eternity
man he said
thats really something
yeah
showbiz gets us fooled
the hand is quicker than the eye
some old grunter canonized
the next old moaner shunned
who deals out the dead heads hands
fickle fate anointing yer feat
(what was his feet? ...about 12 inches long)
what happens now?
the rest of time
here we are now living in the present
the past and future hover like shadows
one known and unchangeable
the other unknown and in flux
the coincidences come quicker n faster as it approaches
u#23 s appreciation due to warp in cozmic material
the zeitgeist travels in a smooth wave of intent
people are everything at once these days
like a story rewritten for hollywood
life is compressed into composite characters
and the plots speed up
the whirl is whirling pretty fast now
oh cant you feel it.....
the inexorable gravity of the ellipse...?
the earth is travelling through space unmanned
following an invisible course thru the stars
our sun itself is moving with us in relativity
the planets are all just sitting there
hurtling along in their place
as if as light as a feather
powered by some unending source
time ...well it warps and it woofs
this is a dream i tell you it is a dream
and the dream is turning strange
as the dreamer starts to awake
and for a brief moment
it all comes together
or it all falls away
or it becomes crystalline rush clear
you perceive the perceiver
you wake up from your dream
cant remember a single thing
so too shall these moments seem
improbable snatches from someones story
an unpublished novel of marvels
an unsung song of immense beauty
and in that moment
all others will have their moments
all the moment you can deserve
in the future we will all be dead for fifteen minutes
live now
keep trying little steven
c'mon boy its only a few more yards
you cant win from here but ya gotta finish the human race
it wasnt supposed to be easy
and you went n made it a whole lot harder
you took on a lotta fights needlessly
you swung n you feinted
you moved aside and collided with fates fist
you tried to kick the sky in the eye
but you went arse over tip
and you hurt yer hip
there is something going on
and dont forget where you read it first
whatever happens from now on i claim to have predicted
i gotta premonition gonna neeed some ammunition
yeah some wise saint in the odd testament sang that
he rode into bethlehem , ma on the back of a ford transit
strumming a uke
snorting a nasal nuke
should be made a count or duke
saint who is no saint
the spy who came in for the cold drinks
a handy man in an aesthetic jam
as we all flow over the edge of the world
and out of history
and ride the falling times
let the real life begin therefor
gimme yer hands
coz yer wonderful
beyond all belief
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
cadenza
one borrowed afternoon
i stumbled out
to find the watercolour world
had changed to acrylic
my imagination suddenly ran dry
terrified of the white paper/red tape scenery
i couldnt see anyway out
searched around but couldnt find it
the key i needed
i was landlocked shellshocked
surrounded by the nothing
stopping at nothing
nothing doing
pain returns
a weakness at the heart of everything
time had not waited for me
nor had 1988 come back
the strings are artificial
the light stabs my bad eye
the rainfalls in buckets
everywhere i turn
i weave groggily down the street
26 dollars in my hand
feeble lemon yellow sun cracks thru the gloom
a white haze surrounding the clouds fuzzy edges
a morbid piano lesson drifts from a house
some hopeless banger murdering mozart
i take in all the details
my mansuit is ripped and torn
and everything comes in
sound and light overpowers me
i have no space left
nowhere to put this glare and this whisper
windows like mirrors reflect themselves
blocks of flats light up with silver squares
the palm trees flop in the listless scene
the conversations go on in the corners
the music creeps under the doors from its dark place
its all overexposed and flaring into white and black
i see spots that look like moths swooping in on me from the sides
i always play my cards badly even tho i have good hands
good hands but bad fingers says the piano teacher
i hear myself breathing on tape
i hear a voice neither instrument or human
i hear the absent drummer weep
the sound leaks away
the rainbow seems to collapse
the colours that make it up
swirl into a crimson brown
and drown in the clouds
a pine tree says finally !
as it looks at the ominous sky
by now i'm rolling along the road
gliding on all four intentions
and guided by internal friction
i steer by the stars homes
i press my nose up to russell crowes hedge
i pet sydney melbas hyaena
i catch a distant ocean glimpse
i go in the drawer to win a million
i fix up my own future
i postpone my death by a few more songs
i sell off ideas i aint even had yet
i walk down in the museum gardens
where its sodden
theres my main man
mr big
the dealer of destiny
the pusher of puissance
the purveyor of sensual pleasure
the powerful one
steve?
he puts out his hand
as i shake it
a little spur goes into my palm
we shake hands for a minute
when he releases me
i stagger like a workload
i stumble like a bum
i'm all over the place at once on my knees
feel better now steve? says the mainman
i hand over my twenty six euros
he grins and gives me another small jolt
a free sample of next weeks ...he says
as some enchanted evening is dragged through my head
i reach for it to savour its cosiness
but its gone...
uh uh says the mainman shaking his head
and smiling sadly
gotta wait till next week
i get the airbus home
i get off at the wrong stop
lemuria terminus says the sign
that cant be right says a voice in my ear
youve gone too far says another voice
youve done it this time...
a car pulls up
excuse me.....an old womans voice
excuse me ...can you tell me where blah blah street is..?
i wade over to the car
what?
can you tell me where blah blah street is?
i look at the old duck blankly
yeah lady....this is it....youre driving in it
without saying a thanky dee
the old duck cruises off in her chrysler ghost
how fuckin' rude...says one of them voices at my ear
then it all unravels
un ravel
meaninglessness impinges
nausea just like olde satre in mount martyr
no soundtrack
no credits
no audience
no takings
the plot may get rehashed
re hashed
re hashed for another couch potentate
or whatever
sweep up the mess
turn off the lights
take the keys back
and wait for next may
i stumbled out
to find the watercolour world
had changed to acrylic
my imagination suddenly ran dry
terrified of the white paper/red tape scenery
i couldnt see anyway out
searched around but couldnt find it
the key i needed
i was landlocked shellshocked
surrounded by the nothing
stopping at nothing
nothing doing
pain returns
a weakness at the heart of everything
time had not waited for me
nor had 1988 come back
the strings are artificial
the light stabs my bad eye
the rainfalls in buckets
everywhere i turn
i weave groggily down the street
26 dollars in my hand
feeble lemon yellow sun cracks thru the gloom
a white haze surrounding the clouds fuzzy edges
a morbid piano lesson drifts from a house
some hopeless banger murdering mozart
i take in all the details
my mansuit is ripped and torn
and everything comes in
sound and light overpowers me
i have no space left
nowhere to put this glare and this whisper
windows like mirrors reflect themselves
blocks of flats light up with silver squares
the palm trees flop in the listless scene
the conversations go on in the corners
the music creeps under the doors from its dark place
its all overexposed and flaring into white and black
i see spots that look like moths swooping in on me from the sides
i always play my cards badly even tho i have good hands
good hands but bad fingers says the piano teacher
i hear myself breathing on tape
i hear a voice neither instrument or human
i hear the absent drummer weep
the sound leaks away
the rainbow seems to collapse
the colours that make it up
swirl into a crimson brown
and drown in the clouds
a pine tree says finally !
as it looks at the ominous sky
by now i'm rolling along the road
gliding on all four intentions
and guided by internal friction
i steer by the stars homes
i press my nose up to russell crowes hedge
i pet sydney melbas hyaena
i catch a distant ocean glimpse
i go in the drawer to win a million
i fix up my own future
i postpone my death by a few more songs
i sell off ideas i aint even had yet
i walk down in the museum gardens
where its sodden
theres my main man
mr big
the dealer of destiny
the pusher of puissance
the purveyor of sensual pleasure
the powerful one
steve?
he puts out his hand
as i shake it
a little spur goes into my palm
we shake hands for a minute
when he releases me
i stagger like a workload
i stumble like a bum
i'm all over the place at once on my knees
feel better now steve? says the mainman
i hand over my twenty six euros
he grins and gives me another small jolt
a free sample of next weeks ...he says
as some enchanted evening is dragged through my head
i reach for it to savour its cosiness
but its gone...
uh uh says the mainman shaking his head
and smiling sadly
gotta wait till next week
i get the airbus home
i get off at the wrong stop
lemuria terminus says the sign
that cant be right says a voice in my ear
youve gone too far says another voice
youve done it this time...
a car pulls up
excuse me.....an old womans voice
excuse me ...can you tell me where blah blah street is..?
i wade over to the car
what?
can you tell me where blah blah street is?
i look at the old duck blankly
yeah lady....this is it....youre driving in it
without saying a thanky dee
the old duck cruises off in her chrysler ghost
how fuckin' rude...says one of them voices at my ear
then it all unravels
un ravel
meaninglessness impinges
nausea just like olde satre in mount martyr
no soundtrack
no credits
no audience
no takings
the plot may get rehashed
re hashed
re hashed for another couch potentate
or whatever
sweep up the mess
turn off the lights
take the keys back
and wait for next may
Friday, May 29, 2009
sub aqueous mosaic
youve been sinking monster
youve let go and nothing in this world can stop you
fathom after fathom
fall after fall
so greedy for bruises
so loud in my cans
let me see that again... i ask one of the techs
look there it is....he points to shape amongst other shapes
thats it...? i ask
oh thats its beginning ...he says
the techs all laugh grimly
let me get some focus here....
for a while all is silent save the ping of the sonar
we glide through darkness as always
little monster where are you.....?
little monster i will find you and....
the configuration of shapes suddenly changed
the techs crowded around one particular screen
a woman tech pointed out a increasing black undulation
thats its aftermath we're seeing ...she said
as she manipulated and interpreted the data on the screen
the screen fractured with a red pulse
what was that...? i asked stunned
that was the wave form of its breath translated into a sonic event
so you breathe do you, monster?...i asked
and some of them laughed softly hesitantly
as if they didnt know if i was joking or mad
and nor did i
i decide to go it alone
after some reluctant dissuasion
i am reissued with a mansuit
and i am escorted to an exit
see you on the otherside ...i say to the woman tech
she doesnt answer or smile but waits patiently for me to leave
outside the abyss is jumping
little monster you smell my blood now
you turn your huge and perfect head in my direction
you groan in the depths
it reverberates around these vaulted watery halls
so you breathe monster......the words float up to my ears
yes i breathe ....i think....yes i breathe...
i feel like i'm getting too much oxygenetically modified air
fresh air...a thought from somewhere...no fresh air
all this air breathed over and over
no room to move in my mansuit
no air thats new
how is your mansuit, monster....?
who asks this question...
i cant tell
it seems to come from within a tiny voice
it seems to bounce around the whole world down here
so you can talk , little monster...? i finally ask
oh yes i can talk.... comes the reply
just as i thought it would
a huge sound that cant be heard
a terrible voice that remains invisible
ive come to find you this time little monster....!
oh have you...?.a sneered reply from the depths
how is your mansuit monster i asked you didnt i...?
the monster made the equivalent of a soft laugh
how is your monstersuit, man......?
who is the real monster....? i said
oh how could you even ask? it answered
and then it was on me
so fast
like white lightning
i felt its aftermath first
the way the tech had seen it on the screen
a white flash behind my mansuits eyes
a white shock thats white hot
a white shot fired point blank deep inside
youre only hurting yourself !i screamed as i thrashed
no i'm hurting you ...the monster whispered
my mask was leaking
my suit was torn
say goodbye to that tired old air... says the little monster
my apparatus detaches and floats away
how do you like that....? i say to myself
now i will die
no you wont die ...says that voice
who me.?..i ask...who's out there...?
oh no one ...says the voice
the monster...i say
yes...?.says the voice
there was no monster
there was no ending
youve let go and nothing in this world can stop you
fathom after fathom
fall after fall
so greedy for bruises
so loud in my cans
let me see that again... i ask one of the techs
look there it is....he points to shape amongst other shapes
thats it...? i ask
oh thats its beginning ...he says
the techs all laugh grimly
let me get some focus here....
for a while all is silent save the ping of the sonar
we glide through darkness as always
little monster where are you.....?
little monster i will find you and....
the configuration of shapes suddenly changed
the techs crowded around one particular screen
a woman tech pointed out a increasing black undulation
thats its aftermath we're seeing ...she said
as she manipulated and interpreted the data on the screen
the screen fractured with a red pulse
what was that...? i asked stunned
that was the wave form of its breath translated into a sonic event
so you breathe do you, monster?...i asked
and some of them laughed softly hesitantly
as if they didnt know if i was joking or mad
and nor did i
i decide to go it alone
after some reluctant dissuasion
i am reissued with a mansuit
and i am escorted to an exit
see you on the otherside ...i say to the woman tech
she doesnt answer or smile but waits patiently for me to leave
outside the abyss is jumping
little monster you smell my blood now
you turn your huge and perfect head in my direction
you groan in the depths
it reverberates around these vaulted watery halls
so you breathe monster......the words float up to my ears
yes i breathe ....i think....yes i breathe...
i feel like i'm getting too much oxygenetically modified air
fresh air...a thought from somewhere...no fresh air
all this air breathed over and over
no room to move in my mansuit
no air thats new
how is your mansuit, monster....?
who asks this question...
i cant tell
it seems to come from within a tiny voice
it seems to bounce around the whole world down here
so you can talk , little monster...? i finally ask
oh yes i can talk.... comes the reply
just as i thought it would
a huge sound that cant be heard
a terrible voice that remains invisible
ive come to find you this time little monster....!
oh have you...?.a sneered reply from the depths
how is your mansuit monster i asked you didnt i...?
the monster made the equivalent of a soft laugh
how is your monstersuit, man......?
who is the real monster....? i said
oh how could you even ask? it answered
and then it was on me
so fast
like white lightning
i felt its aftermath first
the way the tech had seen it on the screen
a white flash behind my mansuits eyes
a white shock thats white hot
a white shot fired point blank deep inside
youre only hurting yourself !i screamed as i thrashed
no i'm hurting you ...the monster whispered
my mask was leaking
my suit was torn
say goodbye to that tired old air... says the little monster
my apparatus detaches and floats away
how do you like that....? i say to myself
now i will die
no you wont die ...says that voice
who me.?..i ask...who's out there...?
oh no one ...says the voice
the monster...i say
yes...?.says the voice
there was no monster
there was no ending
Thursday, May 28, 2009
the dead see nectarine
the dead here
the dead see
dead calm
dead of winter
out of the pink sky
in a better universe
nectarine by gb3 is number one
lovers all over the double globe
the very sound of something coming on
something strong
something washing you away
something taking you with it
that lovely reverb drenched chorus of female ahs
we come to the climactic chord
we anticipate its orgasmic thrust
a slight ostinato klunk a micro second
and then all heaven breaks loose
oh it hurts.....nectarine....sings the gb3
and the guitars fizzle n crackle n sparkle and burn out
and the music is so simple
and it hurts...nectarine
the drums pound like your runaway heart
your heart as you lash out blindly at the fruity world
you struggle in a barrel full of peaches
you swim thru a sea of honey still breathing it in
youre a big fat worm boring into the teachers apple
youre a love child of the high priestess and the gardener
electric guitars
howcome only glenn bennie can play like that
what does he do to supercharge this simple stuff with such love
gooey teenage heartbreaking love you all
now youre crushed...baby whats the rush sings the voice
and you just wanna hear that song
and they say adam sang that song to eve
and the cherubim burned and hovered
and the fruit was heavy on the vine
and phil spector appeared
shooting at his wall of sound
be my be my baby
be my little baby
as it hits the inevitable minor chord
a million superstars finger their guitars
overdosing live on stage
tripping out on that lingering distorted blast
the drums fucking pound on regardless
the bass is a regulated squirt of speed
it remains behind mopping up stragglers
the bass niggles away insistently rubbery and black
and it hurts ....nectarine.....
the song plays for the 3rd time
the parallel universe with the best taste in classic pop is vibratin'
you never close your eyes anymore when i kiss your lips
the sun aint gonna shine anymore
and it hurts....nectarine...
i hope that jehovah got my uh telegram
and ronnie spectre appears on yer tiny blacknwhite astor screen
dont worry baby everything will turn out alright
on the porch the songs have brought summer
and the kids make out in the darkness
will the wall of sound / crashes all around
heavenly shades of night are falling
i saw her standing there on blackberry way
with the leader of the pack
(down down down)
and let me be yer shelter
and the guitars travel in yer bloodstream if you really love her
and if you could only get yer hands on a guitar
youd show her
youd show everyone
voice in another song : youve forgotten the xylophone
oh yes the xylophone is always twinkling above the song
indicating the fickle incandescent nature of the lyrics crush
twinkling like dumb little stars
reminding you
somewhat obliquely of naked 1950s women in bnw mags
and some new york traffic jam
and times square in the snow in 1954
and phil in-spectre drowns george in reverb
and the drums pound away silently like may even
and the teenage moon blushes pink in the candyland sky
and the cymbals tongue kiss the vu meters into the red
and glenn bennies got all these backwards loops
and snippets of guitar all working against each other
like thoughts that go round in round in yer head
like your underground, lover
like its left you blind
and you rush rush rush rush on by
and you think
wow!
the music all turned up in brightness so thats its going into white
and adelita singing hes a thief thief thief thief
and glenns guitar burns up in our atmosphere
and its the way he plays
this man is a pop guitar genius
a creator of dazzling arty-facts
the guy from the sydney morning herald today said
the underground lovers yeah..they never did one bad track!
and everyone nods in agreement
and it hurts....nectarine
and the acoustic guitars strum away like spanish romeo
climbing up the rose bush
and the song shudders to a halt
but i just want to hear it again
its contagious
its addictive
and it hurts.....
note
not available in this universe for some time
the dead see
dead calm
dead of winter
out of the pink sky
in a better universe
nectarine by gb3 is number one
lovers all over the double globe
the very sound of something coming on
something strong
something washing you away
something taking you with it
that lovely reverb drenched chorus of female ahs
we come to the climactic chord
we anticipate its orgasmic thrust
a slight ostinato klunk a micro second
and then all heaven breaks loose
oh it hurts.....nectarine....sings the gb3
and the guitars fizzle n crackle n sparkle and burn out
and the music is so simple
and it hurts...nectarine
the drums pound like your runaway heart
your heart as you lash out blindly at the fruity world
you struggle in a barrel full of peaches
you swim thru a sea of honey still breathing it in
youre a big fat worm boring into the teachers apple
youre a love child of the high priestess and the gardener
electric guitars
howcome only glenn bennie can play like that
what does he do to supercharge this simple stuff with such love
gooey teenage heartbreaking love you all
now youre crushed...baby whats the rush sings the voice
and you just wanna hear that song
and they say adam sang that song to eve
and the cherubim burned and hovered
and the fruit was heavy on the vine
and phil spector appeared
shooting at his wall of sound
be my be my baby
be my little baby
as it hits the inevitable minor chord
a million superstars finger their guitars
overdosing live on stage
tripping out on that lingering distorted blast
the drums fucking pound on regardless
the bass is a regulated squirt of speed
it remains behind mopping up stragglers
the bass niggles away insistently rubbery and black
and it hurts ....nectarine.....
the song plays for the 3rd time
the parallel universe with the best taste in classic pop is vibratin'
you never close your eyes anymore when i kiss your lips
the sun aint gonna shine anymore
and it hurts....nectarine...
i hope that jehovah got my uh telegram
and ronnie spectre appears on yer tiny blacknwhite astor screen
dont worry baby everything will turn out alright
on the porch the songs have brought summer
and the kids make out in the darkness
will the wall of sound / crashes all around
heavenly shades of night are falling
i saw her standing there on blackberry way
with the leader of the pack
(down down down)
and let me be yer shelter
and the guitars travel in yer bloodstream if you really love her
and if you could only get yer hands on a guitar
youd show her
youd show everyone
voice in another song : youve forgotten the xylophone
oh yes the xylophone is always twinkling above the song
indicating the fickle incandescent nature of the lyrics crush
twinkling like dumb little stars
reminding you
somewhat obliquely of naked 1950s women in bnw mags
and some new york traffic jam
and times square in the snow in 1954
and phil in-spectre drowns george in reverb
and the drums pound away silently like may even
and the teenage moon blushes pink in the candyland sky
and the cymbals tongue kiss the vu meters into the red
and glenn bennies got all these backwards loops
and snippets of guitar all working against each other
like thoughts that go round in round in yer head
like your underground, lover
like its left you blind
and you rush rush rush rush on by
and you think
wow!
