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.