love is the warmth you feel coming from the light at the end of the tunnel - ten am beers, along with breakfast, at the airport-bar - the girls behind the bar being so damn polite - sure, why not? - theres nothing wrong with having a beer at ten am - i dont really care anyway - none needs to tell me its ok
the air of nervous anticipation, of sacred spiritual journeys taken solo to find and/or forget yourself, is all spoilt and ruined by hordes of fucking huge families - children running and screaming, taking over the place - mothers confused and bewildered as to why they aren’t allowed to bring a bottle of tomato sauce onto their flight in their carry on luggage - why the officials are asking about the stapler in her handbag - what sort of trip are these people taking?
my flight is delayed by around 3 hours - i cruise the scene - my steel cap boots making the executive clip clip footsteps on the futuristic tiled floors of the hallways that just go on forever - moving walkways and elevators, give people a break from walking for another fifteen meters - the bookshops are decent - i almost buy an iggy pop biography, and scan through a book written about josef fritzel - the bookshops in hell aren’t this expensive - i think about how easy it looks to shoplift in these airport shops - i could easily steal this biography on iggy pop or josef fritzel, but i’ll never be able to get a bottle of tomato sauce past them
behind me sits an air malaysia plane - i look at it an imagine it disappearing without a trace forever, and a world left behind never to know what happened to it - it’s massive - they can lose a whole fucking plane, with three hundred people on board, but what’s this about a stapler?
im a little surprised spontaneous orgies arent a common occurrence at airport terminals - a lot of people just sitting around with nothing to do - half of them drunk or tipsy - alone and lonely - bored of the book they’re reading - telling themselves never to listen to that work colleague again when it comes to book recommendations - are people really happy enough wasting time on their phones? - what the fuck are these people doing? - anyway, im tipsy, alone but not lonely - and im not bored of the book im reading - no one recommended this one to me (tracks, by robyn davidson) but im loving it - but if i wasn;t, look out people…
im going to new zealand - the girl behind the customs counter was pretty attractive, and she pulled off the seriousness of a customs officer really well - the prolonged look through my passport, the concerned look meant to make me feel that something might be wrong - to make me shoot my arms in the air and say i confess, you’ve got me! - i walk on through an buy a small bottle of scotch from duty free - it looks cool, and will feel good in my black jacket
the truth is i do feel a significant pang of guilt for leaving my pregnant wife home alone while i go on this trip - people will assume im a complete arsehole, and that’s okay, because lady-elle has my back - there is a world between the two of us that no-one will ever know or understand or visit - she’s cool, is the best way i can explain it to people - she was warm and sleepy as she said goodbye as i walked out the door
this isn’t the trip for lady-elle anyway - and she knows and admits that - what am i doing? why am i doing it? - it seems everyone knows but me - i like my own company - i like being alone - i like having the time and space to do and think what i want, without being questioned or asked to explain myself - its not that i dont like people, i just dont like they way they can;t accept each other - how they keep giving each other so much of a hard time demanding answers and explanations - how they need everyone to fit into what they see as the normal world, and normal way of life - so its one weird night in auckland before i take a 5 hour bus ride (enter bottle of scotch here) up to a small coastal town - popular in the holiday season - i imagine it to be quiet and somewhat dismal and depressing during the rest of the year (enter yours truly) - i have booked ten days in a small caravan on farm, ten kilometers out of town - with nothing to do but read, write, sleep, think, drink, walk, run and do whatever it want
it’s a great time to do it also - everyone seems to know now that im having a kid in a couple of months - crazy - i know the gender of the thing, and it blows my mind everyday - so yeah, i’ll get away and think about that a bit - think about my life so far, and my life ahead, and my life at every passing moment right now
i have found myself looking at peoples kids - studying them - the things they do, and i imagine my reactions to the childlike acts of my own - what am i going to say to it? - how am i going to treat it? - i am an extremely selfish person, with a chaotic yet lazy, relaxed mind - the kid will be the latest addition on a list people of this world of whom i care about what they think of me
