k/k

ive never met martin kennedy
ive never seen him
or spoken to him on the phone
hell
i aint even ever emailed him
i wouldnt know him from adam
however he and i have created this very nice little record together
oh its a lovely record
unlike my painkiller record it is not self indulgent jamming juggernaut
it is not space rock
it is not harsh or wild or heavy or anything
its kinda easy on the ears actually
its not difficult to understand
theres 13 songs altogether
mk is mixing it with someone in melby
jlk provides b vox, choirs and spiritual guidance on all things vox
miranda jk does some singing on one track
mk always providing simple subtle songscapes
faraway voices when youre not expecting em
little sounds halfway between a voice and a trumpet
little trumpetlike things commenting in some alien language
like on
*my will be yours*
a jazzy late night bleary eyed creature
electric piano
haunting stringvoiced voices
sk comes in
worldweary and tired
my will be yours
you will be mine
i will lose all that i will find
the music rolls away from his words in sad waves of memory
the trumpet voiced sprite joins in
half mocking half sympathetic
you can almost hear a familiar word in there
it segues into
*stretch into the stars*
which is a slow burning piece
gradually gaining a theatrical momentum
sks sings
the night you sold me
i was frozen like the stars
you might have told me
that our love would last
jlks voices curl and whisper like malevolent spirits
the song becomes a swaying tower of voices
then
sk whistles his lonely theme
in some dark autumnal euro cityscape
mks guitar playing throughout
is meticulous elegance in simplicity
it drones and chimes and tinkles and soars
a master of subtle arts mk has learned all his lessons well
never overplaying his hand
his music is glowing in mysterious openess
pop music which is anything but.
a master song architect
these pieces drip effortlessly from him
never sounding forced
never sounding tired
his music is familiar but completely his own
he has his own mojo going
its not a rockstar ego me me me brassy blast
its a craftsman
only his craft is honing the most subtle backing tracks
for someone like me to sing upon
like *another place*
another place another score
im a stranger at your door
go the words
piano and violins
a squirmy little synth
the choruses becoming lush
at the end a kinda key change
and a new affirmation
but it ends on a bluesy feel
*uh i dunno*
actually rocks pretty hard, baby
overshot my sarky (sake?)
awkward old malarkey
sings your humble hero
and lo the bass doth throb
what you wanna do asks the falsetto chorus
uh i dunno replies bewildered sk
*thought of leaving*
another smoulderer
if you were really like you said
i'd put an arrow to your head
and i'd pull the string
everytime i sing
the songs have something of a showtune feel
compounded by trumpets which often appear
playing jazzy solos and pissing off again
*all is one*
has semi religious bent
and lover warning his beloved
that he is her only hope of salvation
and hinting at his own buddha like aspirations
while mk provides an almost western ambience
feedback loops tamed sweeten the electronic haze
those half voice half trumpet things return blowing/singing
a mournful melody
2s an illusion now
i sing
spirit come and fill me now
spirit come and take me now
as the music changes gear into a coda
its lovely stuff indeedy if i may say so
*love increased*
is another wide screen biblical number
ghostly voicestrings like heat rising off sand
the wedding feast
the love increased
the wedding bed
the fire fed
i intone in a patti smith-ish poem at the end
a girls voice singing a lovely melody
the trumpet appears in echo
kahil gibran stuff i guess
a time of joy
pure unalloyed
a time of peace
the love increased
oh
i almost believe it myself
it goes down very easily
i can tell you
*the other place*
(as opposed to another place)
has mks characteristic morse code blips in rhythm
simple subtle melodic gorgeous
his soundscapes are a pleasure to wander in
they inspire words like rain inspires flowers
*friends are gone*
the saddest song
a piano a melody
electronic phase shifting haze scrapes by
sks voice desolate weary
theres always someone hiding behind you
and i dont understand
the lie of the land
all the music exactly where it should be
accoustic guitars strum away
its all immaculate
wonderfully conceived
brilliantly executed
mk has provided moody wonderful music
i tried to match it with some singing
i think this is lovely record for lovers
for enjoying lonely bittersweet fruits of love
it is guaranteed to be an appropo soundtrack
night music
but day music too
music with lots of places to get lost in
thats some of the songs
anyway

blue

a beautiful blue
the colour of a storm cloud they say
i have but merely thought that i saw you
i have felt you somewhere inside
all along
me
a part and a parcel
a part apart from you
none knows why this has happened
how did i fall fall fall
am i awake or asleep
the worlds
put in motion
now like clockwork
they run on and on
they orbit fiery suns and coldstars
the seasons come and go
the nights open to reveal days
soul transmigrates from stone to wood to beast
finally human
human rock n roll over again n again
snake human
rat human
pig human
tiger human
monkey human
finally human
then after many turns
after many rock n rolls of the cosmic dice
finely attuned
you wake up one day
it is obvious
and
you can see the sense in it
one day
i cant make that day happen for you
although i'd like to
one day you wake up
and you cant help but noticing
the leaves
the shapes textures the fine veins of sap
the way they move around in the wind
their shadows and brighter sides fading and gleaming
moving en masse
in a carefully choreographed accidental ballet masterpiece
everyday on everytree
what to say of the flowers
i'll say this again
each flower
drawing from the same soil
same rain
same sunlight
produces
through invisible processes of life
colours scents shapes
vividly different
each life force brings forth her own version
there are bees who make their honey from one flower only
different bees
different flowers
different honey
the bees who are aerodynamically incapable of flight
how they hover and zoom and communicate somehow
all filled with life
but what what what is that?
what is this life?
what is this invisible silent incessant force?
what is this fragile gift?
in some cases life is indeed a sentence to hell
why why why?
why o merciful one does this have to happen?
i saw a man in a wheelchair at nielsens bay
while everyone was away swimming and playing
here he was on a hot day
parked under a tree
hes all scrunched up and squirming it looked like
no one to talk to or share his wishes and hopes
what wishes and hopes could a man like that entertain?
our simplest freedom would be his greatest luxury
i angrily turned to myself
i say
youre a fool for believing in god
what is the answer to that?
and the answer is
there are some answers i am too small to understand
there are some explanations i cannot hope to deserve
these are indeed the deep mysteries of life
another voice in my head says
that man in the wheel chair...
you have already been him
or one day you will be
there is nothing you can do about that now
maybe one day from another vantage point.....
you see i think we will play all parts
beggar and king
master and hound
husband and wife
sick and well
this knowledge should inculcate sympathy and mercy
this knowledge should bring forth humility and humanity
youre not who you think you are
youre maybe more than that
youre maybe asleep and you dont even know it
the executioner may be the victim tomorrow
the eater may be eaten
the forgiver may be the forgiven himself
love others because they may be you yourself
no one can help who they are
is that really true?
how would i know
and how would you?
whenever a man a points to the sky and says behold
the groovy fucking wondrous beauty, my baybee !
theres always some little nasty thing give you a little sting
i have found this blog to be like that
but that is this plane my friends
welcome to kaliyuga
what did you flippin'well expect
even on its maybe last legs
this is a beautiful world
every piece fitting into the puzzle so brilliantly
the more you find out
the more there is to know
each discovery points to
oh dear
each discovery is pointing us towards a metaphysical component
behind the laws and ratios and colours and mechanisms
there is an elusive hand
there is unbelievable intelligence and love
thats how i read it
but thats what i wanna read
10 000 years ago the indian sages said
all is vibration
long ago
before europe was even a rat infested medieval sewer
these cats said
if you want to dig this trip properly
there are ways of speeding up the process
ways of letting you in to the subtle place
the quiet place
where you need to turn your mind off
your quoting of facts and figures is no longer useful here
that is not what its about
the quiet place is hard to find
the empty place
and they dreamed up yoga
they intuited it
can you believe that
a way of achieving union
whatever the hell it means to you
dont tie me up in semantics
union with your beloved
what does that mean to you
union
think about it
before you say anything
union
as above so below
union return
union reunion
union reunited
union power
union knowledge
union understanding
union union
from the one comes many
back into the one they will go
union with your beloved, child
be still now
let go
relax
let your body be heavy
and let your mind be light
you think you could speak a language without learning it 1st?
this is the greatest work
this needs time devoted
this requires your mental attendance
this requires you to sit still
concentrating on your breath
until your clamourous foolish mind shuts up
then you may begin to approach the empty place
the empty place which is full of everything you want
stop bleating
yoga demands much perseverance
when youd rather just be sitting around
and thinking up reasons why everything is ugly
in your life
then stand in the dog eagle and tree pose for a while
then the triangle
then the warrior
stand on your head and shoulders
finally the corpse
now sit cross legged
meditate on the supreme lord
who is formless indeed
however he is so kind he may come to you as
(insert favourite god here)
meditate on his power and glory and love
meditate on the nature of emptiness
meditate on nothing
meditate chanting the word om
or pronounce it aum
feel christs presence in your heart
or the peaceful extinguishment of nirvana
but do something
its so nice

