Concerning the creeping of skin.

So I have this mate. He has gotten me kicked out of more flats than I ever could have. He’s a heavy drinker and drug user. He has a habit after battling a broken jaw that got infected and took almost a decade to come right. They admitted, as with my case, that a mistake was made. Medical Procedure Injury = Fucked Over. You can kind of cut him slack when you know that, except that he broke his jaw by continually falling down drunk on his face time after time, so…. yeah. As with also my case, it’s a little self inflicted. I mean I would doubt my kidneys would have caught cancer if I hadn’t been regularly soaking them in alcohol and other nasty substances. You know?

I caught up with him on the weekend. We are older now, there was no trouble, it was great to see him. He has grown, he makes cheese instead of running a still to make fire water and he has a license. That one gobsmacked me. We went for a ride to the store and it was so bizarre to see him behind the wheel, I had to pinch myself, heh. Hes a really smart guy, he has a masters in chemistry. I went to his grad. We had Indian food with his Mum and his Sister (who used to be his brother). Plus he and his siblings are the only fellow Anderson Clansmen and women that I have met in New Zealand, outside my Scottish family, but I haven’t seen them since i was a kid. Anderson. It was pretty funny. One of the first times I went to their family home there was Anderson Tartan everywhere. I’m like “Hey that’s MY Tartan!” and they all look at me like I’m stupid. “We thought you already figured that out!” Since then we have been family.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

One of the unpleasant moments the other night was when he started telling me about my ex and her sexual partners. I had to be quite forceful in asking him to stop because he was quite enjoying himself digging the knife in and twisting it… he can be a bit of a dick sometimes, he could see it was hurting me and that was giving him a nasty little thrill. Anyway so now I have been chewing that over for a while. It’s none of my business what she does. As soon as my son turns 16 I can have a relationship with him again I hope but until then I just have to wait. I don’t care about what she does and I don’t want to be told. It hurts so much being apart from my baby boy, it’s a jagged gaping sore. I have photos of all the kids all over my room, not an hour goes by that I don’t see them. Sigh. Man I have really fucked up, gentle reader, really. But other than that I don’t give a shit. It is kind of funny that she still hasn’t learned that two crazy people is a bad idea. I used to like thinking about her in a new relationship when I was in Prison. Particularly that moment, the first time she switches from a lovely soft adorable woman to a screaming unreasonable violent hurricane. It’s quite the phenomenon. A real force of nature. Fucking hilarious, she’s be great on Tik Tok. I guess some dudes like that sort of thing, not me.

So that’s where my head is. As I expected she cropped up in my dreams last night. There was a roller coaster, other than that I can’t recall much. I am finding it hard to snap out of the funk I got into during the lockdown. The people that live around me are just terrible people. I am an island of semi-functionality in a sea of fucking institutionalized fuckwits that just hussle all the time. Its yucky and its Monday so tonight all the crack dealers will start turning up. Performance vehicles with big, loud gangsters. They don’t stay long but they sure do make an entrance. After that its chaos until Wednesday morning. Then they go quiet. They don’t party on the weekend because they are broke by Wednesday and they’re coming down from a crack high. They fight often and they stand around outside my room talking loud as fuck, telling each other elaborate lies. The latest one is this guy who talks like he might have a brain injury or something. I don’t know what he looks like, I only ever hear him. He has been telling them all about this house he owns in Whangarei. The tenants took him to court or something and now they don’t have to pay rent and that’s why hes so poor. It makes him mad because they should get out, then he’d have his house back. It was way more detailed than that, this is just a sketch. They are out there now, as I type. This goes on at all hours and it has contributed to me just barricading myself in and listening to or making bass heavy grooves. I have big speakers I can block them out, I watch movies and slowly work my way through my housework. The hardest part is coming and going, it’s stressful. The guys in the house in front have no dramas, you never even see them, same with my house mostly, its the third and final house in the driveway, they are the fucking rotten little core in our wonderful clean modern barrel of apples. But I have told you this all before huh?