i look forward to proving people wrong as well - everyone instantly thinks im going on this trip because this will be the last time i get a chance to travel, especially alone, which is what i love doing - no more holidays for you two, people tell lady-elle and i - bullshit - what is wrong with people? - how much joy do they get out of expecting the worst for the people around them? - get married - your life is over - have a kid - your life is over all over again - fuck that - i listen to a mere few people in this world, and those people know better, and they know me better - the rest have no idea - they’ll think im/we’re weird for doing things differently, but then tell us the same things that happened to them will happen to me/us - it doesn't make sense
i don’t know what im doing, and the truth is there isn't any reason for this trip - it’s just a desire to get away - to be alone - to live simply - to live slowly - to see, think, feel, and listen to some wild fucking psychedelic music - to read and take my time, and enjoy it - to write, and see what happens - it’s that simple - it’s a holy pure expedition, untainted by the outside world - fuelled on nothing other than my thoughts and the warmth i feel from the light at the end of the tunnel, that i walk down every single day
i found myself drifting in and out of an afternoon nap as we flew over the still and silent tasman, feeling guilty about the book i was enjoying so much - the air hostess had to shake my knee and wake me up, to tell me as i was sitting in the emergency row i had to put my bag away - everyone watched me as i did, which gave me to feeling i must have been sleeping deeply, and woken up with a start
the colours of auckand surprised me - a warm glow of gold and pink lit up the puffy white clouds as we drifted in from the sea - my hotel room was hot, muggy, and it kinda pissed me off that i had to take off my black jacket - i scoped the scene, and found it dark, and inked deeply with the monday evening blues that almost all cities in the world suffer - the late night asain restaurants and cafes lit up some of the main streets in patches - the rest of the chain fast food and fashion stores sat like shut down robots, waiting to be turned on again tomorrow to sell the same old shit to everyone
a friend had told me my hotel was near the place “where all the prostitutes hang out” - my research had done me wrong, as i was under the impression this was the happening part of town - turns out we were both right - i got something to eat and walked past a bar i should’ve gone to as opposed to the main street “tavern” that was cool enough, but hid it’s pokie machines behind a small barrier that looked more like a flimsy curtain off an op-shop fitting room
walking home with a small amount of supplies for my trip and a six pack of beer, i heard the distinct sound of a man in high heels approaching me from behind as i waited for the pedestrian lights to changed - wild curly blonde hair/waig done up in pig tails, and nothing more than a see-through set of lingerie were all he was wearing to go with the knee-high boot-heels - he walked through the red light and simply didn’t give a shit - as it turns out, we were walking in the same direction, so for my ten minute walk home, i had little more than his sexy arse to look at, and the comical scene of passers-by turning heads - the dudes outside the bar i wish i had been at instead gave him spit-ful of beer soaked abuse - might think twice about heading there after all
i woke up feeling good despite the fact i had spent the previous night not eating too much and drinking beer in my underpants on one of the two single beds in my room - the bus trip looked to be enjoyable - 5 or so hours north heading to a place i knew little about - i had a nice seat to myself and saw the beautiful green and lush and tropical landscapes of north island new zealand - i played dreamy music in my ears and felt at ease with no rush to be anywhere or do anything - i found myself drifting in and out of sleep once again - waking up and taking a second or two to remember where i was and what i was doing - a beautiful and strange sensation that i always enjoy whenever i’m blessed to experience it
the pre-trip bravado slowly burnt out, the closer i got to my destination - as little as i knew about where i was going, i knew the farm where my caravan and home for the next week and a bit would be, was around ten kilometres out of town - but i could tell by the roads and the highway we were speeding up didn’t have much room for pedestrians - i cringed a little every time i saw the bus or another car drive over the outside line of the highway
i crept up the ailse and asked the driver if it was okay to drop me off at the turn off to the farm, saving me around nine kilometres - thankfully he did, and i happily tramped my way through the farm country
after settling in as much as i could, and exploring all the little hidden nooks and cupboards and strange idiosyncrasies of my caravan, i set back out to see if i could possibly make it up the highway as i pedestrian - as i walked i knew all well that it was a bad idea - i could almost hear the thoughts of the drivers saying “…what the fuck?” as they sped towards me and roared passed at what must have been at least one hundred kilometres - even when i was allowed a quiet patch, the cows in the fields i walked by got spooked and all galloped away awkwardly, as though it was the first time they’d seen a pedestrian, and the first time they had to gallop - they obviously didn't mind the speeding cars and trucks that drove by day and night - but a pedestrian? - “what the fuck?”