howard juno

busy being nothing
wasted on pleasures excesses
some power animates me still
the sea is cold and clean today
i swim through the water unfeeling
i do my qi gong
i feel the air move round my body
i expel my breath carefully
i vaguely touch the invisible source of power
the ocean is more beautiful
than all the pictures ever painted put together
refusing no river
accepting the rain patiently
its mysteries are deep
it reveals them ever so slowly
they say vishnu lies in the causal ocean
as he sleeps the goddess of fortune watches over him
whole universes emerge from his pores
as he dreams everything up
dreaming dreaming dreaming everything up
into each thing a tiny tiny drop of spirit
the spirit which can divide itself like a flame
it can give and give and never be exhausted
oh lord you are so around us everywhere
that like fish in the ocean
we cease to be aware of you
i care not
for people who
never having prayed
say that you never answer prayers
you have always answered mine
i care not
for those who have never meditated
who say
there is nothing out there
for those who have not striven in yoga
who say
there is no union
for those
never submerged in your sweet service
who say
there is no one to serve
o vishnu
to walk and talk with you
ah vishnuloka
your abode
i imagine myself in some eternal twilight
the tulsi flowers
the lotus
birds sing evensong
a flute in the distance
and women singing
a song about all songs
their voices chime like bells
and sustain like a fender guitar
the jungle all around us
the indian night
how i have longed for this everlasting twilight
all my lives have dazzled me
i have been burnt by lifes fire and old flames
mistake upon mistake
life afterlife
now in the fullness of time
after everything has taken place
when all that might happen happened
i find myself here in this wild garden
dressed in fine clothes
perfect temperature
and the warm evening breeze
carries all lovely scents
as you smell them
a million memories come to you
memories of deliciously lovely things
you gathered from your lives
memories of white snow and yellow sand
memories of underwater light playing on green rocks
memories of familiar music
memories of memories
now so faded away and thin
like a gossamer veil
you can look straight thru
and you see
the first time someone told you they loved you
on some warm lovely night like this
someone took your hand
and whispered the soft words of love
someone kissed your forehead tenderly
and sighed in the falling night
and you got the strangest feeling
a dizzy elation
a fulfillment
a deep hit in your heart
but that hit o vishnu
is as nothing compared to
the love that made you dream it all up
the love that caused life
as you set everything vibrating
as you put the planets on their courses
as you figured it all out in a flash
an interlocking everlasting work of art
this whole trip......even im almost speechless
all art is to glorify you
all music is to glorify you
and who are we
but you as well
each in a form they have devised
each in a life they deserve
for if you do not deserve your life....then who does?
each coming back again and again
one more
two more
oops three more
thousand times again
i have at last turned a corner at least
sk will just be a thread in ttbs coat of many colours
look
just there
that little piece
you can hardly see it
along with the countless others
each essential thread of life
to sew these garments i will one day take on
kilbey is a day in a classroom
kilbey is a moment in a game
kilbey is hay in a needlestack
kilbey is a cloud on a huge sky
kilbey is a smile
kilbey is one tear in a river of grief
kilbey is just one more
one of the passing parade
the kings and fools
the stars and the freaks
the mighty and the maggots
kilbey is a note in a symphony
kilbey is a small stone by the side of a highway
kilbey is just here and now
kilbey a while longer maybe...
when this kilbeysuit falls apart
o who will i be then, my dear lord?
let me not forget
the lessons i should have learnt as kilbey
let me retain
let me go on
let me speak with you
alright
its enough

with our wings that bark

scarlet moon
pretty as you are
fall down on me
a mortal man
a musician a fool
a spring in a weary land
the treetops and little blue eggs
majestic raven on the wing
over the cold oceans currents
where i bathe
amidst the rollers and the weed
where the shells lie under sand
and glass worn smooth
salt that clings to my skin
and little fishes go by
and night comes down gently
like a woman coming down on a man
delicately the night straddles earth
and envelopes it in a warm dark embrace
it flaunts a huge swollen moon
and twinkling stars
a night dedicated to love
mosquitoes have appeared
in the blackness and the shadows of night
around little ceramic flowerpots
where the plants exhale oxygene
orchid moon
cactus moon
money tree moon
if only we could fly
my baby
if only we could skim thru that shifting air
if only we could leave at will
never mind
tonight love is in the stars
tonight that begins now
as i turn off this computer
and stride over stride
i walk away

beaucoups of printemps

spring has sprung
rah rah rah
the bugs go mad
the icebergs pool still cold though
the sun shines
the palm trees baybee
the pacific turns aquamarina
the wavelets rolling in
the tourists arrive by the bucketload
the time zips past
the children come out
the children dressed in uniforms
the schools divulge the children
the olde domino players appear out the back
this morning at the pavillion
as i counted to a million
i caught my breath
then let it go
as a shapless bird so free
it cruised on past the bibliotech
deserted gloomy discoteques
and then it dived like lead into the sea
weekend shoppers still swarm to the games
they burn their bridges and they fan the flames
alone in the crowds forgetting their names
they fade on the way to the exit
and
who uprooted the no through road sign on the corner?
and who noticed the stars
and heard the shiver of the dawn
and who was there
apart from you
who apart from you
you are apart there
in pieces
at the edge of the park lie beautiful houses
inside them its already dark
inside them every sound is drowned in luxury
inside them spring reigns and rains
garden over groan
swimming pool and deck chairs
statues of dionysus and apollo
i am spring spitting flowers
i am total
i am an afternoon in the sun
under a tree
wine
talk
laughter
life will be renewed
we must go on

dont mention it

cascading water
blue cranes circle in the air above
copper coloured lizards on warm rocks
cherry blossom
oak leaves
the azure sky is stretched over the skeletal clouds like a skin
like a memory pulled over the years
and faded of all colour
eels in the pool hiding in shadow
musical garden
flowers swaying to the beat
lilies ripple outwards gracefully
poppies nodding luxuriant sleep
goldfish drink the air with soft gulp
tranquil tea house where we meet
the windows are half open
i drink my tea and daydream
i listen to your voice drift on outside
somewhere
i listen to the intricate language of the birds
their many different tongues
the little creek speaks and babbles in the shallows
i listen to your soft voice leading me on
youve taken my hand
and you stroke it gently
you stroke and talk
talk and stroke
playing me like an instrument
sometimes you say a word
and your fingers emphasise it with gentle pressure
sometimes you pull on my fingers and whisper shhhh
i drink my tea and think of the foam fingered sea
and sailors in storms
and explorers in jungle temples searching for the crystal
divers swim through atlantis in the cold depths
but a monster has taken up residence there now
outside children are playing in the abandoned pleasure huts
you talk to me in your way
there is no continuity
i hear the words but they sound foreign
i see your lips pronouncing the words
but i hear the sound in my heart
the meanings tumble out all over the place
my mind thinks of the power and intelligence of vishnu
my heart thinks of the love all the love he must have had
you are talking about life
the lives you have led
the lovelives lived
the life of a lifetime
the love of your life
it doesnt matter
you are not even listening to yourself
no one else is there
the eel suddenly darts in the pool
a light wind ruffles the surface
you are talking and stroking my hand
you say
heaven is relative
heaven for one, hell for another
heaven must be deserved
heaven is open to all
heaven is not what you expect
heaven has vacancies
heaven has a glorious view
heaven is heaven
a tiny melancholy cloud blocks out the sun
for a moment everything seems changed
the water becomes suddenly opaque
the birds all leave
the lizards scuttle away
the fish sink deep into the pools murk
you stop stroking my hand and let it fall
you no longer are saying anything
i still hear some words lingering on
you stare out the window
you gaze at the view
you become lost in some thought
then the sun returns
you stand up
you say
lets go

being in being out

music
the beat
being in and out of time
being on the money
staged adulation
fake applause
the audience un moved
words leave your mouth
brandishing admonishing
rock n roll medievalitica
the black prince baybee
the jack of spades in spades
with his lowdown moustache
you never catch jack of clubs with that moustache
you never gonna take a trick like that
jack of spades can play guitar though
fender mustang thru a load of stuff
he rides in the back compartment
he travels light years away
he blazes his own glorious trail
he finds a path between the women
he plays like a grand slammin' jammin' fiend
he summons up the devils dandruff
he lays it down in pastures green and cool
laughing all the way to the riverbank
pastoral space rock
the flowers of the valley
the tiny lights in the sky
a journey outside time
we are savage and intelligent
the music is the key
must be in key to open the love lock
the locked-on heatseeker eros
the jack of spades calls cupid to him
in all his vainglory
cupido vulgaris
with his arrows of love love love
the guitar strings
the bowstrings
bing! go the strings of your heart
the fingers pull n tweak
the fingers doing the work of music and love
the fingers which scurry over the frets
the fingers which hurry over the women
the stage which sinks under the music
the swamp of sound
the murky jungle juiced source of slither
music which charms snakes
music glyph in sonic sky
play your guitar jackie of spades
oh man lean on that thing like a bent snout
oh let it wail shakey flimsy brother
let it out and about
make it shout the blues back at blacks n whites
let it quote shakespeare and dolly dagger
let it walk with jesus down the kings road in 1978
the messiah in chelsea boots n mod-z-art white drainpipes
the apostles smoking and inventing their creed
the disciples lost in the crowd
ready to rock
ready to reel in their nets full of men
spades over hearts
wands over cups maybe too
guitar over itself
woman over man
man over woman
the tide pulls the moon closer
all things flux n flow
being in
being out