the music all turned up in brightness so thats its going into white
and adelita singing hes a thief thief thief thief
and glenns guitar burns up in our atmosphere
and its the way he plays
this man is a pop guitar genius
a creator of dazzling arty-facts
the guy from the sydney morning herald today said
the underground lovers yeah..they never did one bad track!
and everyone nods in agreement
and it hurts....nectarine
and the acoustic guitars strum away like spanish romeo
climbing up the rose bush
and the song shudders to a halt
but i just want to hear it again
its contagious
its addictive
and it hurts.....
note
not available in this universe for some time
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
laid waste
giving off heat
my eye blurred
crash in your street
like a baby bird
yeah like a starling
like a cowling
like a white wolfe howling
a thousand little pins on that angels head
a thousand little pricks that puncture her thread
weighed down like a rock and rolling
falling out of eden
falling out of braintree lane
a white thing moves across a screen
the phone rings
a hand answers
a mouth holds on far away
a voice comes on the line
a scratching sound like rats in a ceiling
a voice from the past wheezes into life
i cant stop it from starting up
the telegraph wire stretching in the sun
the voice appears to be coming from somewhere else
a city by a sea in a faraway time
when honest bold men sailed great ships full of treasure
and women sang in the fields and
dance in the bedrooms
and the prince scaled his beloveds wall
and they sat by a tranquil pool
and the moon came along singing that song
yes it was like the sound of the tides
and the king appeared
the king of brazil
and he walked down the mountain
in a cloud of cocaine
and his feathered slaves screamed in union
and feats were performed
and time was perforated along the edge
and jesus still in the amazon with his panther
and iggy pop in his silver pants sings
soul radiation in the dead of night....
and paris judges between power intelligence and love
and no one thinks to take all three
did the goddess of love really have to bribe him?
i mean
how goodlooking do you imagine helena troy to be?
and after the war
she justa went home
like nothing happened
but it wasnt her fault
she had just been a mortal bribe
a blushing bribe
she sings to paris
you made me love you
i didnt wanna do it
i didnt wanna do it
paris sings to her
your eyes
who sees
lies ahead
your mouth
who knows
eyes ahead
and then she sings
i love paris in the moonlite
i love paris in the fall
and he sings
i know this will end in tears...
the audience are the departed
and now even they have departed
steve kilbey has left the billows
the seapool is frothy like white wine
the morning pumps like an orgone accumulator
the raindrops pitter patter thinner fatter
we test drive an old bomb and it runs outta gas
we walk miles thru the rain in anycity
the grey and smoky blackbricked walls
the hopeless noise and dust
we all look up to the sky
the king of high brazil is a golden man
he is every race combined
he gracefully waves his sceptre
and the waves stop rolling
i am the new christ ...he says in esperanto
so all can clearly understand
this is the new jerusalem/babylon
indicating a gated suburb of brasilia
a brief chariot ride
we watch the beheading of a sacrifice
we climb the one thousand steps to meet
the feather legged god of death
the king of high brazil says
lets get high
and he rolls up a one million euro note
and produces a small mirror
as i snort up eternity
i catch sight of myself
my tired old beak
my long droopy ears
my poisonous fangs
my bedraggled old wings
my blunt claws
my glaring third eye
am i such a monster ? i ask
only in certain lights...says the high king
and he slaps me on the back
do you know why you called that music the blurred crusade?
he asks me as we stand on a bridge between our two worlds
no ...i say shrugging my shoulders...
he continues
because what we're fighting for not even we understand...
i see all of high brazil stretched before me
go ...he says
you have always been high brazilian
i walk off into the jungle
why its....lemuria...
i turn to look at the high king
hes high by now
very very high
drunk upon his throne of love
and beautiful naked angels too
doing a neo classical dance routine
yes my son
he says
avalon
high brazil
lemuria
atlantis
lyonesse
welcome
all for the price of one
the jungle opened and admitted me
snakes purred at my feet
monkeys followed me on twitter
jesus and his mangy panther
wow!
just like they always said it would be
when i was a childe
my eye blurred
crash in your street
like a baby bird
yeah like a starling
like a cowling
like a white wolfe howling
a thousand little pins on that angels head
a thousand little pricks that puncture her thread
weighed down like a rock and rolling
falling out of eden
falling out of braintree lane
a white thing moves across a screen
the phone rings
a hand answers
a mouth holds on far away
a voice comes on the line
a scratching sound like rats in a ceiling
a voice from the past wheezes into life
i cant stop it from starting up
the telegraph wire stretching in the sun
the voice appears to be coming from somewhere else
a city by a sea in a faraway time
when honest bold men sailed great ships full of treasure
and women sang in the fields and
dance in the bedrooms
and the prince scaled his beloveds wall
and they sat by a tranquil pool
and the moon came along singing that song
yes it was like the sound of the tides
and the king appeared
the king of brazil
and he walked down the mountain
in a cloud of cocaine
and his feathered slaves screamed in union
and feats were performed
and time was perforated along the edge
and jesus still in the amazon with his panther
and iggy pop in his silver pants sings
soul radiation in the dead of night....
and paris judges between power intelligence and love
and no one thinks to take all three
did the goddess of love really have to bribe him?
i mean
how goodlooking do you imagine helena troy to be?
and after the war
she justa went home
like nothing happened
but it wasnt her fault
she had just been a mortal bribe
a blushing bribe
she sings to paris
you made me love you
i didnt wanna do it
i didnt wanna do it
paris sings to her
your eyes
who sees
lies ahead
your mouth
who knows
eyes ahead
and then she sings
i love paris in the moonlite
i love paris in the fall
and he sings
i know this will end in tears...
the audience are the departed
and now even they have departed
steve kilbey has left the billows
the seapool is frothy like white wine
the morning pumps like an orgone accumulator
the raindrops pitter patter thinner fatter
we test drive an old bomb and it runs outta gas
we walk miles thru the rain in anycity
the grey and smoky blackbricked walls
the hopeless noise and dust
we all look up to the sky
the king of high brazil is a golden man
he is every race combined
he gracefully waves his sceptre
and the waves stop rolling
i am the new christ ...he says in esperanto
so all can clearly understand
this is the new jerusalem/babylon
indicating a gated suburb of brasilia
a brief chariot ride
we watch the beheading of a sacrifice
we climb the one thousand steps to meet
the feather legged god of death
the king of high brazil says
lets get high
and he rolls up a one million euro note
and produces a small mirror
as i snort up eternity
i catch sight of myself
my tired old beak
my long droopy ears
my poisonous fangs
my bedraggled old wings
my blunt claws
my glaring third eye
am i such a monster ? i ask
only in certain lights...says the high king
and he slaps me on the back
do you know why you called that music the blurred crusade?
he asks me as we stand on a bridge between our two worlds
no ...i say shrugging my shoulders...
he continues
because what we're fighting for not even we understand...
i see all of high brazil stretched before me
go ...he says
you have always been high brazilian
i walk off into the jungle
why its....lemuria...
i turn to look at the high king
hes high by now
very very high
drunk upon his throne of love
and beautiful naked angels too
doing a neo classical dance routine
yes my son
he says
avalon
high brazil
lemuria
atlantis
lyonesse
welcome
all for the price of one
the jungle opened and admitted me
snakes purred at my feet
monkeys followed me on twitter
jesus and his mangy panther
wow!
just like they always said it would be
when i was a childe
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
warm impermanence
sks 2013th reverie
inside my mind now
you have just entered my mind
these are my thoughts
this is where i keep all my memories
behind that door there are forgotten things
thats the spot i wrote disappear? twenty seven odd years ago
a still and sunny afternoon in north bondi
waiting for my glenn bennie cd to show up in afternoon mail
all those songs i'd forgotten
i will be able to appraise them with new ears
i need to sneak up on my self some times
i need to surprise myself
but i always see myself coming
(ooooooh!)
never mind
in my mind
within my mind
within my mind which is sensitive n nervous like a red setter
which is cunning and hungry like a jackal
which is cold and detached like a snake
voice in another doctors waiting room : or a retina
my mind is dark like a wolfes
my mind is deep like a swedish lake and as black near the bottom
my mind so tiny and laughably small
yet still able to contain a whole universe
my mind of which i use 10 per cent
what the fuck is that other 90 per cent doing?
how can i get in touch with that?
i feel like i'm in the bit most people DONT use
and the bit they use
is the bit i cant get at
theres something wrong with me
i dont fit in
i regret it
i relish it
but i cant relinquish it
i am a fucking freak you better believe it!
why cant i leave it all in fronta me..uh..i dunno
all my latest records...i cant listen to em anymore
someone rings up
steve....
yeah...
steve...your latest record is a frickin' masterpiece my man
oh yeah
yeah man its like oh wow i dunno i mean fuck
yeah...
you fuckin' done it steve-o
yeah
seriously man....
yeah
i really fuckin' mean it man
yeah yeah sure sure
anyway youre the best man the best...
yeah thanks see ya
i rush to listen to record
i put it on
by the third bar my ears n mind have switched right off
refusing to process it
nope my mind says
next?
we dont want to hear ourselves says my creative voice
i wanna fucken hear this record screams my ego voice
i wanna unnerstand again howcome we're so great..
no says my creative voice
youre not great...youre the problem!
anyway these 2 go on at it hammer n tack
my id wades in and gets smacked in the eye
my various personae duke it out
oh who fucking cares who you really are ? asks the hedonist voice
lets get some fuckin' pleasure on board...
my wife goes strolling thru my mind...
the responsible voice whos trying to write this blog emerges
a door clangs closed
the curtains are drawn back
onstage its....some crazy old geezer
hes on thyroxin hes eaten too much chocolate
he s all doped up on goofballs
he staggers about with his black/red eye
his white beard
his golden tan
his red nose
his brown freckles
his yellow teef
hes like a rainbow
the film suddenly comes to an abrupt end
the lights come on in the theatre
the guy next to you is steve kilbey
c'mon he says
you can gimme a lift home
inside your new hovercraft
you zoom along the monotrack
after dropping him off at his hive
hes given me a brand new cd called damaged/controlled
which is basically him singing
and glenn bennie doing the music
and a very nice prince of pop music called tim doing sound
and ms p nihill singing on some tracks too
i will now give you my honest first impressions
track one : sunday
like euphoria coming on
swirling victorian shoegazing melodic and lazy n trippy
angel face sleep the lonely hours creep sings kilbey
why?
track 2 : i dont wanna know
one of those nasty songs where kilbey spits out a load
of smart-arse one liners
eg believing whatever i told myself n crawling all the shots
fast n furious
a bennie rocker!
track 3 :how do you glow?
i'll never understand how a king goes down with empty hands
sings old kilbey alluding to alex the great, elvis the king
and king odysseus strugglin to get home to neo-ithaca
meanwhile glenn bennie summons up the musical equivalent
of 2 eckies and two glasses of white fizzy wine
gorgeous stuff!
track 4 : im the one
direct and straight ahead
like a rocket sled
it just travels along on its track
the futures like butter sings kilbey (not to vegan-ly)
bennie summons up velocity with his ubiquitous guitars
track 5 : damaged/controlled
a bent outta shape pop song
damaged indeed
like sigue sigue sputnik meets crimson n clover
track 6 : nectarine
amazing
incandescent
explosive
a number one in a fair universe
sung by pn but words by sk
bennies music is the sound of
a glorious aching love gone wrong
track 7 ; underneath
like a euro rocker whatever that is
track 8 : in innocence
pn sings
a frozen wintery song
a cold afternoon song
track 9 : deranged/controlled
an instrumental
all spiky fractured n electronic
yet sad n sweet too
n wordlessly poignant
track 10 : uncertainty
album goes out on a rocker!
where was i?
oh never mind!
inside my mind now
you have just entered my mind
these are my thoughts
this is where i keep all my memories
behind that door there are forgotten things
thats the spot i wrote disappear? twenty seven odd years ago
a still and sunny afternoon in north bondi
waiting for my glenn bennie cd to show up in afternoon mail
all those songs i'd forgotten
i will be able to appraise them with new ears
i need to sneak up on my self some times
i need to surprise myself
but i always see myself coming
(ooooooh!)
never mind
in my mind
within my mind
within my mind which is sensitive n nervous like a red setter
which is cunning and hungry like a jackal
which is cold and detached like a snake
voice in another doctors waiting room : or a retina
my mind is dark like a wolfes
my mind is deep like a swedish lake and as black near the bottom
my mind so tiny and laughably small
yet still able to contain a whole universe
my mind of which i use 10 per cent
what the fuck is that other 90 per cent doing?
how can i get in touch with that?
i feel like i'm in the bit most people DONT use
and the bit they use
is the bit i cant get at
theres something wrong with me
i dont fit in
i regret it
i relish it
but i cant relinquish it
i am a fucking freak you better believe it!
why cant i leave it all in fronta me..uh..i dunno
all my latest records...i cant listen to em anymore
someone rings up
steve....
yeah...
steve...your latest record is a frickin' masterpiece my man
oh yeah
yeah man its like oh wow i dunno i mean fuck
yeah...
you fuckin' done it steve-o
yeah
seriously man....
yeah
i really fuckin' mean it man
yeah yeah sure sure
anyway youre the best man the best...
yeah thanks see ya
i rush to listen to record
i put it on
by the third bar my ears n mind have switched right off
refusing to process it
nope my mind says
next?
we dont want to hear ourselves says my creative voice
i wanna fucken hear this record screams my ego voice
i wanna unnerstand again howcome we're so great..
no says my creative voice
youre not great...youre the problem!
anyway these 2 go on at it hammer n tack
my id wades in and gets smacked in the eye
my various personae duke it out
oh who fucking cares who you really are ? asks the hedonist voice
lets get some fuckin' pleasure on board...
my wife goes strolling thru my mind...
the responsible voice whos trying to write this blog emerges
a door clangs closed
the curtains are drawn back
onstage its....some crazy old geezer
hes on thyroxin hes eaten too much chocolate
he s all doped up on goofballs
he staggers about with his black/red eye
his white beard
his golden tan
his red nose
his brown freckles
his yellow teef
hes like a rainbow
the film suddenly comes to an abrupt end
the lights come on in the theatre
the guy next to you is steve kilbey
c'mon he says
you can gimme a lift home
inside your new hovercraft
you zoom along the monotrack
after dropping him off at his hive
hes given me a brand new cd called damaged/controlled
which is basically him singing
and glenn bennie doing the music
and a very nice prince of pop music called tim doing sound
and ms p nihill singing on some tracks too
i will now give you my honest first impressions
track one : sunday
like euphoria coming on
swirling victorian shoegazing melodic and lazy n trippy
angel face sleep the lonely hours creep sings kilbey
why?
track 2 : i dont wanna know
one of those nasty songs where kilbey spits out a load
of smart-arse one liners
eg believing whatever i told myself n crawling all the shots
fast n furious
a bennie rocker!
track 3 :how do you glow?
i'll never understand how a king goes down with empty hands
sings old kilbey alluding to alex the great, elvis the king
and king odysseus strugglin to get home to neo-ithaca
meanwhile glenn bennie summons up the musical equivalent
of 2 eckies and two glasses of white fizzy wine
gorgeous stuff!
track 4 : im the one
direct and straight ahead
like a rocket sled
it just travels along on its track
the futures like butter sings kilbey (not to vegan-ly)
bennie summons up velocity with his ubiquitous guitars
track 5 : damaged/controlled
a bent outta shape pop song
damaged indeed
like sigue sigue sputnik meets crimson n clover
track 6 : nectarine
amazing
incandescent
explosive
a number one in a fair universe
sung by pn but words by sk
bennies music is the sound of
a glorious aching love gone wrong
track 7 ; underneath
like a euro rocker whatever that is
track 8 : in innocence
pn sings
a frozen wintery song
a cold afternoon song
track 9 : deranged/controlled
an instrumental
all spiky fractured n electronic
yet sad n sweet too
n wordlessly poignant
track 10 : uncertainty
album goes out on a rocker!
where was i?
oh never mind!
Monday, May 25, 2009
beware the grey shadows
the washed out glare of a bondi winter sky
as the last days of may truly came
my eye throbbed like a bitch
the light stabbed me and i flinched in its rays
my ears both gone
one of my eyes going going...
i jump on a bus to the eye specialist
the regular quack took one look n said
get thee to the i-specialist
my eye is flashing and furry and fuzzy
it looks real weird like a lemurian shamans eye
the eye doctors preps to measures n prods my eye (ouch)
i get my pupils opened right up
i read a terrible story in waiting room
how we fucked the murray valley
cut down 16 billion trees
nice work
seems trees attract rainfall
well whattya know
yet
one still feels so sorry for the farmers left
stranded by the lands sudden frigidity
the great murray river has been diverted to a standstill
its stagnant and toxic and all because.....
because theres too many of us
and we're greedy
and we're humans
and we're human
and we really think the earths resources are infinite
that the murray river could never run dry
no matter how much was taken out
finally
its all fucked up
for everybody
rare red gum trees suddenly dying out
wow
a sobering tale and close to home
did you know the sahara was once a rainforest?
trees attract rain.....dont cut another one down please
not in the amazon....ah but theyll keep going
till theyre all gone
just like the indians said we would
till the last fish
till the last tree
till the last buffalo
........
mr kilbey
the i-doc summons me in
peers into my fucked eye
seems my ocular jelly took a bit o compressing
or whatever
gotta go back next week
see if i have torn my retina
you dont wanna go blind on yer tour says i-quack
come back next week..maybe ya need a laser....
and if you feel a grey shadow coming on
then call me immediately......!
ok?
i walk back from the junction
my eyes sensitive to all the lights
photophobia
jesus the onstage lights would be murder
hope this goes away before tour!
my eyelid a lovely scarlet purple
sk
as the last days of may truly came
my eye throbbed like a bitch
the light stabbed me and i flinched in its rays
my ears both gone
one of my eyes going going...
i jump on a bus to the eye specialist
the regular quack took one look n said
get thee to the i-specialist
my eye is flashing and furry and fuzzy
it looks real weird like a lemurian shamans eye
the eye doctors preps to measures n prods my eye (ouch)
i get my pupils opened right up
i read a terrible story in waiting room
how we fucked the murray valley
cut down 16 billion trees
nice work
seems trees attract rainfall
well whattya know
yet
one still feels so sorry for the farmers left
stranded by the lands sudden frigidity
the great murray river has been diverted to a standstill
its stagnant and toxic and all because.....
because theres too many of us
and we're greedy
and we're humans
and we're human
and we really think the earths resources are infinite
that the murray river could never run dry
no matter how much was taken out
finally
its all fucked up
for everybody
rare red gum trees suddenly dying out
wow
a sobering tale and close to home
did you know the sahara was once a rainforest?
trees attract rain.....dont cut another one down please
not in the amazon....ah but theyll keep going
till theyre all gone
just like the indians said we would
till the last fish
till the last tree
till the last buffalo
........
mr kilbey
the i-doc summons me in
peers into my fucked eye
seems my ocular jelly took a bit o compressing
or whatever
gotta go back next week
see if i have torn my retina
you dont wanna go blind on yer tour says i-quack
come back next week..maybe ya need a laser....
and if you feel a grey shadow coming on
then call me immediately......!
ok?
i walk back from the junction
my eyes sensitive to all the lights
photophobia
jesus the onstage lights would be murder
hope this goes away before tour!
my eyelid a lovely scarlet purple
sk
Sunday, May 24, 2009
drinkin' is bad for ya!
nk pops out to a bar for some drinks with friends
she comes home with a bottle of bubbly
(plus)
would you like some darling i ask
yes please she says
i pull off the wrapper on the cork
you know
the aluminium white wrapper
then the cork has this bit of wire
i undo the wire and i walk to the back door
the last cork went sailing over the back fences
i love to hear it land in the dark out there
and i dont wanna wake up the sleeping kids
suddenly
BANG!