my heart broke as perhaps four kilometers down the road i came to a bridge - kinda the second one i came to - but the first one i was able to cross in a scene that reminded me of the movie “stand by me” - there was only room enough for a car or for me - i found what i thought was a quiet patch and begun walking across the small twenty meter bridge - of course, as i stepped across the point of no return a car came speeding down, and i had to raise my hand in a way that said “thank you, i apologise,and yes, i know I'm an idiot”, all at once
but there was no crossing this bridge - no way - it was perhaps one hundreds meters long and im not that crazy - though my imagination did go there for a second, i never considered it - and so that was that - i had nothing to do but turn around and walk back home - no food - no wine - my new dandy warhols tshirt sweaty and dirty from having to walk alongside the bushes that lined the highway - i was heartbroken and felt stupid - i knew i was better than this, but i had let my experienced-traveller ego allow me become complacent, neglectful, and ill-prepared - i felt horrible.
walking back to the caravan, i just wanted to shower and not do anything - i didn’t care that i was beginning to starve - i felt more concerned about not having any wine or beer to be honest - however, upon arriving back to the caravan, i was welcomed home with a large tub of home-grown fruit and vegetables, home made bread and yogurt, milk, eggs, and water - the owners of the farm and caravan had left them for me - it was as if they knew, but it was obviously apart of the service i received for renting out their caravan - i cooked up some beans with a wealth of their delicious vegetables mixed in, and felt better - and lucky - and thankful
it seems to me the owners are like retired old hippies or something - they love, admire, and respect what im doing - they offered to drive me into town the next day, so i could buy what i wanted - they knew without a car i’d be unable to get down there - it was no trouble and we had a nice chat as the next day we flew fast down that highway, over the bridge, and on and on and on, until we finally made it to town - i bought some more food and got some beer and wine - probably should've gotten more, but im happy to ration it out - it will mean more time for books and writing anyway - i cooked up a nice meal of sausages, raw salad and some of the homemade mustard pickles that were in the tub- it was amazing - i ate on the small porch outside my caravan in the cool breeze and warm sun - i read all afternoon until i fell asleep - where was all this sleep hiding?
i want to write about so much, but ive come to the realisation that it’s best to wait - best to wait for the things i see and do and the feeling i float through and endure, can be filtered through a nostalgic memory its best to wait until this simple, silent lifestyle on the farm, in my caravan, is on the brink of being forgotten by the mess and clutter of city and suburban life - then these things i want to write about will be able to be explained, to some degree - right now, things simply are - and everything I'm seeing is beautiful, but you cant just write, everything is beautiful— i want to write about how flies come buzzing into my caravan every now and again, but only fly around for ten seconds or so before they fly out again, and how that gives me a little smile every time - i want to write about how every now and again, when i take a break and breather on my little porch, i see so many more insects flying and buzzing and doing it all with the excitement life in this very moment - i see that everything is always happening, and everything is alway new - i wake up at ten am and upon opening the curtains, i can see what the weather will be like that day - when you stay in the place for a few days, you begin to get a confident sense about these things - I'm already getting that wonderful blur one experiences by doing the same thing, and nothing much else, everyday, in the same place - I've been reading and writing, thinking and simply looking around - how can i convey to the reader that i am writing this with the country air flowing cool and golden as the sunsets just outside that window there in front of me?
my mind is very clear - the simple act of making my bed this morning gave me great satisfaction - i did the dishes and listened to some psyche-country music - i read outside on the porch as the insects buzzed around all the little fruit trees outside - but they minded their business, and i minded mine - i felt the cool shade on my face, as my stretched out legs warmed in the sun - my black jeans keeping me alive, man! - later in the afternoon, i read inside on the little couch, resting my book opened to my page on my thigh, as i dozed off for ten to fifteen minutes from time to time - the perfect way to fully appreciate a book
the clouds spend the day deciding what the evening sunset will look like - it’s completely up to them - i enjoy watching them prepare throughout the day, wondering what they’ll come up with - wondering what sunset they’ll put on show tonight - it’s something different every time - i don’t know what they’ll do, but it never fails to amaze me - lucky sun of a bitch - just moving on around, sun rising, and sun setting all over the world, all the time - no wonder the heart and soul are always striving for you to appreciate things like this, and to live and feel and be happy
a saturday afternoon nap is god’s way of saying thank you, i love you
love, marriage, kids, travel, reading books and music - all things things are just going to make death so much harder to accept.