instant kilbey

looking back its so easy to see the mistakes
oh bitter regrets
oh how i blew it time and time again
oh how i wished id listened more
and kept my mouth shut more often
how i wish i'd thought things through
and i'd been more polite
behind a typewriter i was tap tap tapping away
making up lies and lives
fact and fiction
i tell you truthfully
for these lines are hazy to me nowadays
if you tell a big enough lie
you can adorn it with enough imaginary baubles
you can bullshit the people with words
you can make it seem like anything happened
you can put it to music and they sing along
singalong as one to your sad songs full of lies
the huge lie contains a tiny truth
such a delicate truth
it will not suffer a name
the big lies open you up
after all you enjoy them...i guess
the enormous blatant lie
the monstrous fib
the wild exaggerations
cute little white lie
the obstinant guff
the opaque denials
stuff made up on the spot
spot made up on the stuff
saying any old thing
any old thing you thought was clever
or cos it rhymed
or cos it fit the bloody meter
singing isnt saying though
im not saying singing isnt saying neither
you can sing and mean something
you can say what you like
you can say something youd never sing
singing says something you could never say
music sing with winged words
music can say something even without singing
what does music say so wordlessly
she sings but not in words
she comes in singing
music
music saying and singing yet doing neither
anyway
many can say
few can play
fewer can sing
fewer still can sing and mean something
and very few
mean anything
to you
the piano speaks to me
joy and triumph
pain and sorrow
no words
it has no words
it speaks in broad sweeps
it speaks in tiny creaks
it speaks in decaying shadows
it speaks in sustaining haunting overtones
it speaks in its hammers n wires
it speaks in its pedals n wood
inside its mysterious chest music is created
oh most beautiful and self contained of all instruments
even in silence your beauty speaks in spades
the possibilities you contain are endless
you need no words
your fingers will find the words
your fingers push down here and there
oh the subtle textures of touch you must master
i used to see my father play the piano
the piano became an extension of my father
my father used the pianos voice
to sing his songs he wouldnt think of writing
the keys went up n down
the pedals went up n down
out came his english blokey cockney song
a song about all the pretty girls hed met
a song about cold london winter
a song about the second world war
a song about all the other wars england had been in
a song about smoking cigarettes n drinking tea
a song about earning yer crust n paying the bloody bills
a song about fixing cars and watering the lawn
jaunty confident relaxed stuff
he took over on the piano
with no self doubt
no hesitation
he never wondered if hed make a mistake
tho he almost always did
he could sit down at a piano anywhere
and strike up a good tune that people liked
you didnt have to have read his reviews
he didnt need amps or eyeliner neither
its all relative
if only if only if only
i only got part of what he could do
the way it came so easy to him
i say how you know what to play
he say i dunno my fingers just go
piano
yes i had piano lessons
but i never learnt nothing
he didnt need no lessons
his fingers just go there on their own
why wont mine?
look i let them do as they please
oh no what a racket daddy-o
why didnt i get this bit
i have the desire that it should happen
i expect it should happen
it never happens
oh piano
not so easy to get to know
sometimes piano or music
she reveals more than youd dared to hope for
some lovely undeserved intimacy
oh music i love you
oh music sleep with me
oh music sing to me in a piano language
the original language of love
music
later
came
the words
lovely torch songs to make me weep
unrequited love and mournful ballads
i like sad songs
is this sad?
nevermind
hold that thought
think it up on your own
chop up a little language
sprinkle on some fairydust
some flakes of congealed nice
some allegorical herb
some harmonic edge
simmer
cook
shoot
camera
recording
live!
and over to you.....
probably in hollywood

the mirrors soft...you'll fall right through

theres nothing to stop you.....
leaden afternoon
music percolates
follow the shadow with your eraser
plane off tiny planes
the things know what they want
small arrangement
painting n poetry n music
all the same
all the same
subtlety
suppleness
a flick or a curl or an adverb
a hammer a shading an allusion
slide colour comma
principles so slowly revealed over lifetime
you guide the pastel over the paint
change words slightly for flow
a note distorts n releases
universal ratio of beauty
map of the subway subconscious
tokens of travel
proof of arrival
you say
i know why i can be bothered
train of thought
concept of conception
in the roots of the mind
where you cannot willingly go
i have taken it upon myself
in the substrata
in the permafrostiness
in the crocodilian regions
in the chambers of black mist
when i thought i was asleep
your mind is a vast continent
deserts n tundras
steppes and stairs
cities teeming with lifestyle choices
men n women chained to their own times
the one who remembers
the message is too subtle to transmit
or even to think of it at all
it is elusive, the message
it is quicksilver
its nature is ineffable
it forever recedes
you think you got it but...
oh no
its slipped away through your fingers n toes
it ties everything up neatly though..in one hit
this formula
or set of formulae
to vibrate faster...whatever n howsoever
to vibrate faster=veganism
as far as i can tell
to become aware
aware of what?
ah, youll know when you become aware..
can nothing solid be said?
the knowledge is not knowledge
its pre verbal,post lingual intuitional bing bang
its knees up mother brown as sung by vishnu the preserver
with freddy nietzche playing the piano
and the nibelung on b.vox
what would i know anyway?
if i knew i'd be rich rich rich
or leave this world today, right now
sometimes though
i think ive seen it
the message
the equation
the sign
the signal
the answer
the solution
the idea
the big picture
the design
the yoga
the union
the poetry in motion
the moon n stars
everything
all bound up
one law which governs it all
is it the law of love?

secretive and furtive

oh
all those things i cant tell you about
all that stuff i cant bear to forget
and i cant stand to remember
the dark stuff
the weird scenes inside the silvermine
banking on nights to never end
that always do
oh that cold light
12 hours hence lies another night
another room to take you in its warm arms
in the darkness
white powder
flesh
someone in a costume
oh god my ears are ringing
wine bottles full of starblood
cos it all fills me with longing
for some new violation
for some transgression of the outside world
to take it and bend it and have it your own way
to bend it over n over again
according to your will
a little maid appears
im here to do your room mr kilbey
oh ok
yes turn down my eiderdown
turn it down the way you do
im having the world a la carte
im a hungry man travelling thru a forest in 1616
i meet a little blonde maid in a dell
sweet sunlit bower
we lay among the flowers
a man needs a maid
maid bring me my gloves
maid bring me my glasses
i need to see better
this delicate work i do
these improvisations on a theme
come here now maid
and take away these things
im so busy lazing away here
the world is chucked out the window
look out the window
what do you see
the world, of course
i see myself in the mirror
all bothered n distracted
my chest heaving like a sea
my heart beating like a drunk drummer
walking on this dipping floor
dripping dew drops and snow flakes
pink candles flare in the corners
shrine to some kytheran goddess
venus in a shell harbour
venus in synthetic furs
venus, fly! trap!
the candles emit some scent
has permeated my cavernous mind in its fogginess
the smoke hangs in the air suspended
sweet bitter taste in my mouth
oh is a saint supposed to do this?
i remember my name again
i seem disconnected from its anglosaxon implications
i see it as disembodied vowels n consonants
poetry floods thru my drains
all those rude n rotten fucking poets
who knew how to live it up
all the way down to jimbo
ah poor sweet dead jimbo
too soon
too soon
gone down below where the goblins go
oh no jimbo 27 too soon to go
you saw it coming tho
sweet arthur rimbaud
rockstarchildpoet
you had it all your way
absinthe bent your brain
and you got it all down
deranged n derugulated
you let your senses wander
but jus' like me n jimbo
we were lookin' at the big picture too
the big picture on the wall in my room
little maid please straighten up the big picture
oh its hanging so crooked
like a guilty serpent at a chickens funeral
the big picture i kept my eye on
like jimbo
and some other long gone cats
alley cats winos dope fiends poets n layabouts
visionary fools getting it all down
and me...
i gotta get it all down
down on paper
down my throat
into my self
bang it up
im rushing here and there
im on my run
i dont care to listen
i dont care to hear your warnings
this is my favourite thing right here
my little favourita
maiden heaven
bedrumour
honeymooner
lovesnatcher
bloodboiler
heartacher
sugarsniffer
backbreaker
it goes around again
will this never end
melted icing in your rearview
closing in on ya honey like a bad cop
coming down like the law
taking you under protective
restraining you for your own
getting the truth anyway they can
finding out all about ya
and what you been doing with yourself
like a premontion of a headline
take a dive in the 13th parallel
impaled on a song you are
hovering over it like a dragonfly
invisible inaudible wings
snapped at by the sick olde toads
the goldfish lear at you from underneath
they look up your name thats starts with a ?
and then suddenly it all ends
a burst of flame
the canopy implodes
the cockpit is torn apart in white flame
i reach for the ripchord
as im spat out
back into the world
the fresh air singin' in my earrings
the grey clouds like a shroud over the doomed city
the endless ocean
lapping and licking
the countless grains of sand

