Darkness, be my friend.

Surveying the urban view with a strange sense of serenity.

Prowling the alleys like a scene from San Andreas,
like a cat protecting it's territory.

Outside peering in.

The skyline is occupied with lonely towers,
like clusters of artificial stars.

Cloaked in darkness I vanish into the night.

Osama is dead... and... so... what?

Osama Bin Laden is dead… wow. Almost 10 years after 9/11 and the so-called ‘world’s most powerful country’ and all of its military and technological might finally killed the dude. Congrats. Guess they want a medal or something now, huh?

Seriously, the reaction to this is ridiculous. Obama is clearly milking the situation for all of its political goodness (Fair enough, he needs something to get the people rallying behind him in the lead up to the next election). What really confuses me is the images of people dancing and celebrating in the streets. What the fuck? Yeah, he was a cunt that used his extremist religious views to kill lots of innocent people, but celebrating someones death by having a party seems a bit excessive.I mean in terms of killing people/being a generally bad person, I can think of quite a few recent examples of people that I would consider worse than him. You don’t see the American public/media celebrating their demises? (Oh, I guess it’s different if the evil dictator is selling America oil).

I just don’t get it. Especially after such a long time. Shouldn’t the American people ask why it took a whole nation/army almost a decade to find one dude? (Might have something to do with fighting two unjustifiable wars in the Middle East). Or how much money was spent (wasted) searching for him? And now he has been killed, what’s the deal with the ‘War on Terrorism’? And when will America leave Afghanistan? Sigh. American foreign policy is depressing.

Mediated life has become desperate for the perfect soundbite, the killer catchphrase.

Suits smile coolly while delivering well rehearsed lies, reflected in the stripes of their most expensive tie.

Scrambling desperately for that suitable summary, cutting and pasting rational discourse in a fevored frenzy.

Generalisations and stereotypes have replaced conversation, while we all hide behind our most appropriate facade.

Everywhere is a flurry of chatter, a world of pop up windows and meaningless small talk. A million analogue tweets.

Disregarding time zones and humanity, the definitive lines are delivered on cue to a standing ovation.

The applause is amplified and repeated until the noise is overwhelming and the world trembles in awe…
And then to our collective relief, the applause is gone and replaced by a new, infinitely better phrase.

The world turns its collective head towards this latest of trends, and the irony of the recycle bin becomes clear.

A never ending cycle of increasing futility. This is digital suicide.

Cassettes, and showing my age.

I remember making mix tapes off Channel Z and sharing them with my friends. Listening to late night talk back and recording it so I could fall asleep and not miss a thing. Hearing Bill Hicks for the first time and recording his every syllable.

I remember going to Sports days and staying hidden in the stands all day listening to my rad new mix tape, while sneering at the futility of the 'school spirit'. I remember me and my mate staying up all night filling tapes with our mock radio shows.

I smile at the memories, and feel a little sad that younger generations wont share in this outdated but fun technology. Even my little ten year old brother has no time for tapes. I gave him all the old tapes I had left, but he wasn't interested. He just wants an iPhone for his birthday. Sigh. I love that little guy.

Et tu, Brute?

Just finished watching the first season of Rome. The depiction of the fall of Caesar was particularly brutal. And awesome. While some of the acting is slightly questionable, this series is basically historically accurate (well as accurate as a televised series depicting events 2000 years ago can be) and the multiple plots weave an interesting tale. I find the Roman Republic/Empire to be hugely interesting, especially because it formed the beginnings of modern Western civilization. Check it!

Coffee.

The best way to wake up without feeling like a thoroughly depraved zombie. When used in conjunction with a cigarette, happiness is accentuated tenfold.

For several moments the bleak reality of my near minimum wage existence is extinguished in a caffeine induced smile. The world seems brighter, and today sparkles with promise.

Its moments like these that I live for.

Death Cab for Cutie - You are a Tourist.

Death Cab are one of my favorite bands, and this is the video for their new single 'You are a Tourist'. The song is mean, and the video is even better. Filmed in one take, it is pretty impressive. Enjoy!

Akin to the abominable snowman only better, because I'm not dependent on the weather.

 
A lack of sleep and vague ambitions of challenging the hip hop elite with subpar rhymes. It’s almost 4:20, but I’ve got nothing to celebrate, except a few pipedreams.

Procrastination is a subtle art form, and one I’ve spent years perfecting.Why stop now? Each sentence is an exercise in reinforcing the status quo.

This weekend has produced some healthy contrasts. The laughter emitting from our hideaway in Raroa was the best possible start, and made me feel happy to belong, if only temporarily.

However, the rest of the night was a voyage of wholly unfulfilling socialising, marred by reminders of an unhappy work environment, while the self-loathing crept in. The usually reliable social media platforms were only outlets of frustration, and were out of bounds for the night, to be explored further strictly during office hours (or so I claimed).