I guess I’ll get back to my day. I might get to play drums tomorrow night. I feel ok, I am stressed a lot but physically I am comfortable. This time of day, mid-late morning are the best, all the painkillers are working and I can move around better. I try to get as much done as I can because once it gets to 1 or 2pm it starts hurting again but they won’t give me enough for the whole day. I have to plan around the medication, If I double up and have a whole day where I can be a little more comfortable and capable then I have to go without another day. Which day do I choose? You se? It’s pretty feral but on the days when I double up I can play music standing up, go for a short walk, cook a meal, stuff like that.

Hey I am in contact with these two guys, I am trying to get them to come down here after covid settles down, they are really cool. I like their “I’m Native, Whats Your Super Power?” T-shirts too.

Its hard to tell how I am doing. I have a medical review this week with the psychiatrist and my new GP just approached me and wants to meet. She was away when I signed up and I saw a temp. He was a fuckwit, both times I ended up in tears, shaking and panicking. His bedside manner sucked. It was funny because when we met I said that I’d always wanted a Māori Doctor. But it went south, real quick and I am pretty hopeful that she will be kind and compassionate because I need some help, this can’t be forever, there must be something they can try. I’ve said all along that I only need for one of them to really see and hear me, a champion, it would only take one dr stepping up. Sigh. I lied, I am not that hopeful. I’ve lost my optimism.

I hope you are safe wherever you are. I encourage you to get a vaccine but I also encourage you to follow your heart. Not everyone needs to be vaccinated for it to work. We need to stop bullying people who are skeptical. Lets just be cool about it and hopefully they will see that no-one is dying in great numbers, no-ones balls are swelling up or being tracked by the government, lets just give them the time to see these things and maybe they will change their minds. Please wear a mask and sanitize surfaces and hands. Stay home if you can. Watch Reservation Dogs if you can. Be safe and give a shit about each other. Hey I remember someone explaining this little loophole in sharia that allows a good Muslim to tell a lie if the lie is being told to the infidel. When I see the Taliban on TV telling everyone how much they have changed and all the human rights they claim not to be trampling on… I just don’t buy any of it. Afghanistan is nowhere near being out of the woods just yet. They’ve just announced they will resume beheading and amputations for crimes against both common and sharia law. I ache for those people trapped there. I know there are problems all over the world but the ones caused by religion seem to me to be the most pointless and therefore the most viscous by default. I’ll go, thanks kind reader for your companionship.

xxx Mark

ps – I bet I’d still let her in if she tapped on my window… I know. I know.

Gathering The Beans

Hi Friend. I have a really interesting piece of music happening. I just beaver away at it on my own, day in day out. Every once in a while I make something that I really like and suddenly I am inspired again and I can go for days or even weeks just head down working. I mostly do it these days when the people (sic) (read: Animals) are outside my window. Low tempo, Bass heavy music is really good at blocking them out. I have hours of audio of them, the case managers told me to record them, little good it does. They are out there right now. It’s really bad here. I have been really complaining hard, trying to get the one fuckwit here removed. Unfortunately it has only made things worse, again. Now they menace me relentlessly. I was cooking bolognaise last night and as usual I attract a crowd, they want weed, smokes and food, in that order, with a side of meth. It’s fucking yucky here dear kind reader. I am having to go through these massive panic attacks every time I have to go outside my and when I am in my car, coming home. I slept in it the other night simply because I didn’t want to be here while they were at it. I get light headed and feel weak, like I am exhausted, like each limb is made of lead and I can’t breathe. I experience it all the time when they are standing just meters from me talking and laughing or fighting. It’s happening as I type this. It is driving me crazy, kind reader. I’ve asked for help I ask almost every day. They say “Call the police”, the police say “call the property managers”. Urgh, man I am tired. It might be another night in the car by the sounds of it.

