine a world without words....
everything i do and think and perceive
is mediated thru a screen of words
look
we cant even discuss words
without using words
most people need words
but
i am a word addict
words are my forte
words are where i come into my own
the english language
oh i take liberties with it
i have no reverence for it
it is a block of marble waiting to be shaped
everytime i sing or speak or write
this language frustrates me
it is only a so so language
i need finer instruments to exactly plot my course
once i could speak sanskrit and latin
in greek i could hold forth in its splendid tongue
now i am hoi polloi
a common english speaking tom dick or harry
born over and over
to play all parts
still my soul retains memories
fractured vistas
impossible times
moods i slip into
these are not steven kilbey
my soul memories seem never to be erased completely bare
things linger on in the half light of intuition and instinct
oh inside me is some graceful man who is an expert on all arts
he tries to communicate but...
damn!
the words get in the way
dont think in words the man seems to say
but as its happening
my mind drowning in words
which word
this word
that word
my stupid clumsy mind
stuffed full of all the words it ate
gorging on 4 syllable latinate desserts
knocking it all back with thesaurus absinthe
you think i can ever make these words stop
the graceful man is saying stop
let go of these words
i can get through
but my mind is trying to make a list of its favourite words
1 silver
2 languid
3 mercury
4 pluperfect
5.......
no stop
the graceful man does not communicate in words
he insinuates
he projects thoughts as wordless pictures and feelings
he says
you are me but for all these words...
world without word
but the word was that first thing
everything was waiting for god to say become
god said become
and it all became
but words.....
in what strange and wondrous language does god talk
i wonder
is it fixed
or does it meander
like english picking up a little french here
a little danish there
a little bit of anglo bloody saxon
put it thru the middle ages
from generation to generation the language is bent
misused
even improved
still i say
i do not love english half as much
as some other language always on the tip of my tongues mind
some magnificent way of expressing the simplest things
imagine a world where everyone was a poet....
would that be too much?
would there be any audience left
imagine a world with no audiences
no readers
no fans
a world where everyone could sing and paint and dance and sculpt
or would it be wonderful/filled with wonders
the city filled with buildings all painted by parallel picassos
the sound of sweet music fills the air
but who trims the lawns
who delivers the goods and bads
who unblocks the pipes
or sees to the wires
where are the doctors
where are the mechanics
where are the midwives and the glaziers
no
some must do
some must observe
some must work
some must hammer and saw and connect and reimburse
or
could it be
that they would hammer in time
saw in rhythm
connect with a poetic flourish
reimburse with gracious flare.....
i cant leave words alone though
the combinations are obsessing me
the power they have
do you mean if i write a certain combination of words
especially words with a musical note attached
sung
then complete strangers will love me?
huh
Sunday, August 10, 2008
cattle list
all pics lately courtesy of nelg drofstaw
ok
theres ganesha still with the bad cars
i eventually finished and got better cars
these ones were shockers
yesterday went to reptile park for kids day out
saw alligators crocs snakes lizards and urinating bullfrogs
i saw a load of tasmanian devils
who people say will be extinct in 15 years
given this facial sarcoma disease which 80 percent now have...
the guy running the show out there
was very very very funny
he reminded me of me in some ways
his accent was neither aust or english
and he was dark too
if you were listening
he was saying to this snake
if youre a good girl i'll get you some guinea pigs on the way home
yeah the guy in the pet shop thinks i love guinea pigs ha ha
not melbourne stockbroker guinea pigs tho
(here he was alluding to a sydney stockbroker
who was recently arrested for having sex with and
then destroying in a vicious frenzy
.....rabbits
fuck...and i thought i had a lotta pressure in my job...!)
and he was making gentle fun of the children:
ok parents
grab a suitable sized kid and hold them against the gaps in the fence
use them as human shields while you stand behind in safety
looking at the rattlesnake
or
childrens hearts are precious
thats why i have one on my desk...
anyway if yer thinking of taking the kids there
i thoroughly recommend it
but i enjoyed the guy so much more than the beasts
another snake gag
after this black headed python tried to bite him
he grabbed it and stuck it in his shirt
the stupid thing which had been bursting its pants (!?)
to bite him
now coiled around his belly under his shirt fast asleep
he stood there with this unsightly droopy bulge
"a vision of the future" he said
then he walked around like a fat ole redneck trying to adjust his gut
evie dropped one of her thongs (flip flops)in the snake compound accidently
i'll take that home for my daughter he said
(i knew what was coming..he musta said it thousands of times)
shes only got one leg....damn....its the wrong foot
yeah well
i enjoyed him anyway
he fucking had me cracked up all day long
even when it was only me guffawing at his jokes
so much better than the snake man out at la perouse
with his schpiel and schtick
snakes are seriousthings boys and girls!
finally
in the bat compound
we saw a bat giving himself a good ball and bat licking
as he hung upside down
his quite human looking genitalia
hanging just inches from his handy mouth
why is he doing that? asked a lady
because he can madam i replied
and i was laughing again
wow what a fun reptile park
came home
got stuck into ganesha
i'll be playing tonite at 28 spring st bondi junction
i will be featuring the amazing guitar work of frank kearns
also known as dublin frank
and you can meet and or buy ganesha in person
bring yer chequebook sunshine
there you go
i tell thee this
painkiller
oh how youve longed to hear it
ricki maymi currently on holiday in australia said
this is your best record ever!
hes been a fan since his mum played him a baby grande tape in utero
so he would know
i know youve suffered these long long months
waiting to have the pain of life being blotted out
by the sweet narcotic fix of this record
outbound : throbbing lift off
"white hippy moses like an aphid in the roses"
wolfe : a real song! over orchestrated and guitars howling
"crash his pad out in the snow"
celestial : ooh a cruisy one mellotron flutes
tims sample of a school boy choir
"ice man has melted
dice man felt it as a six"
crystalline rush : seen the picture now hear the song
"and i cant find a sign of life
but i can find my way"
song for the masking : monstrous slowdown drums from another song
the static and shortwave hisses like a scalded cat
my dual electric guitars conjure up fripp on dope
my best piece of singing ever ever ever
right at the end
i come back like a (self) righteous brother
in a deep troubled baritone
"and nobody ever
ah...but you want me to"
file under travel: graham lee goes nuts on his pedal steel
not the way you or i thought
in there with the ever pulsating bass
the glorious fucked up radiotronics
powlsey bashing all hell of his kit
this bastard song crash lands on itself halfway thru
and then mutates like a phoenix rising from the hashes
polinski had a ball on this
no lyrics
13 minutes of space rock
look homeward angel : a pretty song
about my wife
its all feverish and mixed up
thats how she makes me feel y'all
"now get up
now heat up
now rise up
rise up like a bird"
oenone : a slavish t rexy rocker
i didnt like this one so much
but with fresh ears its a little light relief
listen to tim go nuts at the end
what a drummer!
" oenone dont you cry for me
cos i come from lemuria with this banged up harm on knee"
spirit in flame : deep dubby track
wriggly bass line
"burn thru the (w)hole like a spirit in flame"
forever lasts for nothing: wolfes bookend in a way
bigger than ben hur but very short
"just like the honeymoon they wait for you to score
just like the animals they keep outside the door
just like a welcome mat you lay down on the floor
just like a law for the rich
and
a prison for the poor"
finally
not what you say: everything but the kitchen cinque
big mutating thing
changes and changes
and goes out in 30 odd minutes of sound
polinski going nuts here...
:i had potential baby
what do you want me to be?"
well there you go
its coming real real soon
how soon is that?
real soon
killer
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