sobriety

the leader of the oppos
in australia
caught at a strip club in 2003
"it was only the 2nd time in my life i was drunk!" he says
yeah sure
jus' like all of 'em
and you never inhaled the dope
or actually "had" sex with the woman
or took the bribes either
or said we should go to the war in iraq
do people believe this shpiel?
cant they take it square on the double chin
and say
yeah i get drunk n go to strip clubs...
do we have to have these pathetic bullshit excuses?
now me
sk
i never been drunk in a strip club
i only been in strip clubs 2 or 3 times in my life
and i never really been drunk ever
knocking back beers n watching some bint get undressed for money
it seems tedious
i mean if it was smoking dope
n the chicks were doing it cos they actually wanted to...
well
i mean thats more interesting i suppose
but the thought of doing it for money cancels out any enjoyment
that goes for justa bout anything i can think of
imagine that....
i never been to a brothel
jesus...
they should be paying me.....!
same with music too....
if you do it for the money n money only
well...it shows...
dont you wanna know yer performers are there cos they love it
dont you wanna know the artist painted it for the hell of it
not for money?
youll soon pick up on which way it is
or the ratios of money versus love
we have to conclude that our nic
is doing it for the love
because she must be so rich she doesnt need anymore dough
the politicians want the money AND the power
except the ones who already got the money
like our mal
and power...
well baybee
its like heroin
you can never get enough
always leaving you desperate for more
but our kev the oppo leader
he must be pinching himself
an ordinary little fellow like him
becoming the p.m. of orstrayliah
and then
ratss
the drinkin' in strippin' rear their ugly heads
now the question you gotta ask , is
can a risque olde roue who likes booze n boobs
still be a good prime ministah?
are the 2 mutually exclusive?
i lose more respect for the geezer with his tepid denials
"i was too drunk to remember"
than if he said
"look i like a drink
i like a bit of naked crumpet
now lets get the fucking boys home from iraqi-nam"
but we already feel fooled before he even gets in
does mrs oppo leader agree?
i reckon
that the electorates opinion is this:
wine women n song is ok
as long as you get us outta the war
and did something about the global doo dah...
finally
i ask the universe out loud
couldnt your humble scribe be prime minister
i am better looking than either candidate
im fitter
i can play a guitar n sing
i'd look better in an expensive suit by a mile
im much much more eloquent n charming
i speak a bit of swedish (i bet neither of them can)
i have no brothel/strip club past to hide
no drinking problem...or gambling
or wife bashing
no dark fascist/communist/terrorist past
ive never ripped of the tax payers (that much)
no drink driving
no violence outside nightclubs
no criminal connexions
except for that one time in new york
ok
they got me
but...
it was a mistake...
look
i was.....innocent
i never took drugs ever ever ever
well not after my rebirth into the church of man, love
well not many times
a few
i deeply regret it all now
it wasnt really me
it was me....
but somehow it wasnt
look
im squeaky clean now
i never did nothin' ever
please
cant the tb be the pm?

oh....i dont know....

did glynnis johns just walk out on me?

hadda a cold cold swim in the sea
winter has returned in spades
bondi looking empty n deserted n down on its luck
hadda a half hour massage
sciatica says massage lady
are they a spin off from megadeth?
i ask my mouth full of towel
im face down
shes working on my back
outside the door i can hear the pacific ocean pounding
and rain hammering the pool
she finds knots and she leans on em
they try n squirm away but shes on their case
just in the small of my back some nerves misfiring
shes uncompromising
trying to break up the knots....
afterwards
i listened to for your pleasure by roxy music
as i walked thru the rain
a lotta impromptu type material in there
sorta have a blow n stick some words on it
it really struck me today
bogus man
the last track
every dream home
very laissez-faire music
but i never saw it as a kid buying the stuff
i never saw the way people wrote things
they seemed to have fallen out of the air to me
now i can hear it they way it happened
a one note jam n an impro vocal
bang! theres 10 minutes gone on side 2
people'll interpret it
give ya the benefit of the doubt
cmon yer bryan ferry n its 1973...!
we're all caught up in this thing
its rushing headlong
intelligent glamourous stars have broken the hegemony
of the prog n heavy behemoths
and little stevie kilbey turned 19
but he still aint written a decent song yet
he just wallows around in 10th rate versions
he cant figure out how they do it yet
the double tracking and the reverberation
the way it all has to fit together
i didnt know you could have a one note jam
throw some words on top n youd have "bogus man"
because ......
n then
i figured it out
i also figured out intentionality
i figured out ambiguity
i figured out harmony n melody
i figured out recording n mixing n arranging
i figured out how to collaborate
i figured out how to do it all on my own
my own self perpetuating well of song
that will never
can never dry up
my own relationship with my own muse
before all that
i was outside looking in
i had my nose pressed up against the window pane
i bought roxy music albums
i thought they were great
i couldnt see i could ever do it myself
1976 -1979 was my hermit era
in a spare room
i took the process apart on my 4 track
in a vacuum
no friends or supporters
no one to listen but my brothers
in a backwater of this world
employed but not working
at night i come home to townhouse in rivett
in the spare bedroom on freezing cold nights
or boiling hot afternoons
chipping away at the puzzle
like a painter working on perspective
i was buying and devouring large quantities of music
i was driven
i was obsessed with it
i imagined what it was like
to make a great record which people would love
yet no one appeared and opened any doors
the people who did hear what i was doing
were puzzled unimpressed n disinterested
i entered contests but had my cassettes returned
every record company in england rejected me
sent me back my stuff
but i loved it too much to stop
i believed in myself so unshakeably
i knew i wasnt the very best
i knew i wasnt the most original
i knew i wasnt the most talented
or any of that
but the sheer awfulness of most of the stuff
being made outside of the greats.....
no one seemed to do what i wanted to do
i loved loadsa music but i never felt it was superior
to what i could do......
deep down
what i wanted
and never could have achieved
was a fusion of all the very best best stuff in rock
as i saw it
enos new discoveries
bowies coolness n voices
dylans intelligence n hipness
beatle boys music
stones image n lifestyle
bolan otherwordliness n childlike naivety
so you see there was a lofty ambi ambi ambition
for a start
if you ever hear those various bootleg records of mine
like preformation n early demos(imaginitive title)
(and they werent demos neither.)..
anyway if you hear on those collections of early songs
i was trying to hit the eno button a lot harder
but eventually market forces led to it being all channeled
into the church
but i was as much an electro rocker as a popsmith
i was doing long ambient bits n noisey things
and everything
it was strange to one day wake up
n realise i suddenly was representing all things sixties
what about kraftwerk n la dusseldorf
what about lou reed n ultravox
ah everything got pushed thru the nozzle
i noticed some people were musicians not stars
i noticed some stars were not musicians
i noticed myself not much of a star or musician
but i loved it
and my love had unlocked some pieces for me
my diligence had pierced musics armour
and my intelligence had wormed its way in
and it started to get rapidly easier for me
i call myself a genius sometimes on here
half mocking half serious
but its not musical genius
not as you would know it
but a genius for recognition
in a mess of sound
i will recognize
in a mess of words
i will recognize
i can assess n decide rapidly
i can detect potential a mile off
i put my processes to work
i had the ability to make great songs appear
apparently out of the blue
but it was the processes
my modi operandi
they were bound to write something
that someone
would like sooner or later
or what.....?
i am the time being
these are my journals.....

io io ao

abject luxury

i dont know what you want
its not even 8 oclock in the morning here
sunday morning coming down fast above you
i need to write something though
and fast
all day n night my mind is bubbling over with ideas...
muse : just show us the good ones
i watch show on the saints
except for one good song..
what a bloody awful racket!
and how amazingly like lord byron bailey speaks
muse : have you actually ever heard lord byron?
no, but i bet he sounded like bailey
ed was lugubrious as usual
wry and lofty
what strange rockstars these 2 were...
damo lovelock waxes v. enthusiastic
even nicky cave wades in with his top drawer praise
to hear these guys talk
youd think the saints were like
guitar weilding tchaikovskys or somethin'
opening up some huge new possibility in life
bobby forster
a man of impeccable taste i guess
goes so over the top
with his descriptions
of the 1st time he heard im stranded
electric pulsations going up his feet and spine
leaving him prostrate breathless
at this stage i says to the wife
an' you thought i was over-enthusiastic last week......?!
bradley sheppard from the goo-roos
is mystified by its eternal punk enigma
look the list goes on...
but what im really thinking
cos the saints
i admit to not understanding
in the parlance of shallow hollywoodesque cant
i dont get it
i didnt then
i still dont
i dont hate em either
theyre just outside my sphere of reference
(i used to have prehistoric sounds and it was ok)
and it occurs to me
that richard n marty both played with bailey
at different stages
but one thing you gotta admit
is that the saints had that raw sound
before most others
in the middle of the very confused 1970s
they were no namby pamby glam turkey like moi
i guess i jumped straight over punk
from glam to psychedelic comeback
in one fell swoop
like a knight on the chessboard
arriving at different places unexpectedly
actually i watch saints show
to re evaluate whether i would like staff-ish on there
is it a classic australian album album?
do i want a load of lumineries saying how great it was?
muse: i'd say so....
do i want to be on there raving on about myself?
muse : i bet you do....
do i want a load of mega successful hipsters
saying how they nicked everything from starfish?
muse: you might want it...but it aint gonna happen...
and you have no control
there i'll be
in a shiny empty recording studio somewhere
oooh look doris...its steve fucking kilbey
oh boris...he looks like one of the nine mortal kings
i dont like that silly beard
hes got a good suntan though boris
oh look there he is when he was still glamourous(sigh)
i wish hed stop going on about himself.......
......and saying all those big words
....and comparing himself to his betters
.....and smirking....god thats annoying
...and touching the silly beard
.....and dropping in foreign phrases like zeitgeist n je ne sais quoi
.....and looking bemused and self satisfied
.....clearing his throat before weighty pronouncements
.....rubbing his hands together smugly
.....long rambling answers full of tedious details
.....putting on his english n australian accents, i mean, which is it?
....hey doris
what boris?
the shows over
damn!
i wanted to hear that one good song!
which ones that ?
you know la la la dah dah
oh yeah
the one they did in that tv show
thats right
i wanted to hear what he said about that....
why wouldya.?...itll just demystify it for ya, dear...
ah youre right doris
youre so right