They treat my driveway as their crack house. They all mostly live around the corner in a mental health support house. They aren’t allowed to drink and smoke meth there so they come to this house because one of the ladies allows them to basically come and go as they please. Except my room is smack dab in the middle of it all. I have never opened my curtains, I rarely get to open the window, its simply too loud plus it would be like living in a goldfish bowl, seriously. I keep a long metal bar, a part of a mic stand by the door and I keep my tire iron handy in the car. Twice now I have been threatened, one of them put his hands on me once too. I am stressed all the time. It hurts my stomach because I am running at 1000% anxiety all the time. My coping tools aren’t up to this kind of endless insecurity. This is supposed to be a safe place for people like me. It’s not. There’s none of the oversight, support and opportunities that they told me I’d experience. Nope it’s just a dumping ground.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

Otherwise, meh, life is an endless drag. I think of suicide quite a lot. Theres a neat trick the Japanese do with lime and hydrochloric acid that looks quite simple and painless. Next week I have another barrage of testing and uncomfortable procedures, all leading up to the final surgery. Surgery to correct the nerve damage hopefully… The tests are nasty, the nerve testing one consists of attaching electrodes to certain places on the body and then running a current through them to test response and stuff. In the beginning its actually quite pleasant but it soon turns into pain, Short. Sharp. Bolts of lightening that cause your muscles to spasm and lock up. Then they re-attach the electrodes somewhere else and do it again. I am not brave anymore. I used to be. I used to be loads of things. Now.. I am nothing. A smear. I’ve really lost my way, if I ever had it at all. When I look back at my life I see that some of the things that happened were beyond my control. It has felt like a struggle since I was small, everything paralyses me with fear and so I learned to cope in negative ways. You wouldn’t believe how much I can drink when I put my mind to it. You would think I was lying. Same goes with ganja but I leave all the other lings alone now. I’ve learned that lesson at least. Hey the new Taika series continues to be the stuff of legends. You wait, “Reservation Dogs” will be iconic, no doubt about that at all. If you are a sci fi fan the new Marvels series “What If?” is amazing, all the correct cast voicing it, each subsequent episode goes even further than the last. Oh and the “Chapelwaite” series is cool too. Based on Stephen Kings “Jerusalem’s Lot”. Thats one of my really favorite Stephen Kind stories, I must have read it twenty times.I have started, finally, having to wear glasses, I don’t read as voraciously as I used to. I suspect this is a fad, it wont last, I am a fiend for it.

Hey I’m going to take off. I will wait until they aren’t out there (They go inside to smoke meth these days) and make my escape. Every time a car pulls in I freak out now. It really sucks. I hope you are well and safe kind reader. I still haven’t been vaccinated. Its not the vaccine i am afraid of either. Every time I go there there is a crowd and I just can’t A: stand up that long and B: be around all those strangers at the moment.

xxx Mark Te Haupa Tupuhi

Oh hey! We had a covid situation at our Marae yesterday or the day before. It was pretty trippy to see the place on the news (I saw it at a friends house, I don’t watch that poison ordinarily). I got hold of my Pops and checked that no-one from our family had been affected but they were all ok, no-one had been up there lately so that was good. It didn’t seem to be too serious but it is kind of creeping down from Auckland slowly. Man we were so smug about how we handled the pandemic but we forgot to follow through and get vaccinated and now we have outbreaks again. Hmmmm…

Sepultura and Beans

WARNING. NOT FOR THE SNITCH-HEARTED.