THE FUCKING CORK EXPLODES UP OUTTA THE BOTTLE
AND STRAIGHT INTO MY RIGHT EYE!!
i see a white explosion behind my eye
and i reel from the pain n shock
it got me in the eye i keep saying to nk
i sag down in the sofa
why? i keep asking
why? why?
n my eye is a swollen bloody closed up thing
gee i look real rough
i look real nasty
just when you think you have things going so smoothly
the missus the booze (the plus)
then
things blow up in yer face
literally
if it had been one of those corks with the metal tops
i'd be doing the tour as fucking long john silver with an eye patch
and this eye was already swollen from my bike accident in 1967
and now its gonna look real weird
oooh i hope it changes colour like bowies did
imagine me
one greyblue eye
one hazel alien eye
anyway
did me nearly blowing my eyeball out
stop our celebrations of saturday night?
nope
she comes home with a bottle of bubbly
(plus)
would you like some darling i ask
yes please she says
i pull off the wrapper on the cork
you know
the aluminium white wrapper
then the cork has this bit of wire
i undo the wire and i walk to the back door
the last cork went sailing over the back fences
i love to hear it land in the dark out there
and i dont wanna wake up the sleeping kids
suddenly
BANG!
THE FUCKING CORK EXPLODES UP OUTTA THE BOTTLE
AND STRAIGHT INTO MY RIGHT EYE!!
i see a white explosion behind my eye
and i reel from the pain n shock
it got me in the eye i keep saying to nk
i sag down in the sofa
why? i keep asking
why? why?
n my eye is a swollen bloody closed up thing
gee i look real rough
i look real nasty
just when you think you have things going so smoothly
the missus the booze (the plus)
then
things blow up in yer face
literally
if it had been one of those corks with the metal tops
i'd be doing the tour as fucking long john silver with an eye patch
and this eye was already swollen from my bike accident in 1967
and now its gonna look real weird
oooh i hope it changes colour like bowies did
imagine me
one greyblue eye
one hazel alien eye
anyway
did me nearly blowing my eyeball out
stop our celebrations of saturday night?
nope
Saturday, May 23, 2009
the kennedy era
first of all
let me thank our own loolabillions
who has forked out some hard won cash
and bought 4....yes 4 ..of my paintings
and i must congratulate her for her choices
the golden dragon....oh yes.....
but be careful...hes a nasty olde rep-tyle that one
he loves treasure and...well, you,ll see loola
and the ice-mare
which is a very female painting
(all my girls loved that one esp. eve who named it!)
self portrait with gold floral
that really looks like me
if i was more regal royal loyal n 'andsome
(noticing new lines in my face everyday)
and an older self portrait called shore points
which is me standing at dawn
on a beach somewhere up near my little mummys house
which coincidentally
(i notice from loolas paypal receipt)
is not far from the billions household itself..
so maybe loola...you recognize that spot
i always thought it was a good painting
i believe its all pastel no gouache
and it has a soft sad melancholy to it
nice choice!
yesterday i got steve kilbey and martin kennedy present
unseen music unheard words
which comes in such a beautiful little package
so slim
so futuristic
even the cellophane round them is immaculate
on the front martin has painted some vermillion atmosphere
some mercurian alien in front of a white hot sea
still like us earthlings
so lonely
on the back a semi -portrait of aurora kilbey
the angel of the dawn
all in crimson n gold
boy
me and martin ...you get 2 renaissance men
for the price of one
anyway heres my mini review
please note all this is my own opinion
it should not detract at all
from any interpretations
you may favour
(and dont spell space savioUr without the U!)
ok
the record kicks off with
eyes ahead
smoothly introducing the disc
how prescient my opening words:
distance aint a joke
when yer wheeless n broke....
a fragile lush simple complex song
much mention must be made of jlks b.vox
and simon polinskis mixing throughout this record
superb!
the second song is my will be yours
david sylvian materializes at times
and that little talking trumpet thingy
this is a sad wee small hours tired n emotional song
i will lose everything that i will find
again.....the words are very telling
file under nightclubby/melancholia
number 3 is stretch into the stars
a theatrical number
a ponderous number
when you embraced that creature i deplore..i sing
the song is bitter slow burning and castigating
the next one is maybe soon
light gossamer stuff
advice from a father to a childe
pretty but slightly sad
simple but alluring
a lot of peoples fave
thats my daughter miranda singing on there...
after that we have uh i dunno
the usual mix up of my life
the record turns a bit heavier here
the beat is more insistent
the song actually rocks
its a furtive dark secretive song
full of revenge and spite
6 is thought of leaving
another dark number
very melodic
jazzy trumpet too
7 is another place
this is a hard one to define
it swells up eventually into a big thing
plus i use the word nepenthe
surely a first for a rock song
number 8 is all is one
a spiritual song
a lovely song
lovely music
the music is always so just right
never too much
no fancy doo dahs
no overwrought solos
no pomp n ceremony
at 9 is love increased
with a little bit of a pome at the end
n biblical imagery
10 is the other place
a sad n whimsical piece
i almost never see your face... i sing/sigh
i know you from the other place
(as opposed to another place)
at 11 is naked as a star
which is the "sexiest" track i guess
and finishing up
is friends are gone
as desolate as a stroll round a dawn beach
or an empty cafe when youre on yer own
this is a smooth soothing mellifluous record
it is painkillers opposite
it is the warm interior
it is lush and romantic
you wont have to work hard to understand it
its easy
it goes down easy
its melodic
it pays attention to tiny details
the music is so elegantly simple
yet
yet
well martin has a knack of....
uh...i dunno...
his music contains magic
his music brought forth these words
the music is unseen
and the words
could have
remained
unheard
i think you guys are gonna love this one!
let me thank our own loolabillions
who has forked out some hard won cash
and bought 4....yes 4 ..of my paintings
and i must congratulate her for her choices
the golden dragon....oh yes.....
but be careful...hes a nasty olde rep-tyle that one
he loves treasure and...well, you,ll see loola
and the ice-mare
which is a very female painting
(all my girls loved that one esp. eve who named it!)
self portrait with gold floral
that really looks like me
if i was more regal royal loyal n 'andsome
(noticing new lines in my face everyday)
and an older self portrait called shore points
which is me standing at dawn
on a beach somewhere up near my little mummys house
which coincidentally
(i notice from loolas paypal receipt)
is not far from the billions household itself..
so maybe loola...you recognize that spot
i always thought it was a good painting
i believe its all pastel no gouache
and it has a soft sad melancholy to it
nice choice!
yesterday i got steve kilbey and martin kennedy present
unseen music unheard words
which comes in such a beautiful little package
so slim
so futuristic
even the cellophane round them is immaculate
on the front martin has painted some vermillion atmosphere
some mercurian alien in front of a white hot sea
still like us earthlings
so lonely
on the back a semi -portrait of aurora kilbey
the angel of the dawn
all in crimson n gold
boy
me and martin ...you get 2 renaissance men
for the price of one
anyway heres my mini review
please note all this is my own opinion
it should not detract at all
from any interpretations
you may favour
(and dont spell space savioUr without the U!)
ok
the record kicks off with
eyes ahead
smoothly introducing the disc
how prescient my opening words:
distance aint a joke
when yer wheeless n broke....
a fragile lush simple complex song
much mention must be made of jlks b.vox
and simon polinskis mixing throughout this record
superb!
the second song is my will be yours
david sylvian materializes at times
and that little talking trumpet thingy
this is a sad wee small hours tired n emotional song
i will lose everything that i will find
again.....the words are very telling
file under nightclubby/melancholia
number 3 is stretch into the stars
a theatrical number
a ponderous number
when you embraced that creature i deplore..i sing
the song is bitter slow burning and castigating
the next one is maybe soon
light gossamer stuff
advice from a father to a childe
pretty but slightly sad
simple but alluring
a lot of peoples fave
thats my daughter miranda singing on there...
after that we have uh i dunno
the usual mix up of my life
the record turns a bit heavier here
the beat is more insistent
the song actually rocks
its a furtive dark secretive song
full of revenge and spite
6 is thought of leaving
another dark number
very melodic
jazzy trumpet too
7 is another place
this is a hard one to define
it swells up eventually into a big thing
plus i use the word nepenthe
surely a first for a rock song
number 8 is all is one
a spiritual song
a lovely song
lovely music
the music is always so just right
never too much
no fancy doo dahs
no overwrought solos
no pomp n ceremony
at 9 is love increased
with a little bit of a pome at the end
n biblical imagery
10 is the other place
a sad n whimsical piece
i almost never see your face... i sing/sigh
i know you from the other place
(as opposed to another place)
at 11 is naked as a star
which is the "sexiest" track i guess
and finishing up
is friends are gone
as desolate as a stroll round a dawn beach
or an empty cafe when youre on yer own
this is a smooth soothing mellifluous record
it is painkillers opposite
it is the warm interior
it is lush and romantic
you wont have to work hard to understand it
its easy
it goes down easy
its melodic
it pays attention to tiny details
the music is so elegantly simple
yet
yet
well martin has a knack of....
uh...i dunno...
his music contains magic
his music brought forth these words
the music is unseen
and the words
could have
remained
unheard
i think you guys are gonna love this one!
Friday, May 22, 2009
sapienza
everybody looking for a way in
everybody looking for that gap
fate moves us round like prawns in a game
you gotta jam with what you got
you gotta look at what you got
you gotta allow it be and luxuriate
you gotta put that time in
put that time in a slot and mail it to a future
little steven reading the greek myths
oh he loved those crazy olympian knuckleheads
i learned latin cos it was an old dead language
and i wanted remember all those beautiful words again
its raining
scarlet sits in my room drawing quietly
the rain pitter patter
the wind goes shoooosh
america sits out there across the sea
its the 21st sentry and im a old washed up rocker
but wait......!
some strange thing has happened
a glimmer of a little winged hope
nah!
and yet...
i chew bubble gum
i am addicted to sweets
i love sugar
i have a sweet truth
scarlet plays with her toys
her characters mutter to each other
dad! she calls out
i turn around
not you dad ! she says
oh it was one of her characters calling out dad...i see
she doesnt want me to watch her game
she has a little bag full of things
she takes the things out and handles them with gentle wonder
shes deep in some childish reverie and it must be lovely there
i myself have been in a childish reverie for 54 years
and i have moved with the tao
and i have fallen foul of fate
and i have derailed my own train
and i opened my mouth n shot off my foot
and i counted my soy chicken pieces
before they were cooked
and how green was my veggie burger
and my pitts burger and my jolie frappe
and in australia some footballers did some naughty things
with a lady
and a bushfire flooded through another town
a man bit a sharks hand off
and i landed on my feet
and hit the course running
someone says what about p=a?
i say what about it ?
they say the theme
i say the theme on which level?
they say the level of hypnogogic doo dah
i say post doo dah or naive doo dah
they say genuine naive old school doo dah
i say which old school?
they say
why lyneham high, steven john kilbey
there you are my son
and brendan prout riding your bikes home from the pool
talking about girls
on an endless summer evening that ended five minutes later
now its a late autumn afternoon
you hop in a car on northbourne ave
and its stefan strom
his car has no seats it has...deck chairs...!
strom is under age and driving a car with no seats but...deck chairs
the chairs slide all over the place as we go round corners
and as we pull up i keep banging my head
strom seems to have the knack of it
strom is fifteen n hes driving this car
and hes "rooted" a girl
i press him for the gory details
we went to her place at lunchtime he said
as our deck chairs slid around on the cars metal floor
and she lay on a bed
and she opened her legs
and i rooted her he said
and....i said
and what...? he said
was it any good ? i asked
he seemed dismayed by the whole thing
no ...i dunno ...it was alright...he said
the car stops
i get out
in a record shop on a cold rainy canberra afternoon
i meet some svelte little sweetie
she says im half italian
as we look at the cover of umma gumma together
we stand in the listening booth together
listening to astronomy domine
the half italian touches my hair
and i feel the whole universe
and the whole history of love
compressed into that listening booth
in that long gone record shop
in that long gone afternoon
but aint that what afternoons do....they go...dont they ?
the half italian is wearing mauve cord lee cooper jeans
we kiss for a minute
her tongue is truly mediterranean
and it invades my mouth like the empress of rome
theres a knocking at the glass door of the booth
the girls older sister
they have words
she shrugs and smiles
the sister
turning round once to glare at me
leads her away into the distance
im certain we'll meet again but we never do
i float outside in the rain
where civic is beginning to get dark
i stand stupidly in the drizzle
the kiss has bewildered me
like my first snort of smack
like my first hit single
like my first car crash
like my first time up on a big stage
years later
in the fullness of time
i remembered
that i bought a record that day
i paid for it
they put it in a bag
and i walked out empty handed
and i never got to hear it
and the name of the record
which was a double vinyl album
was untitled #23
everybody looking for that gap
fate moves us round like prawns in a game
you gotta jam with what you got
you gotta look at what you got
you gotta allow it be and luxuriate
you gotta put that time in
put that time in a slot and mail it to a future
little steven reading the greek myths
oh he loved those crazy olympian knuckleheads
i learned latin cos it was an old dead language
and i wanted remember all those beautiful words again
its raining
scarlet sits in my room drawing quietly
the rain pitter patter
the wind goes shoooosh
america sits out there across the sea
its the 21st sentry and im a old washed up rocker
but wait......!
some strange thing has happened
a glimmer of a little winged hope
nah!
and yet...
i chew bubble gum
i am addicted to sweets
i love sugar
i have a sweet truth
scarlet plays with her toys
her characters mutter to each other
dad! she calls out
i turn around
not you dad ! she says
oh it was one of her characters calling out dad...i see
she doesnt want me to watch her game
she has a little bag full of things
she takes the things out and handles them with gentle wonder
shes deep in some childish reverie and it must be lovely there
i myself have been in a childish reverie for 54 years
and i have moved with the tao
and i have fallen foul of fate
and i have derailed my own train
and i opened my mouth n shot off my foot
and i counted my soy chicken pieces
before they were cooked
and how green was my veggie burger
and my pitts burger and my jolie frappe
and in australia some footballers did some naughty things
with a lady
and a bushfire flooded through another town
a man bit a sharks hand off
and i landed on my feet
and hit the course running
someone says what about p=a?
i say what about it ?
they say the theme
i say the theme on which level?
they say the level of hypnogogic doo dah
i say post doo dah or naive doo dah
they say genuine naive old school doo dah
i say which old school?
they say
why lyneham high, steven john kilbey
there you are my son
and brendan prout riding your bikes home from the pool
talking about girls
on an endless summer evening that ended five minutes later
now its a late autumn afternoon
you hop in a car on northbourne ave
and its stefan strom
his car has no seats it has...deck chairs...!
strom is under age and driving a car with no seats but...deck chairs
the chairs slide all over the place as we go round corners
and as we pull up i keep banging my head
strom seems to have the knack of it
strom is fifteen n hes driving this car
and hes "rooted" a girl
i press him for the gory details
we went to her place at lunchtime he said
as our deck chairs slid around on the cars metal floor
and she lay on a bed
and she opened her legs
and i rooted her he said
and....i said
and what...? he said
was it any good ? i asked
he seemed dismayed by the whole thing
no ...i dunno ...it was alright...he said
the car stops
i get out
in a record shop on a cold rainy canberra afternoon
i meet some svelte little sweetie
she says im half italian
as we look at the cover of umma gumma together
we stand in the listening booth together
listening to astronomy domine
the half italian touches my hair
and i feel the whole universe
and the whole history of love
compressed into that listening booth
in that long gone record shop
in that long gone afternoon
but aint that what afternoons do....they go...dont they ?
the half italian is wearing mauve cord lee cooper jeans
we kiss for a minute
her tongue is truly mediterranean
and it invades my mouth like the empress of rome
theres a knocking at the glass door of the booth
the girls older sister
they have words
she shrugs and smiles
the sister
turning round once to glare at me
leads her away into the distance
im certain we'll meet again but we never do
i float outside in the rain
where civic is beginning to get dark
i stand stupidly in the drizzle
the kiss has bewildered me
like my first snort of smack
like my first hit single
like my first car crash
like my first time up on a big stage
years later
in the fullness of time
i remembered
that i bought a record that day
i paid for it
they put it in a bag
and i walked out empty handed
and i never got to hear it
and the name of the record
which was a double vinyl album
was untitled #23
Thursday, May 21, 2009
fruit masheen
new pictures up on my art site
please go n have a look
you can click on at the right there
the golden dragon
whose subtitle should be avarice
because dragons lust after gold
even when they have no way of spending it
its a big painting
and it'd look very arresting on yer wall
or buy a print of it
theres a giant bunny i painted for aurora
theres the prophetess who is cunning and eldritch
theres a self portrait and yes i do look regal
(as opposed to ir-regal which is not nice)
theres my darlingest daughter eve
and she looks like tree spirit to me
i mean she does in real life
but this picture really captured it
theres metallic forest
which was s'posed to be part of art man n technology ex
but it got lost in my garage
theres the ice mare...no horsing around...
please stop by n check em out
and be in awe of your favourite renaissance mannes
extremely high output
yes i'm going going gone
not much painting on tour so get in there now
and BUY!
or dont....n see if i care
(may never talk to you again tho)
meanwhile at home
labouring hard over the judgement of paris
it now has 3 hounds
1 cat
i parrot
and soon one black panther
its my most ambitious painting ever mummy
but i'm getting tired of it
just as the end is in sight
next i have a couple of commissions
so this may be the last painting before my tour
i will take some art stuff with me
but usually too tired or geed up to paint
got caught in a total downpour with the doodles last night
soaked to the skin
lovely hourglass shaped wife has made dal with pappadums
n vegie doo dahs
wife tells me 4 basic shapes for women (she has read)
hour glass
apple
pear
column
now i cant stop seeing women
n categorizing em in my head
apple apple pear column column ah...hourglass...pear etc
its a very rude thing to do i guess
but no one knows
except the 1000 people who read my blog
now it seems that there are less hour glasses than ever
(statistically speaking)
and i wonder why
is it because of over eating or over exercising...
am i being a total chauvinist swine talking about this at all?
howcome the hourglasses are becoming extinct?
it seems like i'm hard wired to respond to an hour glass
or am i just a sexist pig?
help me...i'm lost here
can i help my visual stimulation
by the combination of certain curves and planes
in the female form?
nk looks like a fender strat the way she curves in
and swells back out
i cant help it
i could watch her waist all day long
the symmetry pleases me....arouses me
but i cant say why
its not happening in my logical mind
maybe its the films they had when i was a kid
you know with marilyn n all that lot...
anyway
i wonder how they categorize men?
slobs blobs spunks hunks and monkeys
in truth i do appreciate a beautiful male body
with its lines and angles
oh humans can be so different
a day on the beach will show you that
all shapes colours n sizes
i guess you gotta love everybody equally
thats the idea
almost impossible to do tho
would i love my dear wife so
without her delicate face
her deep brown eyes
her perfect white teeth
her sweet breath
her hourglass figure
her soft white skin
her soft southern accent
her naughty mind
etc etc
um.....of course i would...i suppose
voice in another room : wheres this going...?
ok time to take los kiddies to school
wet day
pay some frickin' bills
have a coffee or something
i thank the lord above
(not jehovah...he doesnt exist)
that i dont work
as in work work
ah....
