HATER GONNA HATE YO

It's possible that I've got either a hater or a frustrated stalker. Because last night, while I was elsewhere, someone purposely kicked the driver door of my parked car. Leaving a dent and a neat unworn sneaker print dead centre of the panel. The car was parked on the street, against a wall. The footpath was on the other side of the street. Someone actually had to cross the street to kick that door and then cross back over to the footpath. Think about it.
Is this the one also responsible for the multiple breaking-s of the left hand wing mirror? The odd thing is that the one who breaks the mirrors does so without apparent discrimination (thought the BMW always gets hit) (from time to time Saturday or Sunday mornings start with a hasty mirror repair. And if you look down the street you can see that the perpetrator has performed the procedure on the mirrors of other vehicles, leaving you with a grim sense of solidarity) whereas I checked the other vehicles on the street and none of them have neatly kicked driver doors. It's strange. One for Agatha or Sherlock. Hopefully not Agatha.

Student suburb.

Note: By Agatha I mean whoever is the heroine of Agatha Christie's murder mysteries.

SEVEN DAYS

These are the more straight forward things from the week past.

Day 1. MONDAY. Woke up to the thought of a message I received from a cousin in Melbourne. Wore my mature outfit of plum grey trousers and faded blue woolen top. Could be working because a young kid I crossed paths with on the way to the dairy apologised as we both moved in the same direction when trying to avoid each other (according to Wellington rules I was in the right as I had moved left). Working the late shift meant relaxed late night opinions at work. I had only just caught up, the day before, with what happened in Cleveland.

Day 2. TUESDAY. Cleaned the house for Thursday property inspection. Paid bills. Wore red and blue shoes (mostly red). Also was wearing my Perks And Mini headspin woven top. Discovered my friend at work has the makings of a DSLR camera rig (e.g. focus ring, z-finder and glidetrack) this is actually interesting to me. Got a Double-Down burger during my break and went down to the river. For a moment I forgot about the dreams in my head and was where I was (and was who I was). It was refreshing.

Day 3. WEDNESDAY. Woke up from a late morning camera nightmare where I find a perfect shot but then I can't work the camera and then the moment's passed. So I got my camera manual and read the bracketing and manual white balance sections. A frustrating and disappointing dream. Had swapped shifts so I could go to the Mirek Smíšek opening at the NZAFA. Mostly because I'd never been to one there before. Interesting reasons for his beginning his work, endeavouring a positive result to WWII being one of those. Another thing I found interesting was cut pottery. Roughly sculpting the clay with a blade was new to me (maybe I don't get out enough?). A lot of old art patrons there eating the free cheese and drinking the free wine.

Day 4. THURSDAY. Property manager visited. He approved of my listening to the Beatles. He had appropriate disappointment at the weed growing in my neighbours gutter. I forgot to tell him not send the roughshod electricians he used before when getting someone to take a look a the wardrobe bulb that had blown three times in the last two weeks. Day shift today but the night shifts have effected things, such as hand eye co-ordination, a little. Late night DVDs with brother and his fiance and her sister.

Day 5. FRIDAY. Day off today. Signed up for Semi Permanent Auckland. Set up an online video but the export was corrupted O_o. Went to a show with friends. 5 or 6 performances including a surprise appearance by French for Rabbits (secret because they had a bigger gig on the Saturday so I guess they had certain commitments with that, so no advertising). Her voice is kind of plummy and trembling, each song sound like she was about cry, said that was because they were only doing their guitar songs, and all the guitar songs are sad. Plus she said she had stage fright (she was counting frets so...). The lead guitar was subtle to the point you almost couldn't hear it, but in a good way. Beautiful, made the night for me. Also vegan curry and chai!

Day 6. SATURDAY. People drove funny this day, 10km in 50km zones, friend driving doesn't giveway (I couldn't believe what was happening), people walked in front of cars (including girls playing chicken on Courtnay Place). Early shift at work. Met a group setting up for 48hrs at the Embassy. Hung out with a friend who has recently finished a feature film. He's soon leaving to find work in Singapore. Listening to England by The National.

Day 7. SUNDAY. I'm really not sure that the morning is the best part of the day. Got up early today, like yesterday. Church. And in contrast to that, reading a good part of Damien Echol's autobiography. Went to see Detropia. It's made by the same duo that make the surprisingly unbiased Jesus Camp. Detropia was as transparent and was also uncharacteristic of a documentary in offering a solution within itself without compromising it's fly on the wall technique. A very nice film about the city of Detroit's economic struggle. Cinema was about half full.