the solid book we wrote cannot be found today

in my dream
im touring nz again
i turn up somewhere
struggle to play my twisted music
my music thats stillborn as the 1st note hits the air
leaving the crowd puzzled and deadpan
my non guitar that warps and curls
my 12 no my 53 string guitar
the strings are all independently doing their own things
the frets are moving or like insurmountable train tracks
nothings in tune
nothings gonna stay that way
i exit the gig
my wifes with me
carrying something and looking concerned
fuck no! i scream n wail
outside in some frozen windy alaskan street scene
theyve stolen the fucking falcon!
my wife looks on sadly but saying nothing
in this bleak empty night street
an empty spot where the falcon once parked
it wasnt much
*but it was mine*
i'm wrestling some memory here
some memory of how my car was stolen
over n over again
in some parallel dream
and i angrily realise that they did it
they
always bloody them
those plotters n debtors n creditors
those olde enemies of the playground
and the scene
backstage backstabbers
mollified molls n oldstyle bodgies
the guys who worked with my father
who didnt understand me
the characters i'd met in books
who put my teeth on edge
them
a great conspiracy of ill wishing clowns
followin' me around
now they stole my falcon in my dream
outside a long deserted gig
in the middle of the west island of nz
in this raining sleeting street
with my wife who says nothing
but looks on with deep pity
and concern
as i tear myself apart in anguish
a vision comes to me of them
stealing my falcon while i was inside playing
of course i scream wordlessly at my wife
they knew where i would be
she nods sadly like im just raving now
i see them stealing the car and laughing
swarming all over it like termites in a beam
the falcon starts up reluctantly for them
they force it to.....and it revs up angrily
as they all drive away in it
laughing themselves stupid
i can see them
i can hear them
i am in the car among them
as they speed away somewhere secret
where i'll never see my falcon again
somewhere in nz or even further
but i understand their malice towards me
every little drop of wrath that each one sweats
in the freezing night of my dream
it all makes perfect sense to me
i never stop to say
hang on a minute
back outside the gig
the falcon is mostly gone
but shimmering tantalisingly like a mirage
returning briefly to fool me
each time this happens
my misery seems to redouble
and then
i open my eyes
in the grey light of early dawn
ive been struggling for aeons
im worn out by my anguish
i see wife and baby asleep
but feel as if i must have disturbed them
i feel now that i was mumbling and thrashing about
and they only just slept thru it by a micron
and the theft of the car is still hitting me
but the internal logic of the dream melts
as i wake more and more
yet in that dream
i had been so firmly convinced
that i was i
never thinking i was a man asleep in a bed
i was so sure it was me
and it was all happening
i never would have dreamed it was a dream
that is how this life will seem when its over i wager
you are so sure of the rock solid solidity of your world
but what do you really remember
how far back do your memories go
is it any wonder
we cannot recall
our other lives

featherstone

i write
what they tell me to write
i take it all down
i accept it as it comes
aint no poetry
aint no reg-u-lar story either
just a feel
a need
a voice whispers
something
i try to hear it
im listening so hard
soon as i stop
the voice runs like a river
like no one you ever met
mr featherstone
containing his own contradiction
will he fall or will he fly ?
his burden is that he is his own opposite
within him 2 natures cancelled out
not just in a name
his desire to fly
his tendency to sink
the struggle for up
the pull of down
man + beast
living + dead
white + black
spirit + flesh
the feathery spirit
that can glide thru the astral like a falcon
at speed of thought
faster than light
lighter than thought
the stone-like flesh
weighing you down
oh you love it
and
you hate it
the need for other stone-like things
pinned in this continuum until it gives out
sourced in a vortex of gravity and intention
needing to decipher great quantities of information
strapped to the age i live in and its zeitgeist bastardry
a timid savage with spear and net
hunting down the last remnants of my own life
running willy nilly and helter skelter
the stone-like flesh
we sculpted with our deeds
the faces that show your kindness and blindness
the years which have meddled in your fine affairs
the seconds which undid the stone
one by one
each second
like a feather flying over stone, brushing it lightly
the seconds have eroded the stone
undone it has become
and the spirit then clings
to a number of things
things like all the stone memory
the world of pleasant flesh and wine and dreams
the hell of disease and bile and fever
the spirit forgets its feathers
the stone must break apart
the autumn stone
the winter almost over
the cold seeking stone miseries will be gone...they say
the stone masons chisel feathery angels wings
for one who will soon both down and up
for what is in your nature
the voices conclude
thats all for today

deliria fevers

deliria fevers
youre a hot little number aint ya?
oh you got me my miss dizzy and miss fainte
cos im stuck in this spot herein the blasting sun
but half the time im stumbling in snow
deliria fevers get yer hooks outta me
cos youve trapped me in a loop
and im seasick on dry land
i dont want to close my eyes
and i cannot stay awake
and i falling in the ink
washed up on the sure
dazzled in your arms
reflected in your eyes
transmitted in my head
presented in a way
youre singing to me now
across the black divide
you smashing up my space
you swimming thru my mind
you drowning in my dreams
toss toss toss turn turn
rock n roll over deleria fevers
rockn roll off me deleria fevers
rock n roll offer deleria fevers
rock n roll of her deleria fevers
a sick song has started up
a sea sick warped n horrid snatch of song
a twisted childish melody that stabs
as it squirms throughout my thoroughfares
deleria fevers got a strange strange dagger
inlaid the handle with the blues
double sharp double bladed double yer trouble back
oh that dagger hardly felt it going in
but now you left me its a wound up wound
and my blood rises around my choking ears
boom boom boom it is a monsters drum of doom
banging thru the unholy night
as the colour drains out of the world
and we turn black n white n grey
and then only tiny moving touches of shade
that reassemble in mathematical patterns
marching forward the trillions n the billions of them
no no no
these formulae drive me desperately mad
each little hieroglyph represents a living nausea
these equations are the very fundamentals of sickness
every disease indexed and catalogued in binary germs
flies come and hover
cockroaches carapaces and trails of ants
worms waiting within out own flesh
i cant remember who i am or used to be
deleria fevers serves it all up a la carte
memories and songs
all my songs
go round n round in the spin
the sky spins around me full of my songs
my songs all mutated and truncated
wait wait it doesnt sound like that
deleria fevers singing in her sick sexy voice
deleria fevers dancing in her sick sexy skirt
she comes up real close
but her face is all distorted
oh it looks better from a distance i see
what distance...? im behind your eyes
says deleria whose a minute of hours
and as big as a mountain of mountains
shes screams at you in her silent whisper
she impresses you with her burning outline
she sears you
she sees you
she seize you
sickly confusion
giddy whirling twirling
overheated rut in the sky
where you slip outta focus
forget yourself they say
lose yourselves in us
ancestors
ghosts
phantoms in the haze
and they all have their story
and they all take your hand
pull you this way and that
overloaded with their sadnesses
white hot whispers
the light hurts your eyes
something thumps
and you come awake
awake to another level
awake to another devil
deleria fevers
says
viva!

no ttb today

due to illness
ttb mgnt n staff
apologise for any inconvienence
normal service resumed asap

off centre

eel guitars swim in my mind
razor sharp notes that cut your fingers a deal
in the deep hole in my past
in that thrusting darkness of my conscience
in that bamboo shantytown collapsing
in that little something i had put away
yeah bend that string you thing
up into another key
an other register
that melody will go on forever
the sound will remain but growing smaller
infinitessimally smaller each time
like the music on the titanic
still playing over the atlantic
hovering in a sad cloud of mist
everything goes on and on
and everything else falls apart
eventually
mmmm
a word to consider
eventually
i
the lemurian
i know this word
because i have waited waited waited
so long
so so long
so long ago
so far away
when it was so easy
never cold
never old
never told either
masters of this world
you talk about music.......
our musicians could call down the rain with song
we hunted the beasts with our music
we took lands with our beautiful sounds
men were wounded by the notes in a scale
women were singers and harpists and dancers
our women danced up storms
our women could pull down a fully armoured warrior
with one flowing movement
our women were so beautiful that the stars appeared
they dressed in gossamer and vivid silk
arrowheaded priestess with divine chord
women who sing the lovely words
theyre still out there their songs
songs about the love of the earth for a sky
and ammon and isis
and venus and bel
and krsna and radha
and our gods walked among us
in deep jungle groves
the drums remorseful voice
the beat now faint
weird snatches of melodies
the songs the slaves sing
the songs of the children
about the snakeman and the fat little babies
about the monkey and the golden disc
about the ghosts of the treepeople
sometimes
yes indeed
i hear the words of these songs again
and i laugh and laugh
it all comes back to me
now
lemuria
lost in the lost world
overgrown
over run
underneath the years of neglect
everything goes on
everything else just falls apart