nice day to be home
sk
please go n have a look
you can click on at the right there
the golden dragon
whose subtitle should be avarice
because dragons lust after gold
even when they have no way of spending it
its a big painting
and it'd look very arresting on yer wall
or buy a print of it
theres a giant bunny i painted for aurora
theres the prophetess who is cunning and eldritch
theres a self portrait and yes i do look regal
(as opposed to ir-regal which is not nice)
theres my darlingest daughter eve
and she looks like tree spirit to me
i mean she does in real life
but this picture really captured it
theres metallic forest
which was s'posed to be part of art man n technology ex
but it got lost in my garage
theres the ice mare...no horsing around...
please stop by n check em out
and be in awe of your favourite renaissance mannes
extremely high output
yes i'm going going gone
not much painting on tour so get in there now
and BUY!
or dont....n see if i care
(may never talk to you again tho)
meanwhile at home
labouring hard over the judgement of paris
it now has 3 hounds
1 cat
i parrot
and soon one black panther
its my most ambitious painting ever mummy
but i'm getting tired of it
just as the end is in sight
next i have a couple of commissions
so this may be the last painting before my tour
i will take some art stuff with me
but usually too tired or geed up to paint
got caught in a total downpour with the doodles last night
soaked to the skin
lovely hourglass shaped wife has made dal with pappadums
n vegie doo dahs
wife tells me 4 basic shapes for women (she has read)
hour glass
apple
pear
column
now i cant stop seeing women
n categorizing em in my head
apple apple pear column column ah...hourglass...pear etc
its a very rude thing to do i guess
but no one knows
except the 1000 people who read my blog
now it seems that there are less hour glasses than ever
(statistically speaking)
and i wonder why
is it because of over eating or over exercising...
am i being a total chauvinist swine talking about this at all?
howcome the hourglasses are becoming extinct?
it seems like i'm hard wired to respond to an hour glass
or am i just a sexist pig?
help me...i'm lost here
can i help my visual stimulation
by the combination of certain curves and planes
in the female form?
nk looks like a fender strat the way she curves in
and swells back out
i cant help it
i could watch her waist all day long
the symmetry pleases me....arouses me
but i cant say why
its not happening in my logical mind
maybe its the films they had when i was a kid
you know with marilyn n all that lot...
anyway
i wonder how they categorize men?
slobs blobs spunks hunks and monkeys
in truth i do appreciate a beautiful male body
with its lines and angles
oh humans can be so different
a day on the beach will show you that
all shapes colours n sizes
i guess you gotta love everybody equally
thats the idea
almost impossible to do tho
would i love my dear wife so
without her delicate face
her deep brown eyes
her perfect white teeth
her sweet breath
her hourglass figure
her soft white skin
her soft southern accent
her naughty mind
etc etc
um.....of course i would...i suppose
voice in another room : wheres this going...?
ok time to take los kiddies to school
wet day
pay some frickin' bills
have a coffee or something
i thank the lord above
(not jehovah...he doesnt exist)
that i dont work
as in work work
ah....
nice day to be home
sk
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
blue mans burden
an untitled street
a beautiful street in the new world
these un-named trees twisting and writhing in the breeze
these unknown flowers arranged in lovely clusters
san pedro like cactii with magic flesh i'm sure
walking along
its a scrumptious afternoon
it will make your memory grow fat
the gentle late autumnal sun
a mild night awaiting in the wings
yet here you are
who are you?
not the faintest idea
no name attached with certainty
no business being here or anywhere else
youre drifting along
waiting for some force to guide you
in some places the trees arc right over the street
in their cool shade is the whisper of water
in your jacket pocket
you discover the butt of a spliff
you crouch down in against a wall
the autumn sun right in your eyes
the world becomes so very still
the breezes cease to ruffle the lawns and grasses
all becomes so silent
all becomes so tranquillized
you crouch down and the sun warms behind your eyes
you stick that spliff in your mouth
its been a long time since you smoked
its been a long long time since you.....
you cant really remember anything properly
you find a lighter in your pocket
small and black it says bic
you light the spliff
draw down that aromatic acrid smoke
theres only a couple of drags in it
so you inhale deeply deeply
watching the bees pollinate the flowers
and you notice the incredible attraction between them
you hear the flowers so inaudibly sigh
as the bee fusses round
buzzing happily and collecting the pollen
squeezing into the flowers mouth and popping back out
you are outside number 23
a two story house with a driveway
unusual clouds streaked across the sky
like flat white men with long fingers
the sky becomes a washed out blue as the afternoon will fade
you exhale the smoke
a rush of intangible ideas in your head
you chase them all for a while
you waste your time trying to put them into words
they are too elusive
you are simultaneously filled with a dreamy curiosity
and a faint feeling of hysterical panic
your mouth is dry
a thousand things occur to you at once
stupid things you said
flashes of places youve been
dreams of half memories
stories you read
stories you never read
paintings of nudes
womens bodies from magazines
mathematical formulae only vaguely grasped
snatches of conversation
sunlit vistas
your mothers hands
a donkeys sad eyes
the rippling sea at dusk
an old teacher you liked
running in a race
handcuffed and led away
someone kissing your neck so expertly
fluttering fingers on your back
the hole where you fish for your own blood
the whirl of music
an argument with your rival
the warmth and quiet of bed
wintery nights and the smell of smoke
a line from an advertisement
the feeling of cold feet
a confused sentence in another tongue
the man you could have killed
the person you might have been
the clock goes tick never tock
the taste of fresh raspberries
walking in a black forest
a blast of fresh air
the smell of disinfectant
the snap of surgical gloves
the deep incision.....
the afternoon reigns on
outside number 23
gold afternoon sits
all is so quiet
a distant mower maybe drones somewhere
no...even it is now gone
outside this strangers house
suddenly
a breeze picks up
a door slams
the wind picks up
the sky darkens
a mans voice on the wind
dogs barking
planes up in the clouds
planes full of holidays business and going home
planes with all the unseen people flying off
with their unknown alibis reasons excuses religions
people sipping cocktails or perhaps just an orange juice, thanks
a palm tree swaggers in the wind
like a young man tossing back his mane of hair
the pink flowers bobble bobble on the trees
but none of them know your name
and neither do you
unseen in the late day
the dying day
the shrinking sullen but not sunken sun
still you are stoned immobile
stoned immaculate
rooted to the spot
stuck in the afternoon like a pin
caught on the days thorns that cant let you go
a siren miles away
no yesterday
no past
no dreary details
no addictions
no abortions
no treatment
no fines
no bills
no dips
no remorse
no regrets
no song to sing
no words to remember
no doubts
no debts
no nothing
what does it all mean?
how would you know?
youre just a stranger outside 23
with no name
with no number
with no anything
at all
a beautiful street in the new world
these un-named trees twisting and writhing in the breeze
these unknown flowers arranged in lovely clusters
san pedro like cactii with magic flesh i'm sure
walking along
its a scrumptious afternoon
it will make your memory grow fat
the gentle late autumnal sun
a mild night awaiting in the wings
yet here you are
who are you?
not the faintest idea
no name attached with certainty
no business being here or anywhere else
youre drifting along
waiting for some force to guide you
in some places the trees arc right over the street
in their cool shade is the whisper of water
in your jacket pocket
you discover the butt of a spliff
you crouch down in against a wall
the autumn sun right in your eyes
the world becomes so very still
the breezes cease to ruffle the lawns and grasses
all becomes so silent
all becomes so tranquillized
you crouch down and the sun warms behind your eyes
you stick that spliff in your mouth
its been a long time since you smoked
its been a long long time since you.....
you cant really remember anything properly
you find a lighter in your pocket
small and black it says bic
you light the spliff
draw down that aromatic acrid smoke
theres only a couple of drags in it
so you inhale deeply deeply
watching the bees pollinate the flowers
and you notice the incredible attraction between them
you hear the flowers so inaudibly sigh
as the bee fusses round
buzzing happily and collecting the pollen
squeezing into the flowers mouth and popping back out
you are outside number 23
a two story house with a driveway
unusual clouds streaked across the sky
like flat white men with long fingers
the sky becomes a washed out blue as the afternoon will fade
you exhale the smoke
a rush of intangible ideas in your head
you chase them all for a while
you waste your time trying to put them into words
they are too elusive
you are simultaneously filled with a dreamy curiosity
and a faint feeling of hysterical panic
your mouth is dry
a thousand things occur to you at once
stupid things you said
flashes of places youve been
dreams of half memories
stories you read
stories you never read
paintings of nudes
womens bodies from magazines
mathematical formulae only vaguely grasped
snatches of conversation
sunlit vistas
your mothers hands
a donkeys sad eyes
the rippling sea at dusk
an old teacher you liked
running in a race
handcuffed and led away
someone kissing your neck so expertly
fluttering fingers on your back
the hole where you fish for your own blood
the whirl of music
an argument with your rival
the warmth and quiet of bed
wintery nights and the smell of smoke
a line from an advertisement
the feeling of cold feet
a confused sentence in another tongue
the man you could have killed
the person you might have been
the clock goes tick never tock
the taste of fresh raspberries
walking in a black forest
a blast of fresh air
the smell of disinfectant
the snap of surgical gloves
the deep incision.....
the afternoon reigns on
outside number 23
gold afternoon sits
all is so quiet
a distant mower maybe drones somewhere
no...even it is now gone
outside this strangers house
suddenly
a breeze picks up
a door slams
the wind picks up
the sky darkens
a mans voice on the wind
dogs barking
planes up in the clouds
planes full of holidays business and going home
planes with all the unseen people flying off
with their unknown alibis reasons excuses religions
people sipping cocktails or perhaps just an orange juice, thanks
a palm tree swaggers in the wind
like a young man tossing back his mane of hair
the pink flowers bobble bobble on the trees
but none of them know your name
and neither do you
unseen in the late day
the dying day
the shrinking sullen but not sunken sun
still you are stoned immobile
stoned immaculate
rooted to the spot
stuck in the afternoon like a pin
caught on the days thorns that cant let you go
a siren miles away
no yesterday
no past
no dreary details
no addictions
no abortions
no treatment
no fines
no bills
no dips
no remorse
no regrets
no song to sing
no words to remember
no doubts
no debts
no nothing
what does it all mean?
how would you know?
youre just a stranger outside 23
with no name
with no number
with no anything
at all
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
adjustment
the arrogant lord of the winged queen
cannot remove his mask
instead time gradually wears away his youthful scorn
under his handsomeness we find another old man
its no good weeping little childe
time fills the room then suddenly departs
the animated fall still
the loud muted to silence
the wonderful becomes hidden again
i am a re explorer of sound
surely all sounds have been made and recombined
as the worlds fall and rise and fall and rise
it hurts to be just another in some long line
yet feeling so unique
yet feeling like the only one
we are many
all is one
maybe i do contain atoms of van gogh or jesus
maybe i am just a monkey with my indisposable opposable thumb
maybe im a little bit of god
maybe i am dream
maybe i am a son of earth
maybe i am heir to nothing
maybe im already running on empty
maybe all those things
maybe none of the above
thats all
some perspective
sitting here in my ivory tower
attacking silent old jehovah and all the carnivores
strumming my bass
off my face
all over the place
cannot remove his mask
instead time gradually wears away his youthful scorn
under his handsomeness we find another old man
its no good weeping little childe
time fills the room then suddenly departs
the animated fall still
the loud muted to silence
the wonderful becomes hidden again
i am a re explorer of sound
surely all sounds have been made and recombined
as the worlds fall and rise and fall and rise
it hurts to be just another in some long line
yet feeling so unique
yet feeling like the only one
we are many
all is one
maybe i do contain atoms of van gogh or jesus
maybe i am just a monkey with my indisposable opposable thumb
maybe im a little bit of god
maybe i am dream
maybe i am a son of earth
maybe i am heir to nothing
maybe im already running on empty
maybe all those things
maybe none of the above
thats all
some perspective
sitting here in my ivory tower
attacking silent old jehovah and all the carnivores
strumming my bass
off my face
all over the place
Monday, May 18, 2009
botched hit
i explode out of your head
electric guitars going up n down the keys
a chromatic mirage
in my dreams he calls me
tell em about the deadmans hand
yeah i see it all
i hear the shots
i smell the blood of dying men
i see a line of rapists in a ghetto
i see someone smashing a window
the revolution
its breaking out everywhere baby
czar peter napoleon nero charlemagne the 3rd
has ordered us to CRUSH the revolution
which revolution centurion ? some soldier asks
whichever fuckin' one they send us to boys now shut yer gob!
the song hangs over the fucked up fields of crimea
dealing out the frigging deadmans hand all over the place
read em n weep boys
barb wire and speed
mustard gas on yer breakfast?
a spear in yer guts?
a grenade implodes a foxhole and the enemy stagger out choking
kill em all kill em all! screams the fucking sergeant
with my bear hands i rip out their filthy heathen heaving souls
some fucker whacks me in the head and i reel back
oh i'm enjoying myself now
i take out my great equalizer and i let em have it
ka boom
they all fall apart in a spray of blood and quavers
that night i sit in some captured hell hole of a town
we sit around complaining
the sarge comes in
EH? WHATS ALL THIS FUCKING GRUMBLING MY LADS...?
some lancer tries to answer him
he fucking grabs the lancer
WHATS YOUR FUCKING NAME LANCER?
austin....sir
WELL AUSTIN
THE EMPIRES GOT YOU BY THE BALLS OLD SUN
SO GET ON WITH IT AND YOU MIGHT GET TO KEEP EM .....!
i suddenly wished
i had never appeared ......
the next day we down these subterranean caves
looking for osama bin judas crockett locksley and his merry men
they got it all strung like a 12 string razor
going up n down
tiny blades tinkle in the twinkling wind
mad women swaying at the back of the chorus
oh ah oh ah oh ah
i cant tell if its day or night
no sounds around me suddenly
where are we.......?
some doomed soldier will wander in the gloom forever
where are you....?
i dont fucking know
we're on the way.....
we're on the way to crush the revolution...
the wilderness years
still the bush burnt for me
i burnt the bush
and the bush spoke to me
the bush said i am jehovah
NOW KILL FOR ME!!!
and he dealt me out five cards
five AGENTS OF FORTUNE
i gasped as i saw
that i was holding the dead mans hand
beware the ricochet !screamed the sarge
as a big bald pict skewered him with his alt-rez ray
a crazy german blew out his brains in a turret
the dalmation empress with her scorched earth
bullets flying taking toll
billy dont be a hero
machine gun
hey joe i heard you shot yer old lady down
take these guns offa me
i cant shoot em any more
wear a gun n be proud
but bare breasts not allowed
ratta tat tat tat
kill em all
n let jesus the man of peace sort em out
tonite we will dine in valhalla
george harrison wades in
the drums of war pound
the bass locks on like a rocket
following yer jetplane home and flying right up yer exhaust until
KA BOOM!
the mad widows wail gone into hyperdrive
the guitars fracture
the generals crumble
the poppies grow in flanders field
we are the dead
we are the dead
on the way
to crush the revolution
which one sarge?
WHICHEVER ONE THEY FUCKIN' GOT, BOYS!
electric guitars going up n down the keys
a chromatic mirage
in my dreams he calls me
tell em about the deadmans hand
yeah i see it all
i hear the shots
i smell the blood of dying men
i see a line of rapists in a ghetto
i see someone smashing a window
the revolution
its breaking out everywhere baby
czar peter napoleon nero charlemagne the 3rd
has ordered us to CRUSH the revolution
which revolution centurion ? some soldier asks
whichever fuckin' one they send us to boys now shut yer gob!
the song hangs over the fucked up fields of crimea
dealing out the frigging deadmans hand all over the place
read em n weep boys
barb wire and speed
mustard gas on yer breakfast?
a spear in yer guts?
a grenade implodes a foxhole and the enemy stagger out choking
kill em all kill em all! screams the fucking sergeant
with my bear hands i rip out their filthy heathen heaving souls
some fucker whacks me in the head and i reel back
oh i'm enjoying myself now
i take out my great equalizer and i let em have it
ka boom
they all fall apart in a spray of blood and quavers
that night i sit in some captured hell hole of a town
we sit around complaining
the sarge comes in
EH? WHATS ALL THIS FUCKING GRUMBLING MY LADS...?
some lancer tries to answer him
he fucking grabs the lancer
WHATS YOUR FUCKING NAME LANCER?
austin....sir
WELL AUSTIN
THE EMPIRES GOT YOU BY THE BALLS OLD SUN
SO GET ON WITH IT AND YOU MIGHT GET TO KEEP EM .....!
i suddenly wished
i had never appeared ......
the next day we down these subterranean caves
looking for osama bin judas crockett locksley and his merry men
they got it all strung like a 12 string razor
going up n down
tiny blades tinkle in the twinkling wind
mad women swaying at the back of the chorus
oh ah oh ah oh ah
i cant tell if its day or night
no sounds around me suddenly
where are we.......?
some doomed soldier will wander in the gloom forever
where are you....?
i dont fucking know
we're on the way.....
we're on the way to crush the revolution...
the wilderness years
still the bush burnt for me
i burnt the bush
and the bush spoke to me
the bush said i am jehovah
NOW KILL FOR ME!!!
and he dealt me out five cards
five AGENTS OF FORTUNE
i gasped as i saw
that i was holding the dead mans hand
beware the ricochet !screamed the sarge
as a big bald pict skewered him with his alt-rez ray
a crazy german blew out his brains in a turret
the dalmation empress with her scorched earth
bullets flying taking toll
billy dont be a hero
machine gun
hey joe i heard you shot yer old lady down
take these guns offa me
i cant shoot em any more
wear a gun n be proud
but bare breasts not allowed
ratta tat tat tat
kill em all
n let jesus the man of peace sort em out
tonite we will dine in valhalla
george harrison wades in
the drums of war pound
the bass locks on like a rocket
following yer jetplane home and flying right up yer exhaust until
KA BOOM!
the mad widows wail gone into hyperdrive
the guitars fracture
the generals crumble
the poppies grow in flanders field
we are the dead
we are the dead
on the way
to crush the revolution
which one sarge?
WHICHEVER ONE THEY FUCKIN' GOT, BOYS!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
lee way from universe #23236661354
we have truly entered another universe
tonight a galaxy of our biggest stars
will congregate
for the music awards :
the influx
the jiggy bay-o-nets
the zigger jackets
all of em up for a fucking gold doo dah
yeah the gold doo dah
the big one
every rocker in our multiverse coveted it
and they only dished em out
when both moons were blue
i rock up to the awards in mercury towers
just off merlin street
yeah yeah heres my i.d.
and heres my chicks i.d.
yeah yeah naturally
im hoping that my group
the elliot crane connection will pick up some trophy
but you never know
deep down in my heart
i knew everyone there wanted the gold doo dah
i wanted it more than life itself...or even fame
enter the crowded room
theres pete dixon-radbury-wilkins-service
theres gonad
theres the girls from horizontal bombo
oh look theres billy frenum n his wife
jim crackburn deep in conversation with his manager bob dickles
i see stewart mc finks ex huddled in a corner with minx maguire
the boys from cockle tears acting all snooty
veteran songwriter john thomas hardon mingles with the street pixels
big fat greaseball mick limbo squeaks away to no one in particular
over the hill producer tom "snorter" farquar chats up beryl me-deep
etc etc
you get the picture
i see andy lee hanging by the bar and his gothic bit of fluff
yeah i kinda know him
he opened for us
we opened for him
now hes got the dudes of neptune
theve fucken cracked the american charts with the latest thing
jamming for damo...
yeah dont ask me who damo is
i dont know either
lee is standing there having a shandy or 2
the geezers stoned outta his tree on hash or something
he shakes his mop of white curls around like
some crazed watusi in negative
i stand next to him at the crowded bar
allo he says
yeah yeah andy....uh huh...hows it going
yeah good man we're off to new york sat'dy
yeah...where you playing?
at the lamb theatre he said....2 nights already sold out....
my stomach dropped
i dreamed about being able to play the lamb theatre
oh wow...i said....
yeah man.. he said...i could get you in if you like....