LAST ARGUMENT OF KINGS

(Ultima Ratio Regum)

Leaping from a clay slope knobbled by sheep tracks and slips, ledges tufted with grass, into a deep murky green water hole. Moments to salute before curling up into a cannonball. Hit the surface and pass though the first tepid layer where it's still light before meeting the frore current moving below. Down and down until jolted to the river-floor  Wait there wondering how deep and think about the eels. Had they been frightened away by the rock throwing ceremony? Then spring open pushing against the curdled silt and misshapen river stones. They grit against each other and silently slip away to rest. Up and up the tepid layer is now, for a moment, warm when bursting, rescued, into the wind.

WOE IS ME

WARNING: May contain traces of license/hyperbole and cliche and uses the word Jesus.

A child with sticky fingers I was loathed to give it up. This thing, word-horde (this is a real thing by the way if you weren't there). Filled with (barely sampled and now coveted) knowledge and functionality. Gah! And besides this I was mr brown sitting there useless with a scattered communist mind legislating truth and regulations of various origin. Drinking coffee at this hour meant it could take a while to get to sleep. And Stephen Fry is evidently a toff. Yay. At that point toff meant privileged class with a self-deprecating thing. I now see, as a definition, that actually is quite close.

We left without ceremony but in general good humour, I think, and as a group moved down the street. People were talking about stuff and I was thinking about my car. It was in the opposite direction. That was when one of the group left to speak to someone recognised in the dark. Actually it was more of a thing than a one (in a way). A girl, confused, who clearly couldn't see straight, was slumped along a street bench one arm hanging over the back. Her friend was with her, holding up a bottle of water, trying to give her a drink. The friend from our group had stopped and gone back to see if the girl was ok. We waited. As Jesus-friend returned gift-friend offered that I read the book thing first. I replied, "Nah I'll just buy another one."

My money reply stood beside the Jesus action all empty or different. Making me realise how I now walked about selfishly trying to see nothing. Collecting stuff. Whereas I used to be different, aware as possible and (mostly for danger but) sometimes would even recognise something that I could, in someway, do to help or change for the better, and then 10% of the time, have the courage or good nature to do it.

Now if my sad childishness hasn't put you off. BEFORE ALL THIS as I (me, yes!) was circling the streets looking for a carpark. Friday night. Not being very selfish, just thinking. Thinking about how family language has its subtleties that even a keen outsider, though they may pick up on them, would most likely be in no way able to decipher or understand. In all the certainty of meaning and communication. I (me, yay!) then had an epiphany that that's what it must be like in the ultimate polymath club (stop me if this is sounding crazy, I have a feeling this is all unravelling.) For a quick example I imagine that Leonardo da Vinci and Albert Einstein could have traded ideas like that. I apologise to any geniuses reading this. I'm going. Actually what I'm saying is that I felt like I could imagine the feeling they felt as they easily traded ideas rather than the usual perspective from grass below the mountain/tower staring up. Bitterly able to recognise my lowly stature. I could imagine a part of their level that was possibly true. Just trust me. Hope this doesn't sound too bad humanist.

DEAR 10 YEARS AGO ME

Maybe we could hang out. I have ALWAYS held you in the highest esteem possible. And I am certain you would be the most perfect and useful person to talk to. Over years we've run along some precarious and unpredictable paths. I like most of your choices. I can remember some perfect moments and secrets. All I can say is MORE MORE! Actually, to think of it, in about two years you're about to do something very crazy and a bit stupid. I can only shake my head and laugh. Amusing amusing. I like you. I won't ruin the surprise. Just do it... again? Hey, I've learnt this new trick. Keep your emotions about so much back from your eyes. It gives you a huge advantage in certain situations. Adversely, it will delay your response time, but then, this is generally actually more socially acceptable. And it gives you time to think of the best choice in response. Not to mention the other time to imagine all manner of devastating return, and sometimes even answer for you, in an attempt at evasion or from fear of either you or their ignorance or insanity. Does that sound insane?
Other side effects include less tears from your eyes. Tears are, in most cases, generally frowned upon socially or otherwise. Though they do feel so exact in the moment (in an innocent sense).
The extra "so much" works as a sorting bay of kind. Kind of takes you out of the moment though. I'm thinking of coupling it with this secret new sense of recklessness I feel, and seeing where and how far it will take me. I am needing to make/take some SERIOUS decisions/steps (it's a dance) SOON. Which friends? Which way? Why which way?

These days your innocence and certainty inspires me. This is not exactly relevant but do you remember, a while ago, when reading LOTR for the first time, leaping from the bed and running down the hallway to dinner with Anduril flashing with red flames? I'll never forget that.

 

 

Also when you buy that car, remember to check the oil before driving away.