Saturday was spent counting my finances on one hand, and deciding to confine myself to the modest surroundings of 163 Lambton Quay. Afternoon naps and an evening of Breaking Bad is the extent of my Saturday night thrills. Oh, the joys of responsibility. Trawling Trademe for appropriate beds and getting sidetracked for several hours. Listening to a plethora of music and enjoying every note.

I swear if I time this right, I’m one yawn away from bliss.

Hmmm.

Where to now? I have no fucking idea.

Wellington is both intriguing and overwhelming in the same breath. I miss the comforts of predictability and familiarity. I miss my friends and family. I miss… a lot of people.

An attack of common sense brings me out of this reflective mood. No point indulging in regrets, you can’t change the past tense. This past week has been hard, with depressing news being the overwhelming headline in the printed edition of my life.

But in the end, things could be worse. At least I kept my job, my income, my means of staying in Wellington. For now, at least.

Ghostshark 2: Urban Jaws.

Bahahaha.

My eyes have grown blurry.

My stomach churns with indecision, and spicy Indian. Ugh. Here’s a bullet point summary of how I spent the last three relatively unproductive days:

occasional laughter
good company
terrible food choices
East Brunswick All Girls Choir
painfully awkward interviews
gleefully challenging cats
whiskey
brief hang times with Christchurch friends
Broken Social Scene
Drunken smiles
Buzzfeed
HANGOVERS THAT SHRED YOUR LIFEFORCE
Cohen brothers take on Noir
Apathy
Internets
Worrying
Just being friends
Spending money and forgetting the results
Kronic
The pitter-patter of rain on the roof
Mi Goreng
Sleeping in.

See, not much happened really. Goodbye weekend. Hello working week.

"Harmlessly passing your time in the grassland away;
Only dimly aware of a certain unease in the air.
You’d better watch out!
There may be dogs about
I looked over Jordan, and I’ve seen
Things are not what they seem.

That’s what you get for pretending the danger’s not real.
Meek and obedient you follow the leader
Down well trodden corridors into the valley of steel.
What a surprise!
A look of terminal shock in your eyes.
Now things are really what they seem.
No, this is not a bad dream.

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want
He makes me down to die
Through pastures green He leadeth me the silent waters by.
With bright knives He releaseth my soul.
He maketh me to hang on hooks in high places.
He converteth me to lamb cutlets,
For lo, He hath great power, and great hunger.
When cometh the day we lowly ones,
Through quiet reflection, and great dedication
Master the art of Karate,
Lo, we shall rise up,
And then we’ll make the bugger’s eyes water.

Bleating and babbling we fell on his neck with a scream.
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.

Have you heard the news?
The dogs are dead!
You better stay home
And do as you’re told.
Get out of the road if you want to grow old".

—	Pink Floyd - Sheep

The perfect distraction for an overcast Saturday in the capital.

First weekend in Wellington.

My initiation into the Wellington weekend life came in the form of Summerset 2011, a music festival featuring Dizzee Rascal, and a whole bunch of DJs I’ve never heard of. Phantom provided me with a free ticket, saving me like $80, so I was well keen to check it out. The tab took hold of my brain and I was transported at light-speed into the farthest reach of the solar system. Despite my lack of brain capacity, I did manage to make notes of the days highlights. Brace yourself.

Fluro chainsaws ravage my mind, as Lipton Ice Tea is thrust into my consciousness. A giant on stilts cracks whips with unnecessary conviction, while I avoid the ultra silent violent disco. I never learned how to wolf whistle because I was too busy laughing. Tab for lunch, goodbye rest of the weekend. The grass is in fact unicorn velvet and I’m knees deep. Dance architecture is explained in detail, while we watch the neon inferno. Colours swoop, and vibrations ripple constantly. Screaming “what” in everyones nostrils seems like a grand idea. Instead we staunch it out on a hill while my fingers squirm like desperate snakes. A reference within a reference, referencing yourself to death in a sea of reference.

My adventures lasted until 9am, when sleep finally took hold of me and carried me through to Monday. I may have missed Sunday out altogether, but Saturday sure made up for that technicality.

Lately I’ve felt pangs of guilt about leaving Christchurch while the city is on its knees, and my friends in a cloud of misery. I feel selfish, but I guess sometimes you have to do what you have to do (sometimes cliches provide the easiest route to explaining yrself).

This image kinda sums up how I feel about everyone staying strong and living through the daily grind of quakecity. I may have left for now, but I’m an overpriced plane ticket away. Also, with the level of internet addiction amongst everyone I know, it will be like I never left.

Wellington Ahoy!