(i dont wanna fuckin' get in....i thought)
oh thatd be nice andy....i muttered
i drifted off to my date
that bastard andy lee n the dudes of neptune are doing the lamb!
is that good? my date asked
NO! THAT IS NOT GOOD! i yelled
attracting loads of curious n angry stares
sir denny hogwrath the chairman of the doo dahs shook his head
dinner was a lovely vegan tortine but still i couldnt forget those dudes
i ask around all the tables
have you heard this jamming for damo ?i ask
yeah its great says nick sable the singer for the true bar doors
my brother gave it to me says gary congo the bongo player...
...its good
maria von shadow digs it too
and goes on about the fourth track with its strings and doomy bass
but whats it like? i ask them all
i dunno they say...like jamming
like jamming for damo quips anita room
everyone laughs
i feel a real case of envy coming on
of course at midnight
they read the winner
who'll get the golden doo dah..?
of course by now i fancy my chances a bit more
the competition are all pissed
and none are a pretty sight
course i'm sloshed myself but i bet i still look good
i'm sure i do
tho my date wandered off with quentin crumble for a line
and she aint come back since
they read out all the preamble
bullshit bullshit rhubarb rhubarb
i lose focus
i'm just imagining me n my boys at the lamb when
i hear
the winner
is
(in the time it took to announce the name
i imagined me and i imagined accepting the award
i imagined my acceptance speech and the look on my
mum n dads faces when they heard i'd won a gold doo dah)
THE DUDES OF NEPTUNE >>>JAMMING FOR DAMO!!!!
the place erupted
my stomach sagged
my blood turned to ice
my heart beat like the clappers
i saw red
fuck this!
i stormed out
angry bitter bent on revenge
out the corner of my eye i saw lee up there
getting his award from terri nova
and shes...oh no..kissing him
telling him how she loves jfd as everyone now calls it
well who'd a thunk it?
so fuck it
i go down this dark street
theres a shop i know sells skulls n powder
i see madame chew
whats your problem boy she asks in the semi darkness
i need to get rid of something so it never existed i said
that is impossible because as our greatest scientist albrecht einhof said
matter cannot be created nor destroyed...
fuck ...i said all dejected
but it can be sent elsewhere she said
really ?i said
yes....
sent to a parallel world
a brutal philistine universe
where none may ever hear of it again
can you send it to... ? i ventured, not daring to say the name
yes! she cackled
i will send this jamming for damo
to earth!
she said her incantation thing
we both giggled
to earth....
now lets see what they make of it!
tonight a galaxy of our biggest stars
will congregate
for the music awards :
the influx
the jiggy bay-o-nets
the zigger jackets
all of em up for a fucking gold doo dah
yeah the gold doo dah
the big one
every rocker in our multiverse coveted it
and they only dished em out
when both moons were blue
i rock up to the awards in mercury towers
just off merlin street
yeah yeah heres my i.d.
and heres my chicks i.d.
yeah yeah naturally
im hoping that my group
the elliot crane connection will pick up some trophy
but you never know
deep down in my heart
i knew everyone there wanted the gold doo dah
i wanted it more than life itself...or even fame
enter the crowded room
theres pete dixon-radbury-wilkins-service
theres gonad
theres the girls from horizontal bombo
oh look theres billy frenum n his wife
jim crackburn deep in conversation with his manager bob dickles
i see stewart mc finks ex huddled in a corner with minx maguire
the boys from cockle tears acting all snooty
veteran songwriter john thomas hardon mingles with the street pixels
big fat greaseball mick limbo squeaks away to no one in particular
over the hill producer tom "snorter" farquar chats up beryl me-deep
etc etc
you get the picture
i see andy lee hanging by the bar and his gothic bit of fluff
yeah i kinda know him
he opened for us
we opened for him
now hes got the dudes of neptune
theve fucken cracked the american charts with the latest thing
jamming for damo...
yeah dont ask me who damo is
i dont know either
lee is standing there having a shandy or 2
the geezers stoned outta his tree on hash or something
he shakes his mop of white curls around like
some crazed watusi in negative
i stand next to him at the crowded bar
allo he says
yeah yeah andy....uh huh...hows it going
yeah good man we're off to new york sat'dy
yeah...where you playing?
at the lamb theatre he said....2 nights already sold out....
my stomach dropped
i dreamed about being able to play the lamb theatre
oh wow...i said....
yeah man.. he said...i could get you in if you like....
(i dont wanna fuckin' get in....i thought)
oh thatd be nice andy....i muttered
i drifted off to my date
that bastard andy lee n the dudes of neptune are doing the lamb!
is that good? my date asked
NO! THAT IS NOT GOOD! i yelled
attracting loads of curious n angry stares
sir denny hogwrath the chairman of the doo dahs shook his head
dinner was a lovely vegan tortine but still i couldnt forget those dudes
i ask around all the tables
have you heard this jamming for damo ?i ask
yeah its great says nick sable the singer for the true bar doors
my brother gave it to me says gary congo the bongo player...
...its good
maria von shadow digs it too
and goes on about the fourth track with its strings and doomy bass
but whats it like? i ask them all
i dunno they say...like jamming
like jamming for damo quips anita room
everyone laughs
i feel a real case of envy coming on
of course at midnight
they read the winner
who'll get the golden doo dah..?
of course by now i fancy my chances a bit more
the competition are all pissed
and none are a pretty sight
course i'm sloshed myself but i bet i still look good
i'm sure i do
tho my date wandered off with quentin crumble for a line
and she aint come back since
they read out all the preamble
bullshit bullshit rhubarb rhubarb
i lose focus
i'm just imagining me n my boys at the lamb when
i hear
the winner
is
(in the time it took to announce the name
i imagined me and i imagined accepting the award
i imagined my acceptance speech and the look on my
mum n dads faces when they heard i'd won a gold doo dah)
THE DUDES OF NEPTUNE >>>JAMMING FOR DAMO!!!!
the place erupted
my stomach sagged
my blood turned to ice
my heart beat like the clappers
i saw red
fuck this!
i stormed out
angry bitter bent on revenge
out the corner of my eye i saw lee up there
getting his award from terri nova
and shes...oh no..kissing him
telling him how she loves jfd as everyone now calls it
well who'd a thunk it?
so fuck it
i go down this dark street
theres a shop i know sells skulls n powder
i see madame chew
whats your problem boy she asks in the semi darkness
i need to get rid of something so it never existed i said
that is impossible because as our greatest scientist albrecht einhof said
matter cannot be created nor destroyed...
fuck ...i said all dejected
but it can be sent elsewhere she said
really ?i said
yes....
sent to a parallel world
a brutal philistine universe
where none may ever hear of it again
can you send it to... ? i ventured, not daring to say the name
yes! she cackled
i will send this jamming for damo
to earth!
she said her incantation thing
we both giggled
to earth....
now lets see what they make of it!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
unentitled to 23 chances..?
trying to understand it
is it a masterpiece...i am the last person to ask
it seems there is an oh so delicate balance
cant get any aspect wrong
then you wait for the zeitgeist
you may have to wait 20 odd years
for the next zeitgeist to come along
so be patient be very impatient
theres no sense
theres no rhyme or reason
i been making these weird yet wonderful records awhile now
i dont look gifthorses in the mouth any more
hey i'm on this bandwagon
and baybee let me tell ya
it feels kinda good
even tho i know
it may all end tomorrow
stop
bang
stumble
fumble
bumble
gone!
hey...come back...!
nope too late
now i gotta wait a double decade to come back into style
everybody got a different take
my mother rings me up
steven the singing on this record is your best yet!
damn right it is mum...im a slow learner
i had all those fancy lyrics
but i didnae know how to sing em...
some talk about the conciseness
the simplicity
the complexity
the melody
the instrumentation
let me tell you everyone who worked on this record
is excellent
dave trump who mixed about a 3rd : excellent
jorden brebach who engineered n mixed n played : excellent
sophie glasson on cello : fucking excellent cellist and intuitive master
frank kearns on bass n guitar n good vibes : a godsend
the boys in the band : theyre all masters
and then after all that
all my stars align
tim n i get our modus operandi sorted on painkiller
and we are sufficiently detached
to add the right finishing touches
i write whatever comes into my head
why pangaea someone asks
why not someone else replies
what are these songs about?
theyre about being a child in a grown up world
and vice versa
theyre about the sun and the moon and the washed up stars
theyre about 5 minutes long most of em
suddenly everyone understands us
is this because as 2012 hastens on its merry way
that the weird n the wonderful become more plausible?
is it because im singing more n more in a slightly higher register?
is it because we straddle dumb n intellectual effortlessly?
is it because if you like the beatles n floyd et al then
well why wouldnt you like the church?
no longer a sulky cultish mopish melancholy lot
we have turned into the consummate rockers
we understand and have the chops to manipulate
every fucking stylistic device in rock
we are obsessed with rock
we live n breathe rock
and we reflect all that good rock back atcha
with the love increased
with a modern touch
with my anglo/aussie take
as older n wiser wiseguys
because i do yoga n swim
n tim produces hundreds of bands
and pete teaches music
and marty is a true rocknroll gypsy
with a record collection too big to fit in rhode island
chuck it all together
with a hunger
the hunger of the misunderstood
the ones who arent getting their justified desserts
and then at the right time in the right place finally
we accidentally make u#23
random
like a meandering river
winding its way to the sea
it aint over yet
it could all fizzle
it probably will
n in some ways probably should
we dont need a fat lazy complacent church again
we dont need those arrogant smirks n cant be bothered shrugs
we need max energy
we need full thrust
we need total obsession n kicking goals
not by schmoozing
not by recycling utmw
not by doing the retro circuit or corporate circuit
but by
BEING THE BEST FUCKING BAND OF OUR TYPE REMAINING ON EARTH
i read we are influenced by u2 or coldplay or spiritualized
thats a fucking joke
oh how weary i am of that bullshit
r.e.m.?
dont make me fucking laugh
we had done 3 records before i even heard of em
the cure....are you fuckin' kiddin' me?
baby here are my influences
the beatles the stones dylan
then
trex bowie genesis
then harley strange nelson foxx
then
it ends
then i swirl it all together
n i turn into me
dont compare me to bono
im the anti bono
hes rich
im poor
hes ugly
im handsome
hes a self righteous irish berk
im a righteous aussie mofo
and i dont hob nob with the fucking pope
and i dont hang out with models at airports
and
i made 2 records before i heard his maudlin voice too
so stick the comparisons up yer achtung baby
cant they see?
I AM ME AND NO OTHER
but still i dont know really what i'm doing
but we made a record in a garage in ryde
that is somehow pushing all the right buttons
and we're actually on a load of charts
and people are calling up
going
ooooh i love yer new disc
n the snowball is off n rolling of its own accord
vishnu keep my feet on the ground
and
in the deep tranquilty of my yoga asanas
i truly realize
that
EVERYTHING IS BULLSHIT
sk
is it a masterpiece...i am the last person to ask
it seems there is an oh so delicate balance
cant get any aspect wrong
then you wait for the zeitgeist
you may have to wait 20 odd years
for the next zeitgeist to come along
so be patient be very impatient
theres no sense
theres no rhyme or reason
i been making these weird yet wonderful records awhile now
i dont look gifthorses in the mouth any more
hey i'm on this bandwagon
and baybee let me tell ya
it feels kinda good
even tho i know
it may all end tomorrow
stop
bang
stumble
fumble
bumble
gone!
hey...come back...!
nope too late
now i gotta wait a double decade to come back into style
everybody got a different take
my mother rings me up
steven the singing on this record is your best yet!
damn right it is mum...im a slow learner
i had all those fancy lyrics
but i didnae know how to sing em...
some talk about the conciseness
the simplicity
the complexity
the melody
the instrumentation
let me tell you everyone who worked on this record
is excellent
dave trump who mixed about a 3rd : excellent
jorden brebach who engineered n mixed n played : excellent
sophie glasson on cello : fucking excellent cellist and intuitive master
frank kearns on bass n guitar n good vibes : a godsend
the boys in the band : theyre all masters
and then after all that
all my stars align
tim n i get our modus operandi sorted on painkiller
and we are sufficiently detached
to add the right finishing touches
i write whatever comes into my head
why pangaea someone asks
why not someone else replies
what are these songs about?
theyre about being a child in a grown up world
and vice versa
theyre about the sun and the moon and the washed up stars
theyre about 5 minutes long most of em
suddenly everyone understands us
is this because as 2012 hastens on its merry way
that the weird n the wonderful become more plausible?
is it because im singing more n more in a slightly higher register?
is it because we straddle dumb n intellectual effortlessly?
is it because if you like the beatles n floyd et al then
well why wouldnt you like the church?
no longer a sulky cultish mopish melancholy lot
we have turned into the consummate rockers
we understand and have the chops to manipulate
every fucking stylistic device in rock
we are obsessed with rock
we live n breathe rock
and we reflect all that good rock back atcha
with the love increased
with a modern touch
with my anglo/aussie take
as older n wiser wiseguys
because i do yoga n swim
n tim produces hundreds of bands
and pete teaches music
and marty is a true rocknroll gypsy
with a record collection too big to fit in rhode island
chuck it all together
with a hunger
the hunger of the misunderstood
the ones who arent getting their justified desserts
and then at the right time in the right place finally
we accidentally make u#23
random
like a meandering river
winding its way to the sea
it aint over yet
it could all fizzle
it probably will
n in some ways probably should
we dont need a fat lazy complacent church again
we dont need those arrogant smirks n cant be bothered shrugs
we need max energy
we need full thrust
we need total obsession n kicking goals
not by schmoozing
not by recycling utmw
not by doing the retro circuit or corporate circuit
but by
BEING THE BEST FUCKING BAND OF OUR TYPE REMAINING ON EARTH
i read we are influenced by u2 or coldplay or spiritualized
thats a fucking joke
oh how weary i am of that bullshit
r.e.m.?
dont make me fucking laugh
we had done 3 records before i even heard of em
the cure....are you fuckin' kiddin' me?
baby here are my influences
the beatles the stones dylan
then
trex bowie genesis
then harley strange nelson foxx
then
it ends
then i swirl it all together
n i turn into me
dont compare me to bono
im the anti bono
hes rich
im poor
hes ugly
im handsome
hes a self righteous irish berk
im a righteous aussie mofo
and i dont hob nob with the fucking pope
and i dont hang out with models at airports
and
i made 2 records before i heard his maudlin voice too
so stick the comparisons up yer achtung baby
cant they see?
I AM ME AND NO OTHER
but still i dont know really what i'm doing
but we made a record in a garage in ryde
that is somehow pushing all the right buttons
and we're actually on a load of charts
and people are calling up
going
ooooh i love yer new disc
n the snowball is off n rolling of its own accord
vishnu keep my feet on the ground
and
in the deep tranquilty of my yoga asanas
i truly realize
that
EVERYTHING IS BULLSHIT
sk
Friday, May 15, 2009
soonwhere
somewhere different
somewhat elusive
somewhere distant
somewhat intrusive
some other place
i come from
i come from some other place
looped around each other
the universes jostle
pure space
pure conjecture
pure magic
pure dirt
refractions of your life
the way things used to be
all acceleration is off
nothing is any easier here
i bubble thru walls
i ooze under fissures
i penetrate the Mechanism
i move in an adjacent square
thats here
dont you see
i am you
you are me
scientific research all leads to no thing
emptiness at the heart of everything
everything contained in nothing in no thing
everything in moderation
everything in the past
my house with its library in nineveh
my daughters eyes in the city now under the waves
my wives from lyonesse
my twin sister from arkadia
time burns up as it enters my mind
words form on the blisters that come
snakes writhe in my garden
gold slips from my eight hands
i am a monster
i am a soldier
i am a user (yawn)
i am different
i spurn the useless
i greedily heat seeker deluxe
i warper mis-shaper
i black fire drowner dolphin eye
i am the strange one and you know it
the wriggler out of time
and time again
we converse in abstract terms
people here seem so latitudinal
the natives call it today
but we move away
people call me the killer
but they know not the truth
i knock on their doors and my 24 hour deliverance
i have suffered to be here so i thought i may as well bring you this
the tattered cosmic gossip i gleaned from my slow descent
through a thousand miles
of star-burn branded on the hide of the night
the ride of the night
the marsh of time
where i thrash
i am weakened by myself
i am nourished by the suns light
which living vegetal souls transmute into sweet chlorophyll
i am a photosynthesizer
i on close to purest light
i put it all together
i am not from here at all
not from anywhere around here
theres been a mistake
somewhere i begin to panic
theres been a mistake
cant you be more specific ?says the ambulance somnambulist
i start to fill in the questionaire
blood group ......red
sex......not now
history of mental illness....yes and geography of it too
do you have low water pressure? only when i come down in a shower
do you have any following? in some parts of that other world
have you ever discovered you were in a continent? no
can you remember yesterday? ask me tomorrow
can you still roll a double six six 6 ?
do you like to get a little ^ ?
how many * s did you get?
how many #23s have you got in the can of worms?
god moves in mysterious whales
yes there is a god of all the multi and universes
one one one
a one god is many
one total superstar
who replicated his self
everywhere
dreaming dreaming dreaming
shaping shaping shaping
warping warping warping
singing singing singing
i spellman
i gaze
i haze
i phase
i pure flange
i am you
feel it now
spirit come and feel me now
spirit come and fill me now
spirit come and take me now
i am ecstatic in the burnt spurted crystals of life
in the beginning i swam in a race with millions
all those possibilties
i outswam the fucking lot and i penetrated the Destination
and i left them outside
to thrash and die
invisible electric tiny little male lamia
screaming to get in the cocoon with me
i watched them through my membrane
as i burroughed in
as i watched myself develop into this angelic monster
as i crashed my mother victims womb
as i came to some dark fruition here in your far flung world
i realized who i was
but i hid under the cloak of personality
and i crucified myself where i didnt fit
and i scalded myself where i didnt belong
and i branded my self where i had no business
still in an embryonic stage
they asked me
what will you want to be when you grow up
i want to be a child i said when i grow up
they flew me off to a tribunal
i cowered before the intergalactic bigshots
but they sprinkled stardust up my nostrils
and golden moonlight in my eyes of grey
but i exaggerate
there were only 2 angels not 3
i have only lived for forever
time fades away
it wears a hole in my soul
i lose altitude
but still much much much higher
than i was before
somewhat elusive
somewhere distant
somewhat intrusive
some other place
i come from
i come from some other place
looped around each other
the universes jostle
pure space
pure conjecture
pure magic
pure dirt
refractions of your life
the way things used to be
all acceleration is off
nothing is any easier here
i bubble thru walls
i ooze under fissures
i penetrate the Mechanism
i move in an adjacent square
thats here
dont you see
i am you
you are me
scientific research all leads to no thing
emptiness at the heart of everything
everything contained in nothing in no thing
everything in moderation
everything in the past
my house with its library in nineveh
my daughters eyes in the city now under the waves
my wives from lyonesse
my twin sister from arkadia
time burns up as it enters my mind
words form on the blisters that come
snakes writhe in my garden
gold slips from my eight hands
i am a monster
i am a soldier
i am a user (yawn)
i am different
i spurn the useless
i greedily heat seeker deluxe
i warper mis-shaper
i black fire drowner dolphin eye
i am the strange one and you know it
the wriggler out of time
and time again
we converse in abstract terms
people here seem so latitudinal
the natives call it today
but we move away
people call me the killer
but they know not the truth
i knock on their doors and my 24 hour deliverance
i have suffered to be here so i thought i may as well bring you this
the tattered cosmic gossip i gleaned from my slow descent
through a thousand miles
of star-burn branded on the hide of the night
the ride of the night
the marsh of time
where i thrash
i am weakened by myself
i am nourished by the suns light
which living vegetal souls transmute into sweet chlorophyll
i am a photosynthesizer
i on close to purest light
i put it all together
i am not from here at all
not from anywhere around here
theres been a mistake
somewhere i begin to panic
theres been a mistake
cant you be more specific ?says the ambulance somnambulist
i start to fill in the questionaire
blood group ......red
sex......not now
history of mental illness....yes and geography of it too
do you have low water pressure? only when i come down in a shower
do you have any following? in some parts of that other world
have you ever discovered you were in a continent? no
can you remember yesterday? ask me tomorrow
can you still roll a double six six 6 ?
do you like to get a little ^ ?
how many * s did you get?
how many #23s have you got in the can of worms?
god moves in mysterious whales
yes there is a god of all the multi and universes
one one one
a one god is many
one total superstar
who replicated his self
everywhere
dreaming dreaming dreaming
shaping shaping shaping
warping warping warping
singing singing singing
i spellman
i gaze
i haze
i phase
i pure flange
i am you
feel it now
spirit come and feel me now
spirit come and fill me now
spirit come and take me now
i am ecstatic in the burnt spurted crystals of life
in the beginning i swam in a race with millions
all those possibilties
i outswam the fucking lot and i penetrated the Destination
and i left them outside
to thrash and die
invisible electric tiny little male lamia
screaming to get in the cocoon with me
i watched them through my membrane
as i burroughed in
as i watched myself develop into this angelic monster
as i crashed my mother victims womb
as i came to some dark fruition here in your far flung world
i realized who i was
but i hid under the cloak of personality
and i crucified myself where i didnt fit
and i scalded myself where i didnt belong
and i branded my self where i had no business
still in an embryonic stage
they asked me
what will you want to be when you grow up
i want to be a child i said when i grow up
they flew me off to a tribunal
i cowered before the intergalactic bigshots
but they sprinkled stardust up my nostrils
and golden moonlight in my eyes of grey
but i exaggerate
there were only 2 angels not 3
i have only lived for forever
time fades away
it wears a hole in my soul
i lose altitude
but still much much much higher
than i was before
Thursday, May 14, 2009
in between the ether and the waterline
kilbeys hypothyroidal dream
kilbey wakes up in a cold room
a blonde woman enters flicking a little bag of something
iggy sits on his chair in arkadia/lemuria
stroking a hound and a cat
the blonde says
been asleep long?
aphrodite smirks and fingers her golden apple
athene looks like mimi and caresseses her monstrous hounds
scarlet kilbey pushes my last 2 hundred dollars worth of toys
down into a black black hole
i put my hand in there
and horror of horrors something pulls me in
hera says what wood juno?