when you;re alone
you kill flying night bugs
with whatever you have at hand
a beer bottle
a fork
a book of poetry by leonard cohen
when you’re alone
you eat dinner alone
in silence
the ding of fork against plate
rings loud like a bell
and you stare blankly into whatever is sitting in front of you
an empty couch
when you’re alone
there is nothing you really have to do
and no body cares,
but you find yourself thinking of everyone in your life
and you wonder about them
when you're alone
you sleep and wake up
better -
and you do these things alone
you read and read so much more
because nobody is there
and nobody is calling you
when you’re alone
you stand by the front door
and watch the bugs fly and buzz outside
and you notice them so much more
and you recognise them
no-one can see you simply sitting
in the quiet of night
doing nothing in the dark
when you;re alone
your mind is a poet
and everything is beautiful
emotions are simple
time is warped
and thoughts are clear
when you’re alone
you’re never alone
as you can finally fully comprehend
oneness
and how everything and everyone everywhere
is connected and one
movements and actions and thoughts
affecting everything everywhere all the time
our lives striving for the greater good
for the well being of the planet
and the universe
where we are alone
when i was about to get married, it was great to see everyone so happy for me, and for us - it really was a once in a life time chance to see everyone (vast majority anyway) really happy for you, and us both - however, immediately after the congratulations, you get the snide and and outdated jokes about how “you’re life is over now mate” - everyone tells you all the shit that’s about to tear your life apart, and how you’re never going to be able to live life the way you want to anymore - you’re not going to be able to do the things you love anymore - just because you're getting married
those people are making the mistake that just because they have seen one wedding and marriage take place, they’ve seen them all - and you really can’t blame them, because through the cliche and complete sham of romance (flowers, breakfast in bed, things guys do and things girls do) most relationships and marriage do become the same, and become the one thing - a marriage the marriage— as opposed to our relationship, our marriage
ive said it thousands of times im sure, but every relationship between two individuals must create an individual relationship - romance, and romantic things narrows this down so sharply, so unnaturally, that you’re relationship will very soon lose all individuality - you’ll lose why you fell for each other in the first place, because you’re now doing things that “a couple does” or “a married couple does” - that is the reason relationships fail - people lose their individuality - a marriage may bring two people together, but it doesn’t make one
for me, i got hoards of people telling me that id no longer be travelling alone anymore - since ive been married, i’ve been to oktoberfest (not alone, but without my wife), run a half marathon in romania, hiked through the ghostly forests of lithuania, spent weekends in one road country towns drinking and thinking, headed down to my beach house alone, and (now) spent two weeks in new zealand living in a caravan on a farm - alone, yet married.