Goodbye Christchurch. You were good. Until you rumbled and yr buildings collapsed. And my job was basically gone. So now I’m doing the phantom thing in Wellington and crashing on my friends couch until I find a flat I can afford. I miss everyone desperately, but this is an adventure I’m committed to seeing through.

Internal Dialogue.

I’m a car crash of indecision in the midst of an empty shell of a city. Should I stay or should I go? There is a healthy argument for both sides. At least I have a few days before D-Day.

This week has been a constant weary trudge through filth. Shoveling is counted in hours and i fucking hate wet boxes. At least I’ve had the company of some fine comrades, but there is only so much we can bare before our minds are lost to the overwhelming tiredness. A grim march through despair as the clock ticks away.

All the time I’m weighing up my options, scared of failure. But I guess, in the end, I always knew my decision. Its just casting aside apathy and doing it that will be the hardest part. Drifting towards sleep while listening to ‘The King of Limbs’ is a gentle reminder that not all is lost. Goodnight and good luck.

KITTEN.

My new kitten! She is 6 weeks old and cute as fuck. I haven’t named her yet, but all will be revealed tomorrow.

Billsticking Kaikoura.

Road rage in a beautiful scene. A trio of red huddle together for comfort, while my patience is severely tested.  The hills swallow us as we play follow the leader. Avoid the truck as fifth gear awaits. Blast off. Coffee is our petrol while cigarettes pass the time. Where the hills meet the ocean signals the final destination, under the sun's firm grip. The return journey can wait, when there are beers to be savored. 

"You see that pack of Virginia killing sticks on the end of the piano?

All you need to know about life is retained in those four walls. You will notice that one of your personalities is seduced by the illusions of grandeur - the gold packet of king size with a regal insignia, an attractive implication towards grandeur and wealth, the subtle suggestion that cigarettes are indeed your royal and loyal friends, and that, is a lie.


Your other personality is trying to draw your attention to the flip side of the discussion, written in boring bold black and white, it’s a statement that these neat little soldiers of death and in fact trying to kill you and that, is the truth.


Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I’m addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren.


That that starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet.

That is why you and i love the drugs. now please, pass me a light".

Mr Johnny Quid - RocknRolla. 

FB.

Spending hours absorbed in a slide show of insignificance, squinting and judging. The sporadic pitter-patter of typing throw away comments.

We are all creatures of a public forum, in which the strongest facade gets the most likes. Democracy never seemed so simple, as the fiery glow of notifications burns bright. Link me to your favorites, and I swear I’ll laugh out loud. Refresh, refresh! And watch the news roll in, one bad pun at a time. Open a new tab, but not before the immediacy of chat consumes you.

Friends are a click away, and gaining their approval has never been so time-consuming. Persistence is the key. A catchy title, a winning smile, and a photo taken from an ‘interesting’ angle will help you climbs the ranks of anonymity. Or so you hope.

In reality, you’re just another mindless status I choose to ignore in the ever present newsfeed. The delete button never looked so appealing, but in the end I’m just as much a slave to the red button as anyone.

Piecing together scenes from last night.

Investing in riggers, and basking in the warm economic glow of drinking. We are Kevin Smith fanboys debating the merits of the ultimate trilogies: Star Wars vs Lord of the Rings. Agreeing to disagree, and recording the laughs.

A brief taxi mission and the city is our broken playground. The bar is packed with a healthy crowd. Stumbling a plenty as security guards circle like opportunistic sharks. The prey is unaware and dancing is our collective goal. Mission accomplished and we play fooseball with an unnatural intensity. Winning is celebrated with consistent pints. Old friends and creating new games consume the night.

The three musketeers run a muck, in search of deep fried goodness. Waiting in line and enduring the 2am herd. Struggling for comforting words as the taxis roll past, oblivious to our pleas for attention. Bed provides the ultimate solace and I drift away into the final Sunday of January.

T54

This is my friend/workmate Joe’s band called T54. They rule so hard. I’m pretty sure they will make it ‘big’ one day, its the least they deserve. This EP is proof that they are good enough. Check it out!

http://www.goldsounds.co.nz/

/Dead.

This was my Friday. I managed to see all or at least most of these bands. Deftones, T54, Bang Bang Eche, Ramstein (to my utter surprise) and LCD Soundsystem exceeded all of my expectations. It was a day of extremes; in terms of the weather (hot as fuck turning into a cyclone of torrential rain and shivering), the price of anything (as fair as the Treaty of Waitangi from a Maori perspective), the people (a sea of cleavage, drug abuse, painful combinations and all of those people you cross the road to avoid) and of course the bands.

Big Day Out ruled. Now I'm going to sleep for like a month. At least.