(thats a graeco- latin pun folks!)
hera takes a picture of it all with her camera
hera today gone tomorrow
iggy wears his silver pants n cuban heels
his long limp insolent hair
hes the perfect paris
the blonde says
lets get started
i watch her face
i gotta get on
i gotta get off
i gotta get under
and i cant let it go
i drop 200 mikes more of thyroxin
my thyroid starts to warm up
im a lamb bore genie stuck in third gear
the blonde says
watch this
the blonde says
can you see
the blonde says
can i put some different music on
whattya want i say
i want you she says
no i dont wanna hear me i say
it puts me off
iggy chooses aphrodite
i can make you happy jimmy she says
with what you know that should be easy... iggy quips
hera with the red hair is predictably miffed
im gonna make yer life a misery , paris hillbilly.. she says
baby
just you shut your mouth
the blonde sloshes down some bubbly n ribena
i wanna hear song for the masking she says
the song comes on
iggy taps his foot
nobody ever...ah but you want me to
now i cant concentrate on what i'm doing
some one breasted female warriors show up
from amazon.com
the blonde takes off her shirt and pants
my medicare card chop chop chop on a plate
lost in a white wilderness of female flesh
jehovah appears and says
put me on the guest list in st louis
the blonde says
do you want to stop or go on
what do you want i ask
to go on she mutters
iggy says
yeah man
dont mind me
the dogs growl
the leaves n vines tangle
the love is increased
i say wow
the blonde says
hang on im feeling a bit dizzy
aphrodite says
a golden apple ...well whaddya know?
athene says i coulda burned yer fate in the sand
hera says i coulda given ya a six * review
everyone else says oh killer be careful now
steve kilbey says shucks folks...i'm always careful
my dentist says
your enamel is fucked!
my doctor says
your liver is semi fucked
my ear quack says
its disgustin' whattya did to yer ears
my accountant says
they want yer balls over two easy installments
the kids say can we go on yer computer
the neighbours say
oh he was such a quiet man
the hyperbole says !!!!!!!!!!!
the blonde says
ok...i'm ready to begin again
she says
im fighting just to feel it
but i'm gonna reveal it
yes i say
let everything be revealed
no one mentioned utmw
how strange!
kilbey wakes up in a cold room
a blonde woman enters flicking a little bag of something
iggy sits on his chair in arkadia/lemuria
stroking a hound and a cat
the blonde says
been asleep long?
aphrodite smirks and fingers her golden apple
athene looks like mimi and caresseses her monstrous hounds
scarlet kilbey pushes my last 2 hundred dollars worth of toys
down into a black black hole
i put my hand in there
and horror of horrors something pulls me in
hera says what wood juno?
(thats a graeco- latin pun folks!)
hera takes a picture of it all with her camera
hera today gone tomorrow
iggy wears his silver pants n cuban heels
his long limp insolent hair
hes the perfect paris
the blonde says
lets get started
i watch her face
i gotta get on
i gotta get off
i gotta get under
and i cant let it go
i drop 200 mikes more of thyroxin
my thyroid starts to warm up
im a lamb bore genie stuck in third gear
the blonde says
watch this
the blonde says
can you see
the blonde says
can i put some different music on
whattya want i say
i want you she says
no i dont wanna hear me i say
it puts me off
iggy chooses aphrodite
i can make you happy jimmy she says
with what you know that should be easy... iggy quips
hera with the red hair is predictably miffed
im gonna make yer life a misery , paris hillbilly.. she says
baby
just you shut your mouth
the blonde sloshes down some bubbly n ribena
i wanna hear song for the masking she says
the song comes on
iggy taps his foot
nobody ever...ah but you want me to
now i cant concentrate on what i'm doing
some one breasted female warriors show up
from amazon.com
the blonde takes off her shirt and pants
my medicare card chop chop chop on a plate
lost in a white wilderness of female flesh
jehovah appears and says
put me on the guest list in st louis
the blonde says
do you want to stop or go on
what do you want i ask
to go on she mutters
iggy says
yeah man
dont mind me
the dogs growl
the leaves n vines tangle
the love is increased
i say wow
the blonde says
hang on im feeling a bit dizzy
aphrodite says
a golden apple ...well whaddya know?
athene says i coulda burned yer fate in the sand
hera says i coulda given ya a six * review
everyone else says oh killer be careful now
steve kilbey says shucks folks...i'm always careful
my dentist says
your enamel is fucked!
my doctor says
your liver is semi fucked
my ear quack says
its disgustin' whattya did to yer ears
my accountant says
they want yer balls over two easy installments
the kids say can we go on yer computer
the neighbours say
oh he was such a quiet man
the hyperbole says !!!!!!!!!!!
the blonde says
ok...i'm ready to begin again
she says
im fighting just to feel it
but i'm gonna reveal it
yes i say
let everything be revealed
no one mentioned utmw
how strange!
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
(st)even as we speak
ha!
at the moment u#23 is sitting at 35 on amazon rock chart
54 on music chart
i am so stoked i'm gonna explode
the good reviews continue to roll in
billboard
newspapers all over the u.s. are giving u#23 the thumbs up
could it really be happening?
i am breathless with excitement
like i'm waiting for a big wave to pick me up
can it really be that the churches time has come (again)
just when i was giving up on the old nag
shes jumped up n bolting for a last minute run
the church : an overnight success
oh god please let it happen
the taxman is on my freckled back and breathing down my neck
please let me roll one more double six
and i'll never complain again
oh laksmi goddess of fortune
send me some sold out gigs and some more good reviews
deliver me a wider audience
let us rock with aplomb
my oh my
i aint been so vibed since.....starfish...
well whattya know
you guys knew it all along
you believed even when i didnt
i want to thank the mysterious n generous KLK
without whom (seriously) u#23 never wooda been made
KEVIN I LOVE YOU! (in a masculine way of course)
if youre digging it
think of this guy who made it possible
and made the last 11 years possible to get here
and has asked nothing in return
A TRUE MODERN PATRON OF THE ARTS!!!!
and now you backed a good one klk n im real happy
meanwhile im surely but steadily selling some paintings
in pittsburgh...thank you kimbo n ms eek
meanwhile while im writing this
@#$#%^ ing scarlet has just chucked all of eve n auroras little pets
down a dark black crack in some bricks
where from they will NEVER be retrieved
much gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair to be expected
at least 200 hundred bucks worth of toys gone!
oh my lord
scarlet will have to go in a protection plan
cos the doodles are gonna want her blood
im almost crying myself at the magnitude of this crime
scarlet looks shocked by whats shes done
oh god the doodles are gonna go ballistic!!!!
meanwhile i'm working on my greek myths paintings
iggy pop as paris chooses out of 3 saucy goddesses
and lotsa dogs and arcadian foliage and its BIG!
anyway
what will happen next
stay tuned
killer!
!
at the moment u#23 is sitting at 35 on amazon rock chart
54 on music chart
i am so stoked i'm gonna explode
the good reviews continue to roll in
billboard
newspapers all over the u.s. are giving u#23 the thumbs up
could it really be happening?
i am breathless with excitement
like i'm waiting for a big wave to pick me up
can it really be that the churches time has come (again)
just when i was giving up on the old nag
shes jumped up n bolting for a last minute run
the church : an overnight success
oh god please let it happen
the taxman is on my freckled back and breathing down my neck
please let me roll one more double six
and i'll never complain again
oh laksmi goddess of fortune
send me some sold out gigs and some more good reviews
deliver me a wider audience
let us rock with aplomb
my oh my
i aint been so vibed since.....starfish...
well whattya know
you guys knew it all along
you believed even when i didnt
i want to thank the mysterious n generous KLK
without whom (seriously) u#23 never wooda been made
KEVIN I LOVE YOU! (in a masculine way of course)
if youre digging it
think of this guy who made it possible
and made the last 11 years possible to get here
and has asked nothing in return
A TRUE MODERN PATRON OF THE ARTS!!!!
and now you backed a good one klk n im real happy
meanwhile im surely but steadily selling some paintings
in pittsburgh...thank you kimbo n ms eek
meanwhile while im writing this
@#$#%^ ing scarlet has just chucked all of eve n auroras little pets
down a dark black crack in some bricks
where from they will NEVER be retrieved
much gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair to be expected
at least 200 hundred bucks worth of toys gone!
oh my lord
scarlet will have to go in a protection plan
cos the doodles are gonna want her blood
im almost crying myself at the magnitude of this crime
scarlet looks shocked by whats shes done
oh god the doodles are gonna go ballistic!!!!
meanwhile i'm working on my greek myths paintings
iggy pop as paris chooses out of 3 saucy goddesses
and lotsa dogs and arcadian foliage and its BIG!
anyway
what will happen next
stay tuned
killer!
!
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
tuesday afternoon
having a good tuesday
the album continues to get rave reviews
see all music guide they gave it 4 n a half *s
then got the news some more paintings have sold
we're gonna release art man n technology as a cd n pic set
maybe even in time for u.s. tour
martin kennedy also says k/k could be ready for u.s.
i got my visa yessaday...phew!
ya never know if i will or or wont
and i feel very tentative until its
in my pudgy little hands
but....here it is
san diego till quebec city
its a long haul
natch i will be keeping my online diary of the tour
and you can read it all about it here
have any of you ever read diary of a rocknroll star ?
by ian hunter
wow thats a great read about mott the hooples tour of states
lots of great and honest insights
including his frequent "tummy troubles"
a book to be tracked down n devoured
actually looking forward to this tour
simply because we have metamorphosed into such a good band
the others have gone on improving
and i took some quantum leaps
we will be energetic and convincing
we will rock you long time
we are the church and this time its personal
(whatever that means....)
something has changed
something has finally shifted
something has opened
we will hammer home every punch
we will play all the notes
i will sing all the words
tim powles keeps beating rhythm to the brain
my bass will kick you in the guts
like fifteen hoodlums in a dark alley
the guitars will jingle jangle jungle
the guitars will allude to forgotten lives
the melodies will make you laugh and cry
the strangeness
the familiarity
the toll of time
our weight of years
no certainty attached...this could be the last time
steve couldbey and the last times
oh god we are gonna rock em in the east n west
oh god we gonna roll em in the north
(but no south....which is verily mah favourite)
the church...can you fucking believe it?
our first tour of u.s. in 1984.....25 years ago
now in 2009
3 years before this world s'posed to end
just like science fiction
we rise from the ashes of all our problems
we make this one (last?) killa record
we get it all in there
the agony n the ecstasy
the acid and the ice
the speed and the velocity
the brilliance of 4 individuals
now masters on their instruments
bending their focus on a single white hot musical ray
and knocking all of yer dicks in the dirt
(even if ya aint got one......so watch out!)
and its fun
and its a clean family show
(except for all them dirty dicks of course)
and its got love all over n in it
some of you will agree when you have seen us
it was the best rock show you ever saw
there again...you may not
anyhow
the album continues to get rave reviews
see all music guide they gave it 4 n a half *s
then got the news some more paintings have sold
we're gonna release art man n technology as a cd n pic set
maybe even in time for u.s. tour
martin kennedy also says k/k could be ready for u.s.
i got my visa yessaday...phew!
ya never know if i will or or wont
and i feel very tentative until its
in my pudgy little hands
but....here it is
san diego till quebec city
its a long haul
natch i will be keeping my online diary of the tour
and you can read it all about it here
have any of you ever read diary of a rocknroll star ?
by ian hunter
wow thats a great read about mott the hooples tour of states
lots of great and honest insights
including his frequent "tummy troubles"
a book to be tracked down n devoured
actually looking forward to this tour
simply because we have metamorphosed into such a good band
the others have gone on improving
and i took some quantum leaps
we will be energetic and convincing
we will rock you long time
we are the church and this time its personal
(whatever that means....)
something has changed
something has finally shifted
something has opened
we will hammer home every punch
we will play all the notes
i will sing all the words
tim powles keeps beating rhythm to the brain
my bass will kick you in the guts
like fifteen hoodlums in a dark alley
the guitars will jingle jangle jungle
the guitars will allude to forgotten lives
the melodies will make you laugh and cry
the strangeness
the familiarity
the toll of time
our weight of years
no certainty attached...this could be the last time
steve couldbey and the last times
oh god we are gonna rock em in the east n west
oh god we gonna roll em in the north
(but no south....which is verily mah favourite)
the church...can you fucking believe it?
our first tour of u.s. in 1984.....25 years ago
now in 2009
3 years before this world s'posed to end
just like science fiction
we rise from the ashes of all our problems
we make this one (last?) killa record
we get it all in there
the agony n the ecstasy
the acid and the ice
the speed and the velocity
the brilliance of 4 individuals
now masters on their instruments
bending their focus on a single white hot musical ray
and knocking all of yer dicks in the dirt
(even if ya aint got one......so watch out!)
and its fun
and its a clean family show
(except for all them dirty dicks of course)
and its got love all over n in it
some of you will agree when you have seen us
it was the best rock show you ever saw
there again...you may not
anyhow
Monday, May 11, 2009
karma
(commissioned by craigie p)
up until 1971
i and most of the western world
had never heard of karma
then john lennon
appeared on tv with his new single
instant karma
and i still didnt know what it meant
but it sure was a groovy word to chuck around
instant karmas gonna get you
gonna knock you right off your feet
wow
those primitive drums
and what about that fucking drum roll about halfway thru
it sounds mathematically impossible
how he crams that much drumming into such a short space
and lennon
like hes talking down the phone at ya
like he really knows what hes talking about
like a semi- detached english bob dylan with his hip putdowns
karma baby
yeah!
whoah!
instant karma ...its like instant...aint it?
instantly everyone started talking about karma
oh man it was his karma
watchout for karma
your karma ran over my dogma
and soon even kids at school (the cool ones)
were using the word
the concept of karma was kinda invented by the hindus
and pretty much adopted by buddhism
seeing how buddha was originally a hindu
it is unsurprising therefore
that he chose to keep karma as part of his trip
in the west we have long known an aspect of karma
but we have called it
the law of cause and effect
we westerners have mainly applied this to technical
or scientific events
not really acknowledging the whole spectrum of cause and effect
vis a vis personal spiritual or even national karma
that is what goes around comes around
even if you dont think it will
it will
karma is not administered by some god in judgement
it is an automatic law that functions like gravity
especially when you consider the old adage
what goes up must come down
vishnu or shiva or krishna or
(insert name of fave god here)
dont look down saying oh that..
(insert name here)
has gone and done some naughty things
or has gone and done some very nice things
(yes theres good karma too!)
its like if you fall off a ladder you hit the floor
not an act of god
now the complexities of karma are manifold
not least of which is that it can stretch over many lifetimes
skipping some and then bang
something naughty or nice you did five lifetimes ago
finally catches up with you...
and it seems that outta the blue
all these bad or good things begin to happen
but karma is a shaping inexorable force behind everything
and you sometimes see in hindu literature
the picture of a man with a bulls head
chopping off the head of a man on a cows body
obviously the man is terrified
yet the bull snorts with blood lust
you see
what you do will be dished out back to you
karma can work backwards and forwards in time
it can move anywhere and anyhow it likes
it is often instant or quick
and you often get to see the villains getting their comeuppance
it is not often possible to trace karmic events
murdering idiots seem to get off scott free
while gentle martyrs cop the slings and arrows
i dont know
its a concept
in my own life i have observed it
i have felt its hand
i have been knocked off my feet by it
its so simple : be good n sooner or later good will come back
and vice versa natch
especially vice versa
if yer a miserable sod things wont be very nice
believe me
if you try to be nice
well people MAY try to be nice to you
its a win/win situation
but not all karma is instant
so your niceness may come back in other ways
it definitely cant hurt
it has seemed to work in my life
voice in another lifetime : the few times he was nice..
it only seems logical after all, doesnt it ?
do as you would be done by
easy to say but hard to do
just like all the very best ideas
thats why you hardly ever meet a real saint
all you got
is
the saint who is no saint
voice in another song : thats the one thing he aint
sigh
ok
thanks craigie p
up until 1971
i and most of the western world
had never heard of karma
then john lennon
appeared on tv with his new single
instant karma
and i still didnt know what it meant
but it sure was a groovy word to chuck around
instant karmas gonna get you
gonna knock you right off your feet
wow
those primitive drums
and what about that fucking drum roll about halfway thru
it sounds mathematically impossible
how he crams that much drumming into such a short space
and lennon
like hes talking down the phone at ya
like he really knows what hes talking about
like a semi- detached english bob dylan with his hip putdowns
karma baby
yeah!
whoah!
instant karma ...its like instant...aint it?
instantly everyone started talking about karma
oh man it was his karma
watchout for karma
your karma ran over my dogma
and soon even kids at school (the cool ones)
were using the word
the concept of karma was kinda invented by the hindus
and pretty much adopted by buddhism
seeing how buddha was originally a hindu
it is unsurprising therefore
that he chose to keep karma as part of his trip
in the west we have long known an aspect of karma
but we have called it
the law of cause and effect
we westerners have mainly applied this to technical
or scientific events
not really acknowledging the whole spectrum of cause and effect
vis a vis personal spiritual or even national karma
that is what goes around comes around
even if you dont think it will
it will
karma is not administered by some god in judgement
it is an automatic law that functions like gravity
especially when you consider the old adage
what goes up must come down
vishnu or shiva or krishna or
(insert name of fave god here)
dont look down saying oh that..