without a doubt, i am thankful i married a person who understands this truth, and fact of life, as well
i am about to have a kid, and it’s started all over again - people are so happy and say congradutions and it’s a great experience seeing so many people so happy - but immediately after the i’m told how my life is over once again, and how im never going to be able to do the things i love anymore - and how this happens, and then this happens, but things get better after this happens - i smile and laugh it off - sometimes i feel as though I'm supposed to thank them for their wisdom - (some of these people have had kids, some of them don’t, but still feel they know what’s ahead for me)
and hell they may be right - this is my first kid and i don’t know whats going to happen - i don’t really care to be honest - and i dont care because i know I'm in a relationship with someone who knows me, and whom i know - we understand we’re individuals, and we cherish and protect our individual relationship from the outside world - it just gets tiresome having to defend whats seems as “werid” and “strange” - it’s not - it’s honest and true
reading on the porch
in the morning shade
the sunlight moves slowly towards me
i make a promise to myself
by the time it hits my big toe
- lunch
sometimes people go to restaurants, despite having kitchens in their houses
sometimes people go to the cinemas, despite having a tv in their lounge room
sometimes people don’t mind walking in the rain, looking forward to a warm shower when they get home
sometimes people want to talk with you, not at you, for as long as required, and not until your get a phone call from someone else
sometimes doing nothing but sitting and staring out the window all day is the most productive thing you can possibly do
sometimes people don’t want to go to thailand for a holiday, but love going for a walk after lunch
sometimes people dont want to live close to the city, because they love trees and nature
sometimes people are happy to walk, despite being offered a lift in a car
sometimes people disagree with you, but they don't want to fight or argue
sometimes people love you, but they love being alone also
sometimes people just want to be warm, and dont share a passion for fashion or trend
sometimes people are just as happy eating an apple, as they are with a ten dollar salad
sometimes people dont care about money - and i mean, really dont care about money
sometimes people actually mean it, when they say “money isn’t everything”
sometimes people are just being friendly, and don’t want to have sex with you
sometimes people are happy for no reason at all
sometime people are sad for no reason at all
sometimes people are sad, and just need time, not people or things or words, to make them feel better
i remember as a kid, one of the biggest and best buzzes we could get would be checking the coin return slot in public telephones - perhaps once in ten checks would find a small amount of change - at most fifty cents i reckon - there was one, and probably one of the last, public phone boxes down near the beach, a short walk away from my families holiday house - we never used to have a phone in the house, and this was way before mobiles - so we’d often walk down there to make whatever phone calls we needed to make - and often just walk past it on an evening walk after dinner - my brothers and i would often race ahead to check the coin return slot first - all for the slight chance of finding a small amount of change - perhaps we’d take turns, i don't know - i don’t understand kids - but it was a brilliant feeling finding those coins - usually enough to buy some lollies or something - it meant so much, and amounted to so much - so now these days, i feel little guilty about always making sure to collect my change when ever I'm buying something - but don’t feel so bad when i lose money, when i lose cash - because someone is going to find it, and it’s going to give them a great buzz, and make them feel so good, and lucky.
today is my last full day here in the caravan - i leave early tomorrow morning - today started the same as every other day I've spent here - waking up naturally, when my body rose, and my awareness of this reality faded back into my consciousness - i felt good, as i had every morning - mostly thanks to having to ration out my booze supply to last me this long - i cant say it was easy, as many times i would've loved to have stayed all night drinking and reading and writing and listening to music - but i couldn’t, and it paid off for the best
i opened the curtains and saw yet another sunny, cool morning outside - i opened all the windows and let the day begin - i made breakfast, usually eggs and some fruit from the trees outside - i ate them on the porch and looked at the fields and paddocks and trees that surrounded me - cows mooed from time to time, and the insects started their buzz - id sit on the porch and read whatever book i was reading - by the time the sun hit my feet, i knew it was time for lunch - id prepare something and eat it on the porch listening to music that played from inside the caravan - richmond fontaine - the best of cosmic country - betty davis - wilco - mazzyz star - dave graneyy - i noticed the clouds moving around slowly - i saw the sun begin to reflect off the water down by the bay - just a small pocket of the wonderful farm land view i have from my caravan - the day was slowly preparing for the sunset
somedays id go for a run, or ride down to the beach - the place was desolate - a couple of fishermen, and a couple of old women going for their afternoon stroll - id swim in the warm still water of the bay and look around - whose dog is that?
back at the caravan, id shower in the outdoor shower, with homemade water heater using a gas cilinder - id read some more, by now the caravan glowing and warm with direct sunlight, an hour off sunset - id read in some shade, and look up from time to time, checking out the sunset - seeing what they came up with - its different every time, yet it always pulls the same emotion and mood every time - i love sun sets - i love the dusk
usually it would be tme for a beer or wine, but i have to ration them out and save them for later - i prepare some dinner, careful to keep some ventilation and windows and door open, but still trying not to let the bugs in, it being their twilight - a few get in but they dont bite or anything - just flying around, tantalised by the lamps - and eat it looking at the final stage of the sunset - purple, to blue, to black - i eat in silence, most of the time - my fork clanging against my plate the only sound in my silent little caravan
id drink my ration of booze for the night - reading poetry- writing - getting high on sad country music - id feel good about my day - high and holy -alone, i had done it - i had done everything i needed to, to survive another day - i nurtured my body, my soul and mind - i recognised and respected the might and beauty of the natural world around me - and i bettered myself, in some small way at least
id stay up late, late enough to find myself nodding off - id turn off the lamps, and lay down to sleep, easily.