more from the one n only steve whatsisname

monday arvo
grey clouds
its turned cold again
my lovely shaped red nose is freezin'
my manicured tapered magicians fingers are freezin'
my so so feet are freezin'
my well toned butt is freezin'
(if you aint seen it, dont scoff)
i read yessadays comments about triffids
sure enough mccomb comes on shuffle
grant will be along any moment now
probly followed by church
and theres a message in there
i dont want to interpret
muse: oh lord youre a hypochondriac yeblik
yeah yeah
same as it ever was
a master and a fool i remain
strangely the next song following mccomb
was
ethereal message
by hex
im serious here
what do i make of that?
ethereal message
this is happening as i write
like tarot cards turning up intentionality
something links me to the shuffle
down down down feathers in the air
down down down everywhere sings donnette
the birth of trip hop i read someone wrote about this record
completist must have i would have thought
contains some of my nicest pieces of music
i was proud of this record
sneaking into some big studio trying to mix it
this was 1988 and i was recognizable in new york
dont let the manager see you
or he'll know who you are
and i'll get into trouble
says bryce the wonderful engineer
who mixed this record
you see
he was allowed to bring his friends in to do demos
but we shoulda been paying
but i couldnt really afford it
it says mixed at "gambit" studios
a gambit is a risk or small loss for hope of gain in future(chess)
the next song on my shuffle is spark
i kid thee not
what does that mean?
am i to be spared?
anyway one night real late
the manager of studios comes in
and im acting like one of bryces friends
doing a demo
and the dude doesnt even know me from adam
and we talk n he clicks the remote
and the tv comes on
mtv that is
and blow me down gently
but theres me plastered all over the screen
singing reptile
the manager looks at me
the screen
the screen
me
hes shaking his head
i get up n disappear into studio
the dude says nothing
goes home
never mentions it to bryce again....
the next song on shuffle is crystal set
but its one with philthy maher singing
walk away
love like amphetamines keepsa hittin' her sings philthy
oh wow
how like shes grinding her teeth n needs to urinate frequently
she has blurred vision n shaky hands n no saliva in her gob
now how weird was that trio of songs
people i have 13,000 songs in my little poddle
what are the chances of them 3 coming up
next up was some krautrock
then some blue nile easter parade
oh what a weary lovesick fool the singer is
his chasing love has left him exhausted
like all romeos eventually they run out of puff
trying to keep all those plates spinning at once
one woman or a hundred
the singer always returns empty handed n world weary
each lover says to himself
i will pursue love all the way this time
i will write songs predicting how this love will last n last
but it doesnt, does it?
maybe a few months
maybe a few tours
what is it these singers are really in love with
they are in love with being in love
they are in love with love itself
love love love love love
all the dreamy crooners
all the melancholy men intoning their lack of love
love has gone
love has fled
took my baby
took my head
love does everything in songs fiendss
it lies bleeding
its a stranger in a black sedan
it looks like a window
it closes like a door
love tears people apart
love brings em together
all the mistresses n sugar daddies
all the tarts n breadheads
all sweethearts n gentlemen visitors
all the singers n their songs
love jumps over tall buildings( in a single bound!)
and it works at a tobacconists on oxford street
it delivers mail on tuesdays
and it deals speed at a bar on 7th ave
love wears lovely clothes and looks good naked
love turn ya into a lemming
love makes you stupid and intense
idiot love will spark confusion
.....but love is not loving
a man loves his mother
his sisters
his wives
his daughters
his grandaughters
a man loves his food n beer
a man loves his mates who drink beer n watch the footy with him
not this man
i dont do that
no one has ever asked me to
but from what ive seen of it
it dont appeal to me
a bunch of drunken yobs yelling at a tv set
gee...whats wrong with me
i have to spoil everything dont i?
boy
when i think of englishmen beer n soccer
i feel like a hare among a bunch of mastiffs
or a bunch of american olde boys watching gridiron
or aussie oafs glued to the rugby n their tinny
look
i can think of few things worse
finally now
right at the end of this blogge
old flame comes on the shuffle
short n sweet
the way it should be
beware
an old flame is still burning there baybee
ha!

starcrost

we have dinner
we have a quiz
me asking doodles n minna trivia
who were 4 members of beatle boys? i ask
we get george paul n ringo
but they cant remember the last name
cmon ! i say
ricki? asks eve hopefully
ha ha ha! i laughed n laughed
later on i ask who was the king of such n such
aurora : was that ricki?
ha ha
king ricki the great of mu mu land
he who brought rock to his enemies
a man who can play a beard of stars
n prelude to a day laye
is a just monarch for sure im certain
its sunday night
i can write anything right?
its my day of the rest for god sake
i could easily do nothing you know
but im committed n thats why im here
at your dispersal
a cold shoulder to cry on
my deepest antipathy
anterior life on this plan it
the furthest closest door
steve b kill
ask you boss to raise your spirit
a man eating fish
blew bottle jelly tin
the rockpools are tiny whirleds
snails n little fish
purple n silver stones
wolfmother of pearljam
igneous rock
basalt like
fairy dust encrusted
heres the little starfish starfish
should i dislodge its memories for tv show?
i ask my oracle in my heart
he says have no truck with it
empty feeling in treasury says go my son
it cant do any harm
its a dilemma mama
no advice necessary
none asked for
none taken
the obvious aint always so obviously the right way
all publicity aint good publicity
some things best left unsaid about some things
just leave em as they are
let em be
let em out
but resist urge to tamper in a good job
the weary(some) hoi polloi demand explanations
where didja get the idea for that they want to ask
then they edit it all up
as they wanna get an angle
on the other hand
a loada people get "reaquainted " with ya
but reaquainted with some past glory
not what you doing now
shame i gotta be over this barrel
but i helped put me there
so its just my difficult job to deicide now
between obscure legend intacto
or
prime (ate) time (over) exposure
the stupid things that mite get said
the stuttering blustering pontificating palaver
(translate that into spanish please)
steve b kill
picking thru the embers of the past on the telly
oh yeah
i did this n i did that
self satisfied snigger
we recorded the vocals in this very room
now a dungeon in sam n ellas brothel/niteclub
i wrote the words on this bitter paper
words i wrestled from my very soul indeed
or was it
i got stoned and made something up on the spot
is there a point between these extremes that telly can understand
here is the veryguitar i pawned in 1999
which played the lead riff on the flexi disc from the same session
here i am now
over enthusiastic olde rake
despite himself
telly casting my cut up memories
answering the kwestions like a goodebouy
it was like this and that muh ludd
let me tell you this one again
on the otherhand
what real choice do i have?
its not as easy as it probably looks
its a hard slog
its an uphill road
its a thankless gig
its a struggle
its a carryon
thats the comedown

doo doo doo looking out my back door

due to the most loathesome doof doof
coming up thru the flaw
i have moved out onto my back steps
from where i can see the hubba bridge
and some tall city scrapers silohuetted against the sunset
birds call n answer in the preternaturally warm dusky evening
the trees of the eastern suburbs rub against the light
producing a hallucinatory effect
the tiny leaves and dark shapes
white flowered hedges in gentle motion
honeysuckle fills the air
and the tibetan or nepali neighbours incense
paying homage to buddha n ganesha
the earth and the sun and the rain
have produced a thousand different things
out of the same ingredients
out of themselves springs forth life and more life
bee ant moth worm flower bark sap pollen
the agents of life
life which animates matter
where does this life come from?
to me
its not looking like an accident
not tonight
with the privelege of my little balcony
the pot plants with white stones
the almost soothing sound of distant traffic
between the people and the sea
everyday i bathe in the oceans briny coldness
the air caresses my skin
no thats not just a cliche...it really does
soft runs along my aching calves n tired wrists
occaisionally a dogs deep bark carries on the wind
different bird noises fade in n out like williams radiotronics
the air over the city goes orange
then pale yellow
then deep shades of blue falling down
the air over the ocean is a delicate lavender
a plane flies overhead a long way up
its getting dark now
a weird light is cast upon the lapptopp
the houses in the street change colour
the shadows sharpen
people go off to parties
drink alcohol
take drugs
cocaine hags gobble ecstatic oafs
pissed young bucks giving it all away
in the kitchens the oddballs losers n virgins accumulate
in the gardens the footy hero talks cars with his mates
in the swimming pool
under the blue water
some young fool is full of vodka n holding his breath
cars pull up in the driveway
dealers with little coloured envelopes
which makes em feel cold
little doses of euphoria n depression
white powders seducing your resistance
people in the bathroom screaming n carrying on
bleeding laughing living dreaming
a pizza gets delivered and knocked over in the carpet
your girlfriends little brother passes out
in the arms of a tranny
and the police have just pulled up over the street
some guys have gatecrashed
"wheres the women n drugs ?" they demand
of your parents who came back home early
the lights are on the blink
and that stupid prick billy franklin
has chucked dayglo gloop everywhere
people are vomiting
trying to get in n out
drunk stoned and raging wildly
charged up like a plutonium amex
not me boy though
ha ha
no
im sitting back in my little room
surrounded by my guitars n pastels
by my paper n my paintbrushes
a tube of manuka honey face cream
a statue of the patron saint of lost things
blu tack and a pencil
beyond this room the doodles argue
the baby coos
nk with her pod on earphones cooks din dins blissfully unaware
minna arrives for dinner
tonight im on telly in triffids special
i look a bit too excited for my own goode i reckon
a bit too self satisfied.....
a family night at home tonight
surrounded by females
deep in the bosom of the family
then
render me calm n serene

sks assortment of blogges with soft n hard centres

beautiful fiends
its friday
the end of the week
im reading a book called giants of the frost
by an australian author(ess) kim wilkins
theres a picture of her inside and shes very pretty
im not exactly wolfing the book down
as i did that tolkien book
its got the norse gods in it which is a plus
but its all hinged on a bit of a drippy (so far) love story
by the whey
i did get to see all of the illusionist
and i thought it was better than the prestige
(by a mile)
but still i ached for the lost opportunities
to go all the way
forget the dopey bint who played the heroine
keep the love interest carryon a minor thing
we want magic
we want darkness
we want inexplicable unexplainable mystery
we wanna be carried away
we want from our fiction n film
what we cannot have from real life
thats my job, too
i write songs that come from somewhere else
somewhere over the rainbow
somewhere where things blur and the mundane is cancelled out
i am working on combinations of words and melodies
i am working on clusters of notes arranged pointilistically
like blips on a graph measuring your deep heart
i am working on memories we never had
dreams we should have, but never did dream
my voice continues to mellow and improve
my fingers find their way unaided
they glide over pianos n tambourines
the guitar gives up new things to me
everything falls in its place
like tiger woods sinking a putt
polinski is even as we speak preparing to mix painkiller
its a sprawling esoteric masterpiece
its got concise lil rock songs
its got long meandering things
its got radiotronics and feedback
crashing walloping exciting drumming
its my usual narcissistic genius/idiot lyrics
oh god people
how the words keep flying into my head
rhymes n phrase n allusions and metres
you understand when you hear it
how easy it was to make
and all the love
my love
tims love
william master of spaces love
polinski the iconoclast will express his love
in reverbs and rich valves and bringing out the grain
the record is the solo record i had to make
remindlessness is also a sprawling work of love n music
but limited by its recording in my spare bedroom
the mechanical-ness of a lot of it
i didnt want that....its just what happened
narcosis plus more is another lovely record too
dark brooding sad electronic whirlpool
those are my 2 best so far
but this new one is a real "proper" record
coming along at a parallel rate is the k/k record
a nother cup of fish all together now
simple songs
poignant music
just so right.....
just so set up to be sung over
jlk gives me a song we worked on a cuppla weeks back
lovely work to all concerned
the 2 records will polarise you
one wild ride in n out of the chakras
one lovely garden of verse
you gonna love em both
you gonna need em both
like you need both eve and aurora
like you need day n night
like you need sex n sleep
like you need up n down