(insert name here)
has gone and done some naughty things
or has gone and done some very nice things
(yes theres good karma too!)
its like if you fall off a ladder you hit the floor
not an act of god
now the complexities of karma are manifold
not least of which is that it can stretch over many lifetimes
skipping some and then bang
something naughty or nice you did five lifetimes ago
finally catches up with you...
and it seems that outta the blue
all these bad or good things begin to happen
but karma is a shaping inexorable force behind everything
and you sometimes see in hindu literature
the picture of a man with a bulls head
chopping off the head of a man on a cows body
obviously the man is terrified
yet the bull snorts with blood lust
you see
what you do will be dished out back to you
karma can work backwards and forwards in time
it can move anywhere and anyhow it likes
it is often instant or quick
and you often get to see the villains getting their comeuppance
it is not often possible to trace karmic events
murdering idiots seem to get off scott free
while gentle martyrs cop the slings and arrows
i dont know
its a concept
in my own life i have observed it
i have felt its hand
i have been knocked off my feet by it
its so simple : be good n sooner or later good will come back
and vice versa natch
especially vice versa
if yer a miserable sod things wont be very nice
believe me
if you try to be nice
well people MAY try to be nice to you
its a win/win situation
but not all karma is instant
so your niceness may come back in other ways
it definitely cant hurt
it has seemed to work in my life
voice in another lifetime : the few times he was nice..
it only seems logical after all, doesnt it ?
do as you would be done by
easy to say but hard to do
just like all the very best ideas
thats why you hardly ever meet a real saint
all you got
is
the saint who is no saint
voice in another song : thats the one thing he aint
sigh
ok
thanks craigie p
Sunday, May 10, 2009
plain crash
sister
i am a shard
i am as brittle
as i am hard
i am as stupid
as i am smart
here as i am
lodged in your heart
meanwhile
on a cold sunday afternoon
on a beach
on a hill
in a faded sepia photograph
everyones life oozes out in congealing moments
i had dug a hook deep into the night
but morning had dragged me down by my heels
and i tumbled onto the floor moaning
my mind lay exposed
and i picked amongst the exploded suitcases
and tickets flew away into the wind
and i walked across a bare field after them
and the forests whispered amongst them selves allaround
people rifled through my memories
people took out my poor old re-examined childhood
people pretended to live my life
they tried to imagine it
my mother came out and-a shushed them all away
go home you stupid children ! she muttered as she slammed the front door
roses grew up over wrought-iron trellises
aunty fruity had come around to seduce me
but mummy didnt want me stay with her
but....
aunty fruity took off her nightie
her white english flesh was like peaches and cream
steven can you help me with this ?she said
i crossed the room
the lovely timber floors
the crimson curtains
steven can you bring me my wine?
aunty fruity had a goblet full of yellow bubbling wine
she was smoking a cigarette too
steven can you rub my beauty ointment into my back?
she rolled onto her stomach
her back was like the steppes of russia to me
plains and hills and gentle undulation
steven?
yes aunty fruity.....
steven are you going to rub in my ointment?
the ointment came out of the tube with a little squelch
it sat on my fingers cool and viscous
it had a lovely smell
i have never smelt that smell since
somewhere between medicinal and sickly floral
i applied it to her shoulders and i rubbed it in
my fingers took to it instantly
my fingers hummed and vibrated all over aunty fruitys white back
ooh thats nice steven said aunty fruity and wriggling a bit
the phone rang
it was my mother asking if i had been behaving myself
as good as gold said aunty fruity winking at me
a song came on the radio
there was a kind of sitar guitar riff
the singer wailed behind a wall of phase
in the memories of unforgotten dreams
the bass guitar climbed out of the speakers
and bounced around the room
like a big rubbery shadow
it was nebulous and insistent
i was kissing something white and soft
the smell of the ointment in my flaring nostrils
the music on the radio blared orgiastically
the speakers quivered and responded
the low end rumbled and pumped
my memory was rupturing
steven?
yes aunty fruity...?!
ooh yes love just there
just like that
oh i'm all tense
oh thats nice
youre very good at this, arent you...?
the phone rings
its uncle hugo
he yells down the phone at aunty fruity
piss off then !she says as she hangs up
she giggles and curls up on her side
silly man! she says
steven?
yes aunty fruity....
those damp boardshorts will chafe your thighs
aunty fruity looked at my thighs
yes dear theyre all chafed
she began to rub in her beauty ointment on my thighs
does that feel better dear? she asked as she rubbed n rubbed
a bee was caught in the window
it buzzed against the screen
i could hear it over the psychedelic racket on the radio
aunty fruity pauses in her ministrations
maybe a little here she says
yes aunty fruity i say
thats very nice indeed i say
suddenly the memory stops
i shake out the bag but its empty
i squeeze the tube but its gone
its not then
i'm standing here in this field
and its getting dark
and i'm on my own out here
looking through my old stuff
thats blowing across these barren fields
and catching on the light
the debris of a lifetime
exploded all over the place
the true and the false
intermingled
forever
i am a shard
i am as brittle
as i am hard
i am as stupid
as i am smart
here as i am
lodged in your heart
meanwhile
on a cold sunday afternoon
on a beach
on a hill
in a faded sepia photograph
everyones life oozes out in congealing moments
i had dug a hook deep into the night
but morning had dragged me down by my heels
and i tumbled onto the floor moaning
my mind lay exposed
and i picked amongst the exploded suitcases
and tickets flew away into the wind
and i walked across a bare field after them
and the forests whispered amongst them selves allaround
people rifled through my memories
people took out my poor old re-examined childhood
people pretended to live my life
they tried to imagine it
my mother came out and-a shushed them all away
go home you stupid children ! she muttered as she slammed the front door
roses grew up over wrought-iron trellises
aunty fruity had come around to seduce me
but mummy didnt want me stay with her
but....
aunty fruity took off her nightie
her white english flesh was like peaches and cream
steven can you help me with this ?she said
i crossed the room
the lovely timber floors
the crimson curtains
steven can you bring me my wine?
aunty fruity had a goblet full of yellow bubbling wine
she was smoking a cigarette too
steven can you rub my beauty ointment into my back?
she rolled onto her stomach
her back was like the steppes of russia to me
plains and hills and gentle undulation
steven?
yes aunty fruity.....
steven are you going to rub in my ointment?
the ointment came out of the tube with a little squelch
it sat on my fingers cool and viscous
it had a lovely smell
i have never smelt that smell since
somewhere between medicinal and sickly floral
i applied it to her shoulders and i rubbed it in
my fingers took to it instantly
my fingers hummed and vibrated all over aunty fruitys white back
ooh thats nice steven said aunty fruity and wriggling a bit
the phone rang
it was my mother asking if i had been behaving myself
as good as gold said aunty fruity winking at me
a song came on the radio
there was a kind of sitar guitar riff
the singer wailed behind a wall of phase
in the memories of unforgotten dreams
the bass guitar climbed out of the speakers
and bounced around the room
like a big rubbery shadow
it was nebulous and insistent
i was kissing something white and soft
the smell of the ointment in my flaring nostrils
the music on the radio blared orgiastically
the speakers quivered and responded
the low end rumbled and pumped
my memory was rupturing
steven?
yes aunty fruity...?!
ooh yes love just there
just like that
oh i'm all tense
oh thats nice
youre very good at this, arent you...?
the phone rings
its uncle hugo
he yells down the phone at aunty fruity
piss off then !she says as she hangs up
she giggles and curls up on her side
silly man! she says
steven?
yes aunty fruity....
those damp boardshorts will chafe your thighs
aunty fruity looked at my thighs
yes dear theyre all chafed
she began to rub in her beauty ointment on my thighs
does that feel better dear? she asked as she rubbed n rubbed
a bee was caught in the window
it buzzed against the screen
i could hear it over the psychedelic racket on the radio
aunty fruity pauses in her ministrations
maybe a little here she says
yes aunty fruity i say
thats very nice indeed i say
suddenly the memory stops
i shake out the bag but its empty
i squeeze the tube but its gone
its not then
i'm standing here in this field
and its getting dark
and i'm on my own out here
looking through my old stuff
thats blowing across these barren fields
and catching on the light
the debris of a lifetime
exploded all over the place
the true and the false
intermingled
forever
Saturday, May 09, 2009
write on ! (3)
i just read yesterday
possibly the nicest thing
that anybody ever said about our music
mr verdelay on hotel womb
wrote something like
i love this album
and i want to find more ways of talking about it...
and in those most simple words
especially as we all know verdelay can turn on a burst ...
but this simple emotion so frankly and guilelessly put
hit my heart harder
than all that brilliant wordy stuff
honourable mention to altres
whose enthusiastic gush also made my day
and
there is a lesson to be learnt in this
i remember my brother russell showing me something
something he'd written
a script or a treatment or something
now i had previously felt that russells stuff was never quite as
"special" as mine
but today
his writing was so clean
so minimal
suggesting so much in such few words
bereft of even one unnecessary adjective
the whole piece was like an aerodynamic glide
no friction no pull
it was a joy to read
it suddenly made most of my stuff seem
so overwrought
(witness bits of earthed where the fucking adjectives pile up
like verbal corpses)
and i really learned something that day
something that had never ever occurred to me
sometimes simplest is best
you see
a writer has a lot of choices
and an english writer has a lot more choices
than writers in some languages (swedish for example)
because english has a lotta words baby
yes and even wise guys like me dont know the half of em
so think about it
when you wanna chuck an archaic latinate word in there ....
is it really the best thing?
i think practice makes perfect too
and you gotta write n write n write
it took me a while to find my feet on here
and it'll take you a while to find your own feet out there
dont give up cos youre writing what you think is rubbish
nobody really knows about their own stuff
and great writers go off the rails
and idiots can come good
and after all
you got all the same words as philip k dick or j d salinger
so whats stopping ya?
i dont think theres a short cut
even if you are a genius
you have to stumble round in the wilderness for a while
then...
then...
then one day
a phrase slips out
and you
you marvel
did i write that?
that poignant and effortless phrase...?
and you begin to see a light
and you suddenly say
hang on
thats it!
and maybe for a brief moment
you can see
your "in"
your own way in to the mystery of writing
so many different types of writing
travel writing for example
you dont want baudelaire writing a travel piece
youd never wanna go there wherever he wrote about
you dont want enid blyton writing about carnivale in rio
you dont want henry miller reporting on the funeral of a princess
you dont want james joyce writing the car reviews
you dont want steve frickin' kilbey writing the footy guide
you dont want edward lear doing the restaurant reviews
am i making myself clear here...?
horses for courses
you may be a surrealistic whirlwind
but you cant describe a bowl of fruit
you may have a delightful naive sensibility
but your attempts at beat poetry are the pitts
i dont know
be what you could all my friends say
be what you could
a simple twist
take everything ordinary
twist it ever so slightly
change one tiny piece of a pattern
re-present concepts in a new light
yes i read ryans travel writing in some mags
and guess what
i ceased to think about his writing
and i just thought about the place where he was
his sore feet
the camels
the horrible food
and his writing became transparent
and revealed through his eyes
the places he was travelling through
this is exactly how it should be
a travel magazine shouldnt dazzle ya with fancy language
its all about the travel
and much writing is like that
you must be able to subsume yourself
like a record producer
some writers stamp themselves all over it
while others allow things to be but with their subtle guidance
oh there are some beautiful parts in the bible too
pages n pages of rolling words sublime and fragrant
and this is part of the "good" books appeal
it has such an iconic beginning
in the beginning god created the heaven and the earth
it brooks no disagreement
its succinct and all inclusive
it leaves no loop holes
a masterful beginning to a book
one can learn a lot from the bible...
unfortunately reality is not one of them...
any way
ive blthered on n on
not mentioned philip pullman (marvellous!)
proust (marvellous!)
and loadsa others
not covered the half of it
but ok
thatll do for now i guess
now go on
write a masterpiece
i dare ya!
possibly the nicest thing
that anybody ever said about our music
mr verdelay on hotel womb
wrote something like
i love this album
and i want to find more ways of talking about it...
and in those most simple words
especially as we all know verdelay can turn on a burst ...
but this simple emotion so frankly and guilelessly put
hit my heart harder
than all that brilliant wordy stuff
honourable mention to altres
whose enthusiastic gush also made my day
and
there is a lesson to be learnt in this
i remember my brother russell showing me something
something he'd written
a script or a treatment or something
now i had previously felt that russells stuff was never quite as
"special" as mine
but today
his writing was so clean
so minimal
suggesting so much in such few words
bereft of even one unnecessary adjective
the whole piece was like an aerodynamic glide
no friction no pull
it was a joy to read
it suddenly made most of my stuff seem
so overwrought
(witness bits of earthed where the fucking adjectives pile up
like verbal corpses)
and i really learned something that day
something that had never ever occurred to me
sometimes simplest is best
you see
a writer has a lot of choices
and an english writer has a lot more choices
than writers in some languages (swedish for example)
because english has a lotta words baby
yes and even wise guys like me dont know the half of em
so think about it
when you wanna chuck an archaic latinate word in there ....
is it really the best thing?
i think practice makes perfect too
and you gotta write n write n write
it took me a while to find my feet on here
and it'll take you a while to find your own feet out there
dont give up cos youre writing what you think is rubbish
nobody really knows about their own stuff
and great writers go off the rails
and idiots can come good
and after all
you got all the same words as philip k dick or j d salinger
so whats stopping ya?
i dont think theres a short cut
even if you are a genius
you have to stumble round in the wilderness for a while
then...
then...
then one day
a phrase slips out
and you
you marvel
did i write that?
that poignant and effortless phrase...?
and you begin to see a light
and you suddenly say
hang on
thats it!
and maybe for a brief moment
you can see
your "in"
your own way in to the mystery of writing
so many different types of writing
travel writing for example
you dont want baudelaire writing a travel piece
youd never wanna go there wherever he wrote about
you dont want enid blyton writing about carnivale in rio
you dont want henry miller reporting on the funeral of a princess
you dont want james joyce writing the car reviews
you dont want steve frickin' kilbey writing the footy guide
you dont want edward lear doing the restaurant reviews
am i making myself clear here...?
horses for courses
you may be a surrealistic whirlwind
but you cant describe a bowl of fruit
you may have a delightful naive sensibility
but your attempts at beat poetry are the pitts
i dont know
be what you could all my friends say
be what you could
a simple twist
take everything ordinary
twist it ever so slightly
change one tiny piece of a pattern
re-present concepts in a new light
yes i read ryans travel writing in some mags
and guess what
i ceased to think about his writing
and i just thought about the place where he was
his sore feet
the camels
the horrible food
and his writing became transparent
and revealed through his eyes
the places he was travelling through
this is exactly how it should be
a travel magazine shouldnt dazzle ya with fancy language
its all about the travel
and much writing is like that
you must be able to subsume yourself
like a record producer
some writers stamp themselves all over it
while others allow things to be but with their subtle guidance
oh there are some beautiful parts in the bible too
pages n pages of rolling words sublime and fragrant
and this is part of the "good" books appeal
it has such an iconic beginning
in the beginning god created the heaven and the earth
it brooks no disagreement
its succinct and all inclusive
it leaves no loop holes
a masterful beginning to a book
one can learn a lot from the bible...
unfortunately reality is not one of them...
any way
ive blthered on n on
not mentioned philip pullman (marvellous!)
proust (marvellous!)
and loadsa others
not covered the half of it
but ok
thatll do for now i guess
now go on
write a masterpiece
i dare ya!
Friday, May 08, 2009
writers n writing (2)
yesterday
while waiting at doctors to do my treadmill stress test
i read an article by bryce courtney
and he said that theres 2 types
writers and story tellers
he said most people were one or the other
he mentioned an indian writer (k.s. narayan)
whom he considered "that rare thing, both..."
i guess i am a writer
i'm not a very good story teller
i cant sustain a huge plot
with all the mechanisms
i dont have that kinda imagination
i'm more of a make stuff up and fuck continuity
i use my surrealism n prose poem malarkey
to cover up the fact that i just cant sustain a story
i'd say tolkien more of storyteller
i'd say peake more of writer
i'd say our c.s. was a bitta both
oh my my
gee theyre different things arent they
i met rick grossman from the hoodoo gurus in the street yessaday
we were talking about rock auto bios
he said mark seymours book was fucking hilarious
we both agreed ronnie woods was abysmal
despite him having an amazing tale to tell
he just wasnt a writer
(amazing painter tho)
(now hes holed up in some pub with a 16 year czech girl or sumpthing!)
the best rock read i ever read was "hard road" about stevie wright
from the easybeats (friday on my mind)
written by jack marx
(seek this book out...you wont put it down)
scintillating dark stuff indeed
it has stayed with me...
i drifted into science fiction in my late teenage days
but not asimov et all
i liked science fantasy
which was kinda an updated tolkien inspired thing
tolkien is the father of almost all science fantasy
as well as that guy who wrote conan the barbarian
(i devoured those books too)
michael moorcock wrote a series of interconnected novels
about a "hero" who comes back to different planes n times
sometimes an albino addicted to his heroin-like sword
sometimes as dorian hawkmoon with his inlaid skull jewel
sometimes as corum a kinda disenfranchised "elf"
in one incredible climax
the heroes join up as one huge conglomerate....wow!
but so much of sci-fantasy is like a re run of tolkien
you red the back cover n you red the book:
when the queen of nimbob
lady goosequill
loses her enchanted unicorn
bombo
she must fight the evil lord
nasty-sodd
journey through the land of grong
where the bing bangs dwell
and so hazard a quest that will imperil her lovely magic ring
part 3 of the silver butterfly trilogy
now being made into a film
starring sean connery and justin timberlake as snoggo the dwarf...
anyway
dylan thomas is a marvellous writer
straddling the border of poetry and prose
hes a writers writer
and his use of english is extraordinary
like seeing a master pianist fly over the 88s
in one sentence you are completely floored
bob dylan who named himself after thomas
wrote an unreadable book of poetry called tarantula
and then wrote that wonderful chronicles book
which was a little time being-ish
in its ability to blur facts and fiction
i guess that is my goal with this blog thing
to blur the line between...everything
just like dylan
a lot of things are written as exaggerations
or imaginings
or mere possibilities
into my mix i throw
real life
my deepest n realest feelings
my memories
my memories of memories
my lyrics my art my music my poetry
my ranting n raving
after all i am a self opinionated old mufo
i am a self proclaimed genius n i got a lot to say
this is a crazy crazy world
we think its sensible n sane
but its wildly illogical and anything can happen
and writing is a powerful thing
mightier than violence they say
in its ability to persuade men
for example the bible
the bible is just a book after all
a book some geezer wrote
or a few different geezers actually
some of em get credited
some of em dont get credited
some of em didnt want credits when they edited n chopped n changed it
a meeting of editors got together
probably drank some wine n
visited some brothels
and finally they would have shouted each other down
in nicae
and whole bits got kicked out
like thomas n jude etc
bits that didnt suit the kinda propaganda
that the editors were trying to shape
i was presented with this book as a child
it was printed on strange flimsy paper
it was written in archaic language
(that SEEMED to possess authority)
and it was illustrated with guys tearing down temples blinded
or whales swallowing down geezers etc
i did not dare question it
it had all the weight of the ages
i thought the fact i couldnt find the "good" in it
was my fault
that i was somehow evil etc
you see...?
presentation is everything
i was told...it was implied...that this was all true
not just the myths of some forgotten wandering desert tribe
it was given to you as verbatim
at the risk of yer soul burning (FOREVER!!!)