here on my last day, i feel a sense of great satisfaction, and of sadness - i feel as though i have successfully done what i wanted to do here - which was nothing - read, write, live simply, think about things, go for a couple of runs, and maybe go for a swim - what i read were some great books, coincidently fitting to my situation - i wrote, yeah - i lived on simple yet healthy meals three times a day - the food came from the land i lived on, and the land in surrounding farms, and i could tell, and it made a difference through the connection and acceptance i feel with this place - i found myself sitting in silence doing nothing a couple of times a day - just sitting, being - sometimes listening, sometimes looking and watching, but not always - my runs and swims woke my body up, and experienced the physical world here
the sadness isn’t anything to be too concerned about - i just feel so good, it makes me sad - sometimes you can love and appreciate someone so much it makes you so sad, because they will never really know how much you appreciate them - never - i get like that after i enjoy myself - i have remembered so many things about myself here - i have reminded myself of the things i can do - i have uncluttered what i thought was a calm and relaxed mind, but how far off i was without even knowing - i know what calm is once again - i know what relaxed is once again - i can enjoy beer and wine again, ansi couldn't believe how much sleep was inside me, waiting to be had, waiting to be taken, waiting for it’s turn
im sad because i know this enlightenment wont last - already my pessimism/realism is coming back, i can sense it - my lifestyle isn’t the problem - it’s the people in the wide-world around me - i feel so sorry for them - i feel so sorry for them when they call me the werido - when they laugh at the things i do, and then when i listen to them talk about the things they talk about - it shocks me that they’re being serious - it shocks me that this is what they want
but today isn’t yet over - some more richmond fontaine, the last of my food, one more run, one more swim, hopefully finish this book im reading - no more booze, as the bus leaves and takes me back to auckland early tomorrow morning - it’s a really nice ride back down south - there i’ll sit in a bar and drink some beers and do some reading and writing - im feeling good, and i love everything i see - i love time and space and its warped sense of humour - i love this place and i love what it has taught me, and made me - ill try and remember that every time i see the sunset over the shoulders of the people i know and see
sunshine glow
the insects buzzing
im lazy, and my mind humming
a fly buzzes inside my caravan
for only 10 seconds, then leaves
- it’s ok, but why never a butterfly?
silence in a field somewhere -
and just as im on the brink of enlightenment
a cow comically moos in the distance
that crazy butterfly!
he is tempted by the clouds,
i can tell!
enjoying the country air
only to realise
that’s probably cow manure i can smell
and back in auckland - walking the hills - damn, how do people handle this day in and day out? - ive got my massive pack on my back, but im determined to get to the hotel quickly so i can check in, then check out the cool looking record store across the street - i drop my bag in my room, open the windows, change my tishirt, and hit the streets again - I'm floored by the record store - twice the size of a large super market, it just keeps going - real groovy - i take my time and browse the vinyl - eventually carrying a bundle in my arms heavy enough to ache my muscles by the time i get to the cds - half of the store is one massive uncategorised bargain bin! - you could spend weeks in there just browsing finding bargains - it’s too much, and im exhausted after my time there - i slam down one hundred and seventy bucks worth of goods and feel good about finding some amazing stuff at some amazing prices - i cruise on down the street (and hill) and find a generic little irish pub to sit and drink some beers
if it weren’t for my eight or nine days living holy in the caravan, and if it weren't for the one hundred and seventy bucks worth of vinyl in my tote bag, this place would have no soul - just another irish pub playing the pougues till they don’t want to drink anymore - i order a vegetarian pizza, and it’s smothered in cheese - i burn the roof of my mouth on it, and it’s a sign for the rest of my time in auckland - it tastes just about right
a friendly irish guys gets talking to me at the bar, and he’s pretty much just telling me how much he likes to drink - he tells me tonight it’s the “staff party” so i should expect a lot of drunk backpackers arriving any time soon -i think to myself, this is shit - these people don;t know how to drink, and they don;t know why to drink either - they dont know how to appreciate travel - what the fuck am i doing here? - i order another beer, determined to think it out