went round n visited my oirish friends j n m
who are renting a lovely little villa in coogee
a few beaches down from bondi
while e and a and m played
framed against the mauve sunset and the calm pacific ocean
we talked of mice n men
j snapped a pic of aurora
her father standing behind her
his hands on her shoulders
both of them against the warm australian black night
my hands symbolically protecting my beloved daughter
and my eyes narrowed in the way fathers eyes do narrow
grant comes on my pod (again!!!)
strangely enough immediately after shuffle played
"in this room"
which is one its never thrown up before
(the church: music your shuffle can throw up)
grant youre not telling me my numbers up are ya?
(the track was "the clock")
anyway i just spoke to polinski
and he likes what hes heard so far
so thats a good sign
he really is one of the best
at getting what i want
and im sure he'll come thru
years of live blasting music have rendered my ears useless
for mixing at any rate
and it never was my best kinda thing
leave it to the specialists i say
my speciality is creating this intrigue outta thin air
the world will of course largely ignore it
a few thousand will get it
maybe not even buy it
maybe just get it outta some friends senuti ipod
but itll be out there now forever
and itll go on turning em on as long as they wanna listen
it will mean something to you
to whoever wants to invest an hour
penetrating its mystery
have we got an hour for that these days?
yeah
youll squeeze it in somehow
its gonna go on giving to ya
my selfcentred macrocosmic narcissistic everyman schtick!
my cartoon epic new age old age fabulous mess
bang!
just like that!

sk n.bondi aug. 2007

man of sorrows

sadness and sorrow hound me
that is the way of mortal men doomed to die
all i need is acceptance of this
i need to accept that is how it is
i was living next door to a building site
it was a noisy hell plus all the tradesmen had radios blasting
there were machines and trucks delivering and people shouting
there were hammers hammerin'
there were drills drillin'
there were builders buildin'
there were demolishers tearin' it all down
i went to a spiritual advisor
and i said
man
i wanna love god
i wanna do my yoga
i wanna be serene and calm
but the noise is poisoning me
he said
steve, accept it....
oh that made me angry i can tell you
i went home
ha!
accept it!
i get home
its all going on in spades
the awful racket of the 21st century
attacking my damaged ears
and my frazzled nerves
like a thousand tiny darts
stabbing me in places i didnt know anything could reach
shrieking wailing clashing din of metals n stone
and then a small rebellious part of me said
hey
lets try the gurus advice...
the rest of me goes
ok
lets accept it
now acceptance is not easy
acceptance is one of those things that looks easy
but like a load of other qualities and deeds
its beyond your mere willpower
you think i dont have a bit of willpower?
its no good saying to your self
i must accept
because in commanding it
demanding it of your self
you are negating it
the acceptance must come
you must surrender to the acceptance
you have to lay down your "beef" with the thing you cant accept
its no good saying
ok i accept this racket
but i will go on vividly actively hating it
there can be no buts
you hope that acceptance will come
i was lucky
i was able to eventually manifest some decent acceptance
the disgusting racket went on n on for months
it would have killed me otherwise
but i accepted it
i did not (uselessly) resist it
i gave in
after all there was nothing i could do
i could hate it all i liked
but it wouldnt stop it
i could bore everyone i knew
with descriptions of how awful it was
(and it was!)(and i did!)
but it didnt go away
then one day
there i am
in my kitchen
which used to overlook a pair of rambling cottages
with vege gardens and birdies singing n flowers
you know
all those stupid things your hero loves
now it was a pit of mud and trusses and
blokes having arguments in foreign languages
and triple mmm playing acka dacka n doof doof doof
gurlie schmaltz n macho small-penised angst
eg nickelbach
you know
all the wonderful things your hero hates
and i could hardly hear the conversation
i was having on the phone
probably with tim powles who sometimes loves a chat
and guess what?
i realise im not angry
i realise im not fuming furious
im just accepting it
it took a little while
but (its all so simple, isnt it?)
i was accepting it
oh what a relief
of course i endured another 7 months of noise
before the orrible blocka flats was finished
and then guess what
6 weeks after that
i had to move out
cos the owners wanted to move back in...
we moved to another place
and then there was a dodgy panel beaters
going day and fucking night
all kinds of loud awful noises
and the perpetual radio belting out the slop
then i had to try n accept that all over again
now i live in a relatively quiet spot
but things just keep happening
exactly as they happen to everyone else
people keep upsetting my fragile balance
what i think is fair
intruding on my hard won semi-serenity
ive had my battles
ive argued
ive deceived
ive struck
and been struck
ive carried on like a right ratbag
and i was squashed deep into the carpet
and its taken a long time to claw back some "normality"
now i must accept that all this
my age
my occupation
my trying hard
my new leaf which is still turned over
etc
means nothing to people
who just being people
disturb the calm waters of my life
with continual trouble
that i never needed to have
i say why lord why?
but i really know the answer
the saint who is no saint
must bend further n further in the wind
the wind of outrageous fortune
just as i am coaxing my body to become more n more supple
(despite the years which are trying to achieve the opposite)
i must coax my mind and spirit
accept all this
accept the doubts n doubters
accept the accusations and animosity
but i strike out
over n over n over
and in striking out
i create new turmoil
and the ripples race out into the confusion that is humanity
now i aint talking about comments here
or only in a tiny way
i am ready to live transparently
im honest
im trying to be understanding
im trying to be reasonable
trying to suffer the slings n arrows
envy is a killer
i see such n such is doing the blah blah
and i get envy in the pit of my guts that burns me
this morning a few offhand remarks n my rejoinders
raised my fiery anger to such a heat
that it consumed me
i had to crawl back into bed
i had exhausted myself
i cannot accept that people are people
people say stupid things
i know i do
i write stupid things too
but i need to accept
life is not perfect here
we gotta be thick skinned and soft hearted
you gotta be able to accept the bouquets n brickbats
insults and flattery should not swerve me
this is earth
this aint heaven
bad mad sad things are bound to happen
all the time
any peaceful still time you can get is a miracle
a bonus
an extra
dont expect a smooth run
people will always impinge and infringe
they will disturb and perturb
theyll call ya a liar when youre telling the truth
and thats hard to swallow
but i must not become so angry
it is destroying me
i cant afford to lose so much energy
in one inferno of wrath such as today
i write this blog today
to externalise these thoughts
to actually put them into words
to give my willingness to accept more ooomph
i feel im being tested and im gonna pass the test
i will never get anywhere
if mere stupid words make me lose control
you,
dear reader
can make of this what you will
if anything in here appeals to you
use it by all means
this has been my experience
ps
this is not aimed at any commenters
believe me