When I exit hibernation/move flats I shall post some forgotten ramblings and fanboy nonsensicals about the past few days in Wellington (briefly) and Auckland.

Get better work stories yo!

I work for Phantom Billstickers, which distributes posters and fliers for all sorts of cultural events, concerts, sports etc. You know all the posters in town? Yeah Phantom does that. My specific job is retail manager, and I organise poster/flier distribution in shops around the city. Its pretty fun, and has some sweet perks. Like free tickets (big day out here I come). I also get to travel around the country a bit, and just before New Years I went up to beach towns in the North Island and put up posters for police recruitment.

The posters themselves were pretty fucking lame, and slightly offensive, but the trip was rad. I got to fly into Tauranga and from there I drove a rental car to Mt Maunganui, Waihi and Raglan, before leaving via Hamilton. It was a really fucking rad experience getting to witness areas of New Zealand that I had never seen, but heard so much about.

I meant to write something about the trip sooner, but procrastination settled in, and I never got around to it. Then, on Thursday last week I got called up by my boss, who tells me I have to go back up the next day to take down and replace some of the posters, because there was a public outcry over one of the messages (the one depicted about cougars), and there was a negative article about it in the Wellington newspaper. Since I was the one that put them up/knew where they were, I had to go back up and do another mission around the beach towns. I wrote some stuff while I was up there about the experiences, so here it is.

5am. Blink and I'm awake. The birds are mocking me with their cheerful cries. Semi-conscious shower and a rush to the shuttle. Catch the red eye and watch the world reluctantly wake up. Wellington provides a desperately quick breakfast in the form of a cigarette. Another flight, and the engine rumbles like a glorified lawnmower. The clouds sparkle with promise and I rest my eyes for a moment. Blink and its another airport.

The urban sprawl is daunting, as I'm swallowed in a crowd of beautiful and bogan. Raiding bargain bins in Mt Maunganui and having a serious Incubus relapse. Refueling at Burger fuel, and zig-zagging through anonymous streets in search of my next destination. Leaving smoke trails in Bethlehem.

Waihi is a ghost town, under the guise of historical significance. It's like Ashburton's slow cousin. The sun scorches and the streets slowly fill, until its bustling. Well, as bustling as two blocks between KFC and an old forgotten mine can be. I make haste out of there, and down to my cabin by the beach for the night.
Leftover Indian does not make for the best breakfast, and let's never mention this again.
Te Aroha, bitches! Walking a fine line between quaint and backwater. While the roadside stalls held my attention, an entourage of tractors filled with a groom and his best men march past. Best rural wedding cliche ever.

Raglan. After a 3 hour drive, I am saved by the buoyancy of citrus as a conveyor belt of hotness glides by. I might be the only person for miles that is wearing black jeans, and I quietly curse my decision to pack my bags in the dark while drunk. Raglan provides a beautiful backdrop to a tiring day, but its not over yet. A frantic race to the airport, arriving at exactly 420, and grinning at not being late. Wellington provides a plethora of turbulences, before the final flight home, as fatigue sets in.

Half a tab and many beers provide the best context for my return, and T54 rip through a vicious set in the wonderful El Santo. Watching my curtains breathe and watching the world twist and roar as I smile comfortably. Evolving has never been so much fun.

The weather outside is weather.

The heat is truly daunting. It’s beyond small talk and normality, as it scorches everything. We all haste to the nearest body of water, tongues out and desperation in our eyes. The world has suddenly become an oven, and we are being roasted alive. Energy is at a minimal, and so is clothing. Sweating replaces conversation, and breathing is sparse.

The beer is exhilarating on my cracked lips. Today it is my fuel to counter the extremities. Today it is my conversation, my connection with these people. My very own distraction. A socially appropriate convenience in a bottle.

Doing nothing and everything in the same breath. Waiting for the safety of night under a broken roof. Windows cannot be opened wide enough, as escape is not a viable option. Watching the crackling of movement from a distance and slowly losing the hours. The company has left, one by one, but the heat remains. The intensity is less, but we are still very much on the menu. Be fucking sure of that.

So this is the new year.

It all starts with a familiar formula: drink, laugh, smoke, repeat. The wind whips and cuts, so we drink more to escape its icy grip.

The crowd swells as the night prevails. Through bloodshot eyes we grin together. Your hand in mine, and I give in. Tonight we shall forget the past and enjoy the present. Lets celebrate the Earth’s orbit around the sun by orbiting around a celestial collection of booze and drugs.

The new year arrives triumphantly, heralded by a chorus of my favourite people. I’m lost in your bumblebee mouth. My head explodes, in the best way possible and the rest of the night is a blur of slurring, smoking and friends. Emerging from a sea of hugs and well-wishing, we stumble into the new year. And I couldn’t be more excited about the next orbit.