i sense a first date and young couple walk into the pub - they get asked for id and order their drinks next to me at the bar - the guy asks the girl, what kind of beer did you want? - she says she doesn't mind, so he orders two pints of larger, and announces that he’s pretty sure girls like larger - in any case he’s mum drinks it, he says - i order another beer and hope to watch this unfold - and I'm happy for the guy - she’s cute
i head back to the hotel - ive had my share and i like the idea of finishing up this nz trip with a 6 pack of beer in my room and some time and music, writing some haiku - im stuck with this guilt and knowledge that i have to get up at four-thirty the next morning to get to the airport - so i should really be getting some sleep, and shouldn’t be drinking too much - in the end my indecisions of what to do kinda spoils the night, and i end up sipping a few cold ones, wondering what i should do with myself
auckland at four-thirty in the morning is a dark and seedy affair - im propositioned by two transgender prostitutes, and several guys in cars are cruising the streets, hoping to get their attention - i have a 25min wait for my bus, and read my book, trying to keep to myself - I'm pretty sure one of them complimented me on my jacket
confused and sleep deprived i stumble through the airport and find my seat on the plane - i nod and jerk in and out of sleep, never fully sleeping, at least i don’t think so anyway - but know it’s enough - i listen to slow-dive and read some raymond carver short stories
am i happy to be home? you always are a little bit i guess, but that doesn’t really last too long - before you know it you’ve grooved yourself back into a homely routine, thinking and day dreaming about what you’ve just experienced, endured, lived though, learned and done, while you sit on the couch with the curtains closed and the tv on with the sound down - you wonder if it was real at all? - it’s ridiculous that travelling is so easy these days - it’s sad that anyone can do it - i think it’s ruining the world, and it’s selling the planet short - it’s selling our human history for twenty bucks a token - half price on tuesdays - fuck the eifel tower - fuck the collesseum - they’re not what they are anymore - they’re tourist sites, and nothing else - they’ve been robbed and raped and pimped out to thousands of people talking about bucket-lists and taking photos for no reason
a perfect moment
alone on a beach, sunset
- it’s memory born at sun-rise
waking up on a plane
my head resting against the window
what the fuck?!
fruit of the tree
i eat while i piss
the circle of life
i walk down the street
and people look and smile
i dare not look down, in case i spoil this moment
the whole concept of a “bucket-list” is kind of depressing - to think so many people can make a finite list of all the things they want to do in their life depresses me, and to think all these people believe that these things will make them happy depresses me more - do these people think that once they’ve gone sky-diving or seen the arura borealis they their lives will be complete? that they’ll be happy just to sit out the rest of their lives now that they’ve “crossed that one off”? - i understand that life will never be complete, and death will never come packaged in a tidy tight conclusion - that hole you feel in your soul will never be filled, no matter how many lists you make, or how hard you try and map out your perfect life - love, a dream job, money,marriage, house, kids - none of these things will complete your life - travel,site seeing, spiritual retreats - they’re either meaningless and only under-taken to make your friends envious, or they’re never enough - no list can complete your life, because your life will never be complete - nothing you control will make you happy, at least not in the long term - but an awareness of the sad truths of life will allow you to feel a little better at least
i see shadows move where there are no shadows - or at least, where there shouldn’t be shadows - i question myself, and have learnt not to trust my sanity - their reoccurrence leads me to raise the possibility of ghouls and spectres - i often forget to sleep - and when i do, it rarely counts for anything - I'm surrounded by a warm fog, lost and confused in a cold bland world with nothing to do - i sit and stare at the powerless television - a distant vague silhouette of my reflection stares back at me, and i swear i can see a dark soul, characterless, sitting next to me in silence
she is due home any minute, though each minute passes like a sore and tired year - i don’t know what her reaction will be, nor if she’ll even notice
i sip on my cold beer
- the glorious nina simone
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