residue of thought

unless you really believe
rudy neuman(n):
pulling the strings all these years
a conspiracy of corrupt bankers
giving us the wars we had to have
those blueblood honchos dictating from their ivory ivied towers
fixing the race
calling the shots
hanging in the back
pushing you into the fray
afraid themselves
afraid of themselves and us
their high and lonely destiny it was
to meddle in the affairs of the riff raff
and to keep us happily enslaved
to their fucked up paradigm
they invent and dole out diseases and cures
they dream up reasons for us to fight
theyre not fighting
they never did
why should they?
they gave us our pasture
we graze happily
they feed us and harvest as they need to
yes you know the bunch im talking about
people in high places
they gave us television
and then they filled it with brainwashing soap operas
they let you drink drink drink
but suppress the smoking of the herb
why is that?
because the herb lets you see the hilarity of the whole she-bang
then you become what they call "amotivational"
which means you aint buying in to their bullshit quite so easily
yes
nothing like the herb to tilt your perspective
until you understand the great fake society
and the joke it is all based on
history will judge us hilarious
the herb can see it right now
next they take away the lsd and mushrooms etc
these also interfere with programming of the sheep
in the 60s citizens of the u.s. were virtually deemed unamerican
and had long jail sentences for using these substances
because why?
theyre bad for us?
they are so bad that its better to go to jail than to take them?
a "free" society
taking lsd was tantamount to some kinda spiritual treachery
just like not supporting the tragic vietnamese war
like you werent on your own side
classic propaganda!
but what was at the heart of this fear of the hallucinogenics
a realization that every now and then
the people taking them
would stumble upon rare and beautiful thoughts
and suddenly
not only was this whole thing hilarious
but it was transparent and glowing
it was filled with this stuff called love
love was life
and life was in love with love and life
and it brought motion from the stillness
and it brought sound into the silence
and it permeated matter
and it was invisible and almost not there
unable to be measured
it defied itself
and everything sprang into being
and then everything else
and you sit by the shores of a gentle lake
and the ripples flow towards you
and you feel the even handed ness of the water
its simple geometric grace
its flowing uncurling elegance
the sun runs along each round rim of the wavelets
the sand flashes gold glints as it dances beneath the surface
the ripples
the sand
the water
the sky
its all moving to this same doo-dah
i dont know what to call it
rhythm i suppose
but there was no real sound
except the soft percussive lapping of the lake
and the reeds are bouncing to the rhythm too
you can see that now
the reeds and the birds
theyre all locked into this thing
how was it you never noticed before?
you start to smile
why are you smiling?
why are you grinning from 'ere to 'ear?
because you realise
what do you realise?
it cant be put in one sentence
its a million books look
and to take it one line at a time
will diminish its splendour
but think
unified field
whatever that means to you in your heart
who cares what your brain will say now
unified field
the ripples
the sand in motion
suspended as if by magic
the golden flashes of tiny microns
the dreamy aqua colour of the water itself
the reeds are swaying in time
their heads bob and imply sentience
god
its all sentient
the herons hang in the sky
their wings beat like bass drums
boom boom boom in the liquid air
the great birds
animated by life herself
these perfect flying creatures with free will
cruising the skyways as man and wife
diving like darts into the lake
their feathers marvellously engineered to keep out water
as well as to facilitate their movement thru thin air
the herons are miracles of loving design
and they are supposed to be flying exactly there
right now
and you truly understand
the life/love that has orchestrated this little scene
for your benefit
and anyone else too
who had but eyes to listen
and ears to see
no thats no mistake
because you realise the sounds have colours
and the colours are all making sounds
this folds in on itself so delightfully
that you take a whole second
to become lost in its myriad mazes
and you smile
because you understand
and also because you see
youre included in this equation
youre a cog in the mechanism
you put your finger in the lake
and your ripples rush out to join the incoming ones
and you see youre sposed to be here
youre sposed to part of this
theres a deep reason meaning
and everythings ok
its all in balance
the natural world in tune
satori must be something like this

intentionality

the hierophant n mem are standing in a bar
you mean to tell me that its my intentions turning them cards up?
says the hierophant
mem smiles enigmatically
or perhaps its the opposite
he says
the hierophant
look lets call him the killer for short
the hierophant is all duded up in some crazy medieval get up
karl jung intervenes
intentionality
he says in his accent
oh i dont know the exact english word...
magic !
booms a deep dry voice
crowley knocks back a cognac and waves
mem eats a lightly sea salted crisp
magic...intentionality....art......will ... he says abstractedly
the killer points to the upturned cards
the fool, the hero, the hanged man
past present future
the triple world
the past swallowing the future
but the more it swallows
the more future remains
the present is the fragile border
between these 2 untouchable states
remembering or imagining
is how we touch the past/future state
to be a real life hero
and fight injustice without being self righteous
to help and help without need for constant gratitude
to merely think a thing and behold! it is
crowley was reading my thoughts
yoga or magic he said
there are only 2 paths to what you desire to attain...
jung nodded thoughtfully
the killer has been practicing yoga hard now for a while he said
i wonder if he has really changed...
crowley said
hes been doing the poses
most of the other practice he neglects...
mem smiled and took a sip of his jaeger n red bull
it had become his trademark drink since that painting of his
had been sold for millions n millions
now his jaeger n redbull painting
hung in the louvre next to van go
crowley was boldly chatting up the barmaid
jung stared at me patiently like i was a lab rat
i must say herr killbee
its lovely to guest star in your blogge like this
i think it reveals something of yourself
yeah ? said k
narcissism
delusions of grandeur
a rampant ego
a sick id
a neurotic inner child
unrealistic expectations of power
an incredible capacity for self aggradizement
said jung dispassionately
other than that?....i said
other than that youre a bit of a prick said crowley
rudely looking up for an instant
i thought this was your blogge.... said mem
youre right i thought
i can do anything here
quickly tiring of jung n crowley
i whisk them offstage n outta the bar
i turn sadly to mem
its ok said mem
im not really here either....am i?
in a moment i had swept the decks clear
no one remained but the woman behind the bar
drink up sir she said
its closing time
i staggered out into the streets
snowy bostonion streets
or hot sydney pavements
i cant tell
its either very warm
or very cold
you see i was right
all opposites eventually reconcile in each other
manipulation of these reconciliations is magic
the pull between opposites
man and woman
+ and -
life and death as well
extreme cold can feel like hot
yes yes
and then everything was peeled back
and i penetrated with my vision
to the real core of everything
and saw everything as it really was
for a second
everything was connected
yes
it was ridiculous to think that....
but the thought wilted
as the second passed
and i was left with a shadow of the truth
which i chased drunkenly thru the streets of my mind
i stood in the severe poses of yoga
and my bones n sinews n joints n muscles moved apart
and in the new tiny gaps was knowledge
untransmissable knowledge
calm quiet knowledge
as it should be
nothing to get hung about
damn!
my mood crashed
i saw that tarot card i had turned
the hanged man
my future
no no no no
i turned my collar to the cold n damp
it had begun to rain in bondi
i felt hungry n suddenly lonely
itd still be quite a walk home

indeed

you are unreachable
time and time again
mornings come and go
childhoods drift into age
the years yawn and are gone
one day this
next day that
if you only had perspective
if you could see the shadows the littlest things cast
i dont want to turn into this thing im becoming
but its in the stars
the celestial bodies pulling us here n there
the gravity of our times
the sheer weighed up bags of moments
the dazzling sunlight
the foggiest night
already bewildered suffering these attacks
you return again n again
here is a haven for travellers i have heard
where weary wayfarers find rest
there is a way into its centre
there is room there
living room
mirrors talking back
paintings follow you round
the statuettes gyre n gimble
the masks grinning from ear to here
i didnt want to end up here either
in the sun on my deck chair
feeding the birdies
and whistling for my supper
they switched off the clocks
they turned the calendars upside down
and now night comes before day
and day comes before night
its peaceful i must say
at least
im crazy but im calm
im jealous n bitter as all hell
but somehow these waving fields soothe me and
somehow the margins have contained me
somehow the things i need elude me
one day you wake up....
or one night you go to sleep...
and after that
when it all goes......
wrong is such a strong word.....
when it all goes differently to what youd thought
what youd banked on happening
when you get a 3 instead of a king
or you end up in the lane going the other way
sailing past your home doing a hundred
or you realise youre watching the wrong film
hey ! this aint what i thought it was
i want my time and my money back
i wanna retrial n a misprint
i wanna easy sentence handed down
i wanna minimum security universe
and i want weekend conjugal visits and
i want to escape almost before im in
and then i regret even before i have begin
and then i feel finished
finished
null n voided
over n out
and as it all grinds to a halt
one little spark
starts to glow
and you think
oh no
i thought it was all extinguished
but no
little spark fanned by your very breath
and hope against hope
but failure
inertia
silence
darkness
beckon

nut screws washers and bolts

bono n jeff beck in a bar
watching the blue peacocks on the lawn
a gouache semi opaque day
a mellotron sound of birds
dante n the starlings
st francis n the starving waifs
artificial sundayness
just squeeze and apply
steve tyler and a roof tiler
hippie mudbricklayer listens to the go bees
grape juice wine green ginger space drunk
music: thats me manipulating the flutes
as his last meal
until the next
oat milk
soy milk
rice milk
omega 3 .5 yellow syrup
updated with good grease
then strawberries
then dates
date dates
blend it up smooth
smoother than a real mr smooth in smoothland
drink it down
oh oh you needed that
imagine your stomach when that alkaline hit hits
not some chemical dead thing full of ugly bits
but fresh nice clean fuel
yes this keeps you singing
work on songs yesterday
its so easy work
work to play
play and play all day
the guitars all bent in framework
the music is dolloped n ladled on top of itself
sing here stop there
these words will sit here on top the foamy bits
these words are to be heard only on sundays
long gone sundays
n sunday yet to come
eternal sunday
brighton beach melbourne
dad gives us ten bucks to buy some ice creams
its such an adventure
cos melbourne has different ice creams to us
and we cross strange streets
and we stand dwarfed within the strange smelling milk bar
2 blackberry splices
3 gluggs and a vanilla oodle bar
a snowy boy
a caramel triple treat
a raspberry woofle splodge
and one ju jube bo bo with sprinkles
the guy says
we only got butterscotch woofle splodges
me and the other kids consider
ok then ...we'll take 2o cents worth of fruit dribbles
back at the beach my dad doesnt even ask for the change
wow says paul
he didnt even ask you for the change
i smile n finger the 75 cents in the inner pocket in my boardshorts
sunday has melted all around us
we have become stuck in it
there will never be another week day ever again
sunday has become lodged in the worlds gullet
sunday afternoon everywhere all over this planet n universe
sunday day of rest
rest of sunday
god resting after a big saturday night finishing off the earth
lovers waking up in sundrenched sheets early sunday afternoon
laughter and late breakfast
walking round the room naked looking for your book
the sun streams in on sunday and explores your lovely bodies
your lovely heads loll on the lovely pillars
you tangle entangled in the diminishing day
newspapers : someone got hurt
someone got married
someone else died
children walking dogs
pleasant sunday valley
north bondi pleasant peasant seeking pleasure
out soon
out now
coming back atcha!
whosoever
until....
yours truly
etc
sk