and thats a long long time baby
so its a bit like whatever radioheads new record is
its like
DONT QUESTION IT!
and people sit at home silently saying to emselves
i dont like or understand kid a at all
but the force of the myth is everything
but now im digressing
but digressing is what i do
turn yer weaknesses into strengths
i'm a stoned old ninny
my thoughts wander hither n thither
so i disguise my weakness as a deliberate device
and i build on it
and it becomes a feature of what i do
go with that instinct
that instinct to be you
oh influences are hard to shuck off
as a musician i am basically the sum total of all my influences
as a painter i have no influences
as a writer i am half half
seeing i never really wanted to be a writer
i aint slavishly imitated anybody particularly
its an advantage to jump disciplines sometimes
lyricists are different from writers
lyricists have the music to fall back on
and the way its sung
i rate the following lyricists
dylan lennon mccartney harrison jagger
patti smith verlaine springsteen bowie bolan
strange foxx devoto dulli calvert kate bush
and more that i forget
jimbo of course
jimi hendrix wrote some good words too
yeah
but its a different ballgame
i still cant finish this here
tomorrow : final installment
ps
test results
heart good
lungs good
pancreas good! (i feel so sorry for poor patrick swayze!)
kidneys good
prostate good (whew)
liver not so good...bad enzymes from too much abuse
cholesterol not so good...amazingly as a vegan
i have some naughty "bad" cholesterol
jesus...imagine if i ate dead meat...?
thyroid not so good
i have the beginnings of hypo thyroidism
which means my thyroid is working under
me : what does thyroid do?
quack : everything!!
this accounts for my constant freezing n feeling cold
and for my dry skin n my coarse lifeless hair
actually the thyroid could be fucking up the cholesterol too...
anyway
its more tests
but you know
im pushing sixty n stuff is gonna start clapping out!
so
so far
my eyes(dim)
my ears (self inflicted!)
my liver is shonky (ditto)
my thyroid (pass the iodine)
my cholesterol (cholest we forget!)
my mind (clinically in sain!)
my ego (swollen)
my inner fucknuckle (rampant)
my inner brute (i know who you are!)
anyway
no more medical news for now
will keep ya informed
killer
while waiting at doctors to do my treadmill stress test
i read an article by bryce courtney
and he said that theres 2 types
writers and story tellers
he said most people were one or the other
he mentioned an indian writer (k.s. narayan)
whom he considered "that rare thing, both..."
i guess i am a writer
i'm not a very good story teller
i cant sustain a huge plot
with all the mechanisms
i dont have that kinda imagination
i'm more of a make stuff up and fuck continuity
i use my surrealism n prose poem malarkey
to cover up the fact that i just cant sustain a story
i'd say tolkien more of storyteller
i'd say peake more of writer
i'd say our c.s. was a bitta both
oh my my
gee theyre different things arent they
i met rick grossman from the hoodoo gurus in the street yessaday
we were talking about rock auto bios
he said mark seymours book was fucking hilarious
we both agreed ronnie woods was abysmal
despite him having an amazing tale to tell
he just wasnt a writer
(amazing painter tho)
(now hes holed up in some pub with a 16 year czech girl or sumpthing!)
the best rock read i ever read was "hard road" about stevie wright
from the easybeats (friday on my mind)
written by jack marx
(seek this book out...you wont put it down)
scintillating dark stuff indeed
it has stayed with me...
i drifted into science fiction in my late teenage days
but not asimov et all
i liked science fantasy
which was kinda an updated tolkien inspired thing
tolkien is the father of almost all science fantasy
as well as that guy who wrote conan the barbarian
(i devoured those books too)
michael moorcock wrote a series of interconnected novels
about a "hero" who comes back to different planes n times
sometimes an albino addicted to his heroin-like sword
sometimes as dorian hawkmoon with his inlaid skull jewel
sometimes as corum a kinda disenfranchised "elf"
in one incredible climax
the heroes join up as one huge conglomerate....wow!
but so much of sci-fantasy is like a re run of tolkien
you red the back cover n you red the book:
when the queen of nimbob
lady goosequill
loses her enchanted unicorn
bombo
she must fight the evil lord
nasty-sodd
journey through the land of grong
where the bing bangs dwell
and so hazard a quest that will imperil her lovely magic ring
part 3 of the silver butterfly trilogy
now being made into a film
starring sean connery and justin timberlake as snoggo the dwarf...
anyway
dylan thomas is a marvellous writer
straddling the border of poetry and prose
hes a writers writer
and his use of english is extraordinary
like seeing a master pianist fly over the 88s
in one sentence you are completely floored
bob dylan who named himself after thomas
wrote an unreadable book of poetry called tarantula
and then wrote that wonderful chronicles book
which was a little time being-ish
in its ability to blur facts and fiction
i guess that is my goal with this blog thing
to blur the line between...everything
just like dylan
a lot of things are written as exaggerations
or imaginings
or mere possibilities
into my mix i throw
real life
my deepest n realest feelings
my memories
my memories of memories
my lyrics my art my music my poetry
my ranting n raving
after all i am a self opinionated old mufo
i am a self proclaimed genius n i got a lot to say
this is a crazy crazy world
we think its sensible n sane
but its wildly illogical and anything can happen
and writing is a powerful thing
mightier than violence they say
in its ability to persuade men
for example the bible
the bible is just a book after all
a book some geezer wrote
or a few different geezers actually
some of em get credited
some of em dont get credited
some of em didnt want credits when they edited n chopped n changed it
a meeting of editors got together
probably drank some wine n
visited some brothels
and finally they would have shouted each other down
in nicae
and whole bits got kicked out
like thomas n jude etc
bits that didnt suit the kinda propaganda
that the editors were trying to shape
i was presented with this book as a child
it was printed on strange flimsy paper
it was written in archaic language
(that SEEMED to possess authority)
and it was illustrated with guys tearing down temples blinded
or whales swallowing down geezers etc
i did not dare question it
it had all the weight of the ages
i thought the fact i couldnt find the "good" in it
was my fault
that i was somehow evil etc
you see...?
presentation is everything
i was told...it was implied...that this was all true
not just the myths of some forgotten wandering desert tribe
it was given to you as verbatim
at the risk of yer soul burning (FOREVER!!!)
and thats a long long time baby
so its a bit like whatever radioheads new record is
its like
DONT QUESTION IT!
and people sit at home silently saying to emselves
i dont like or understand kid a at all
but the force of the myth is everything
but now im digressing
but digressing is what i do
turn yer weaknesses into strengths
i'm a stoned old ninny
my thoughts wander hither n thither
so i disguise my weakness as a deliberate device
and i build on it
and it becomes a feature of what i do
go with that instinct
that instinct to be you
oh influences are hard to shuck off
as a musician i am basically the sum total of all my influences
as a painter i have no influences
as a writer i am half half
seeing i never really wanted to be a writer
i aint slavishly imitated anybody particularly
its an advantage to jump disciplines sometimes
lyricists are different from writers
lyricists have the music to fall back on
and the way its sung
i rate the following lyricists
dylan lennon mccartney harrison jagger
patti smith verlaine springsteen bowie bolan
strange foxx devoto dulli calvert kate bush
and more that i forget
jimbo of course
jimi hendrix wrote some good words too
yeah
but its a different ballgame
i still cant finish this here
tomorrow : final installment
ps
test results
heart good
lungs good
pancreas good! (i feel so sorry for poor patrick swayze!)
kidneys good
prostate good (whew)
liver not so good...bad enzymes from too much abuse
cholesterol not so good...amazingly as a vegan
i have some naughty "bad" cholesterol
jesus...imagine if i ate dead meat...?
thyroid not so good
i have the beginnings of hypo thyroidism
which means my thyroid is working under
me : what does thyroid do?
quack : everything!!
this accounts for my constant freezing n feeling cold
and for my dry skin n my coarse lifeless hair
actually the thyroid could be fucking up the cholesterol too...
anyway
its more tests
but you know
im pushing sixty n stuff is gonna start clapping out!
so
so far
my eyes(dim)
my ears (self inflicted!)
my liver is shonky (ditto)
my thyroid (pass the iodine)
my cholesterol (cholest we forget!)
my mind (clinically in sain!)
my ego (swollen)
my inner fucknuckle (rampant)
my inner brute (i know who you are!)
anyway
no more medical news for now
will keep ya informed
killer
Thursday, May 07, 2009
this blogs for ryan :on writers n writing
ah
mr cst coach himself a travel writer
has coughed up a load of canadian dollars
(with a nice pic of her majesty on them all)
and has asked me to write about writing
well ryan my boy, its a pleasure
so i was outside doing yoga yessaday
and thinking how to go about this
and thinking about my favourite writers
of whom i will now make something of a list
in no particular order
lewis carroll
cs lewis
jrr tolkien
michael moorcock
china mieville
andre breton
dylan thomas
appollinaire
homer
mervyn peake
shakespeare
huxley
bill burroughs
paramahansa yogananda
artaud
and a whole lotta others escape my fuddled brain
whom i shall think of
the moment ive posted this
and go
oh no
i cant believe ive forgotten....
(insert forgotten authors name here)
the first book i ever read or had read to me
was alice in wonderland
which
i guess
started me off on my never ending quest for something "marvellous"
in all forms of art, writing no less
i am searching for something fucking "marvellous"
i'm not really interested in something real or factual
nor something informative or useful
i wanna read about the weird
the strange
the magical
the otherworldly
if i want real life i got ...um..real life
so that eliminates lots of books for a start
i hate westerns
i hate murder mysteries
i hate crime or cops n robbers n political malarkey
i hate spies
i dont mind bio n autobiographies
(if theyre about someone "marvellous" natch)
and ive come to be quite fond of bobby luries
retelling of my own fab story (complete with un-marvellous bits)
and ive wolfed down many bios on
dylan the beatles the stones bowie bolan etc (a predictable bunch)
i used to enjoy rock writers back in the golden age
eg nick kent, charles shaar murray, lester bangs, ian mcdonald
(all who wrote in the seventies mainly about that aforementioned crowd)
i guess its hard to be a great writer about nickleback or britney etc
so you cant be too hard on modern writers considering the paucity
of interesting musicians.....
anyway
one thought that always pops into my mind is :
if you really wanna influence people get em young!
get em while theyre still impressionable
get em when their minds n hearts are still open
i have read a million good books
since finishing the chronicles of narnia
loads of weird n wonderful sci fi n fantasy novels
but i cant seem to remember any of em much
even tho they blew my socks off at the time
(sigh)
they go in one eye n out the other, i suppose
ah but narnia
oh narnia....
so solid it seemed...
so well did lewis weave his spell
(a very christian spell as it turns out
but that still didnt ruin it!)
oh cs lewis had everything i wanted
fauns and sorcery and battles and
children from this mundane world...
i'm still looking for my wardrobe
i'm still looking for the portal out of this world
i used to drive the fambley up to the cliffs at watsons bay
and i look out over the stormy sea
and i swear i could see narnia somewhere out there
so many times i been as close as this to narnia
my own portal
my own way out of this world
(steady on there seiogh!)
cs lewis was my haven
my sanctuary
my place to go to hide from this boring world
no film could ever do what the books did
i see theyre making a film outta" where the wild things are"
ive seen the shorts and its fucking awful
because it foists its own version all over yer imagination
thats why i almost choked when the wolves in narnia
spoke with american accents...
anyway
lewis not only wrote about marvellous things
but he was a marvellous writer
with many unique stylistic devices
and a really cosy familiar way of telling a story
even tho i go back n read em now
and disagree with some of his stuff
(he bags vegetarians, he extolls pipe-smoking
and the constant christian carry-on)
lewis captured my imagination at age 10
and i never really got him out again
you see greek mythology and narnia n marc bolan
are all mixed up in my mind
and oh
that is the world i yearn for most of all
somewhere deep in my heart
i have lived through the may days of arcadia
i have seen the vegetal n water spirits
n i have gotten drunk with pan...
may lewis long be read by children all over this world
and may it continue to inspire children
to seek the unordinary!
i read many marvellous books as a kid
before the narnia books
i read " little grey men" by HH
and i read 2 great books about a black cat
whose titles ive now forgotten
and i read all the myths rewritten for kids
i devoured the norse myths too
that also seemed strangely familiar to me
and i quickly identified with the troublemaker "loki"
at school we were forced to read one boring writer n poet
after another
and i hardly enjoyed any of it
i can only ironically remember a book i didnt read
but was supposed to
it was called "green for danger"
and i hated the look n sound of it so much
i couldnt read it at all
and i learned for the first time
to "fake" having read a book or seen a film
(who hasnt lied about that n then been caught out
when someone asks you for a specific opinion ie
what did you think of the ending??)
eventually i found tolkiens lord of the rings
(which i entered via more kid friendly "the hobbit")
tolkiens scope and his majestic language
was right on for me
having raised myself on the myths n histories of ancient times
and wow!
what a story.....
what an achievement
to imagine the entire history and languages of a whole world
tolkien has the lot : romance, sorrow, valour, evil, magic
a more grown up lewis
a much huger n more detailed scale
not much after this
i stumbled across mervyn peakes gormenghast trilogy
and i set lewis tolkien n peake
as the dylan beatles n stones of modern english fantasy
mervyn peake
oh my god
the richness of his language
the weirdness of his characters
the tiniest murkiest details
the warped nightmarish feeling
oh i was smitten with these stories
much much more idiosyncratic than the other 2
peake was surreal n dark n used the most scrumptious words
he could spend pages n pages just dwelling on a characters reveries
he could suspend time
he could make you believe the unbelievable
youve never read anything like it
so if you aint read it
get thee to a bookstore now
titus groan
gormenghast
titus alone
its a trilogy
beware tho
titus alone was written by peake
in an advanced stage of parkinsons disease
and was partially completed by others
it is a truly strange twilit world
which moves away completely from the first two
robert smith n sting
also fell under the spell of gormenghast
if youve seen the tv series
please dont judge the books on that
nothing visual could ever do these books justice
oh i ran outta time
guess thisll be a 2 part blogge then
see you tomorrow for some more lit
sk
mr cst coach himself a travel writer
has coughed up a load of canadian dollars
(with a nice pic of her majesty on them all)
and has asked me to write about writing
well ryan my boy, its a pleasure
so i was outside doing yoga yessaday
and thinking how to go about this
and thinking about my favourite writers
of whom i will now make something of a list
in no particular order
lewis carroll
cs lewis
jrr tolkien
michael moorcock
china mieville
andre breton
dylan thomas
appollinaire
homer
mervyn peake
shakespeare
huxley
bill burroughs
paramahansa yogananda
artaud
and a whole lotta others escape my fuddled brain
whom i shall think of
the moment ive posted this
and go
oh no
i cant believe ive forgotten....
(insert forgotten authors name here)
the first book i ever read or had read to me
was alice in wonderland
which
i guess
started me off on my never ending quest for something "marvellous"
in all forms of art, writing no less
i am searching for something fucking "marvellous"
i'm not really interested in something real or factual
nor something informative or useful
i wanna read about the weird
the strange
the magical
the otherworldly
if i want real life i got ...um..real life
so that eliminates lots of books for a start
i hate westerns
i hate murder mysteries
i hate crime or cops n robbers n political malarkey
i hate spies
i dont mind bio n autobiographies
(if theyre about someone "marvellous" natch)
and ive come to be quite fond of bobby luries
retelling of my own fab story (complete with un-marvellous bits)
and ive wolfed down many bios on
dylan the beatles the stones bowie bolan etc (a predictable bunch)
i used to enjoy rock writers back in the golden age
eg nick kent, charles shaar murray, lester bangs, ian mcdonald
(all who wrote in the seventies mainly about that aforementioned crowd)
i guess its hard to be a great writer about nickleback or britney etc
so you cant be too hard on modern writers considering the paucity
of interesting musicians.....
anyway
one thought that always pops into my mind is :
if you really wanna influence people get em young!
get em while theyre still impressionable
get em when their minds n hearts are still open
i have read a million good books
since finishing the chronicles of narnia
loads of weird n wonderful sci fi n fantasy novels
but i cant seem to remember any of em much
even tho they blew my socks off at the time
(sigh)
they go in one eye n out the other, i suppose
ah but narnia
oh narnia....
so solid it seemed...
so well did lewis weave his spell
(a very christian spell as it turns out
but that still didnt ruin it!)
oh cs lewis had everything i wanted
fauns and sorcery and battles and
children from this mundane world...
i'm still looking for my wardrobe
i'm still looking for the portal out of this world
i used to drive the fambley up to the cliffs at watsons bay
and i look out over the stormy sea
and i swear i could see narnia somewhere out there
so many times i been as close as this to narnia
my own portal
my own way out of this world
(steady on there seiogh!)
cs lewis was my haven
my sanctuary
my place to go to hide from this boring world
no film could ever do what the books did
i see theyre making a film outta" where the wild things are"
ive seen the shorts and its fucking awful
because it foists its own version all over yer imagination
thats why i almost choked when the wolves in narnia
spoke with american accents...
anyway
lewis not only wrote about marvellous things
but he was a marvellous writer
with many unique stylistic devices
and a really cosy familiar way of telling a story
even tho i go back n read em now
and disagree with some of his stuff
(he bags vegetarians, he extolls pipe-smoking
and the constant christian carry-on)
lewis captured my imagination at age 10
and i never really got him out again
you see greek mythology and narnia n marc bolan
are all mixed up in my mind
and oh
that is the world i yearn for most of all
somewhere deep in my heart
i have lived through the may days of arcadia
i have seen the vegetal n water spirits
n i have gotten drunk with pan...
may lewis long be read by children all over this world
and may it continue to inspire children
to seek the unordinary!
i read many marvellous books as a kid
before the narnia books
i read " little grey men" by HH
and i read 2 great books about a black cat
whose titles ive now forgotten
and i read all the myths rewritten for kids
i devoured the norse myths too
that also seemed strangely familiar to me
and i quickly identified with the troublemaker "loki"
at school we were forced to read one boring writer n poet
after another
and i hardly enjoyed any of it
i can only ironically remember a book i didnt read
but was supposed to
it was called "green for danger"
and i hated the look n sound of it so much
i couldnt read it at all
and i learned for the first time
to "fake" having read a book or seen a film
(who hasnt lied about that n then been caught out
when someone asks you for a specific opinion ie
what did you think of the ending??)
eventually i found tolkiens lord of the rings
(which i entered via more kid friendly "the hobbit")
tolkiens scope and his majestic language
was right on for me
having raised myself on the myths n histories of ancient times
and wow!
what a story.....
what an achievement
to imagine the entire history and languages of a whole world
tolkien has the lot : romance, sorrow, valour, evil, magic
a more grown up lewis
a much huger n more detailed scale
not much after this
i stumbled across mervyn peakes gormenghast trilogy
and i set lewis tolkien n peake
as the dylan beatles n stones of modern english fantasy
mervyn peake
oh my god
the richness of his language
the weirdness of his characters
the tiniest murkiest details
the warped nightmarish feeling
oh i was smitten with these stories
much much more idiosyncratic than the other 2
peake was surreal n dark n used the most scrumptious words
he could spend pages n pages just dwelling on a characters reveries
he could suspend time
he could make you believe the unbelievable
youve never read anything like it
so if you aint read it
get thee to a bookstore now
titus groan
gormenghast
titus alone
its a trilogy
beware tho
titus alone was written by peake
in an advanced stage of parkinsons disease
and was partially completed by others
it is a truly strange twilit world
which moves away completely from the first two
robert smith n sting
also fell under the spell of gormenghast
if youve seen the tv series
please dont judge the books on that
nothing visual could ever do these books justice
oh i ran outta time
guess thisll be a 2 part blogge then
see you tomorrow for some more lit
sk
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