About 15 years ago methamphetamine, valium, alcohol, childhood trauma and facebook collided and I began the painful process of disengaging from traditional social media. These days I only use this site, youtube and gmail, shunning the twitters and facebooks and tiktoks in favor of (relative) anonymity. I had a run in with a progeny and one of his bones of contentions was that I outed my family as a nest of pedophiles on facebook. He didn’t want to hear that. Or, more precisely, he balked at me making that public. Eventually I got therapy and managed to get off facebook but for a while there I was pretty volatile. I see his point, all of his friends and contacts could potentially see that and I guess he felt exposed. I gave up, mostly because the venom and desire for retribution was actually eating me from the inside out but also because I was met with a brick wall when I attempted to bring this to light. The rest is kind of history but even today I am terrified of opening up those old wounds because I found that my family did not want to hear that either, that it was easier to let it slide. Hell, one is considered a kaumatua these days, a respected fucking elder (Spits).

I have such anger, kind reader, I could have had a real life. I could have been a good Dad and husband/lover/provider. Instead I got this.

If I could get those uncles alone for half an hour I would end them. It would take every second of that half hour too.

It’s hard even for me to confront these aches but it hurt to have them dismissed so harshly and without any avenue for healing or understanding by people I loved. My family have such wonderful attributes, we are a strong and proud Māori Whanau but we are rotten at the core. No-one else seems to care and when I tried to address it I was shut down. I hate myself. I hate the things that happened to me as a kid and I hate the fuckwit I have become.

I hate my life friend. I hope it will be over soon.

I hope you are… well, whatever.

mark

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/track/yellow-ribbon

My Mate Moses

My friend Moses Hiakita died this week. they are burying him in Whatawhata this morning. He was wheelchair bound after getting polio at age 3. It never stopped him from doing what he loved. In fact until today I didn’t even know about the polio, I never asked and he never said anything, it was not a thing that was important, music was. I met him when we worked at JBC in Hamilton. I did the bookings, terry and Moses did the sound and lighting, Ivan ran the bar and at the end of each night, after all was tidied up we’d get stoned and carry his chair up to the street and bugger off to our respective homes. 7 nights a week for ages… most of 98 and 99 were spent doing that, all in the name of original music. He gave bass lessons down there in the afternoons for free. If you wanted to play bass, really wanted it, he would show you how. He moved to Auckland for a while. This was when I was writing and performing my own original music, trying to make things happen. I played in Auckland as much as I could, sometimes 3 or 4 nights a week and I’d stop in at Otara on my way and pick him up. He appears on some of the very earliest live recordings of my playing back then, shouting encouragement, abuse and requests from the audience. When he moved to Gisborne we lost touch but I did visit him a few times in the early years after he left. When we stopped in on tour he attached himself to us as honorary roady. He managed to get us a live promo on the local radio stations, interviews in the paper, shit like that, he was all class. We lost touch but just a few days ago I saw a guy in a chair that looked like him… a few days later they tell me he’s dead. Only 60 years old. I like to think that that guy I saw actually was him, just saying goodbye… it’s a nice thought. I bet he was still doing the same shit when he died. He was definitely still playing with his long time collaborator, Darryl Montieth, they have been playing together since the 80s! I bet he was still giving bass lessons and hanging around the radio stations, studios and venues, eager to do anything to help… roll up cables, take flyers out, man the door… he just loved to be a part of it. It’s a shame he left here, Gisborne now claim him as a local icon when, in fact, he is our treasure too. RIP my friend, time to play in the big time. xxxm

Theres a lot of footage of him on Daryls facebook page, here’s a sample…

Sack Cloth and Ashes

Lee “Scratch” Perry has passed away into glory. He was 85 and despite having lived mostly in Europe in his later years he died in Jamaica. I don’t want to dig to far into why he died. The dude lived like Kieth Richards, a swaggering pirate of a man that gave no quarter and inspired and was adored by multitudes of multitudes. There’s a large faction of Rasta who believe that after Haile Selassie died the mantle of “Rastafari” fell squarely on Lee Perrys shoulders. I like to think that too. Without him there’s no Primal Scream. There’s no Dr Dre, Lorde or Chemical Bros, there’s no dance music, no electronica, no Wu Tang, no nothing just boring twee American radio music, rhythm and blues and classical or chamber music. Imagine a world of only Country Music… forever…huh? He turned the studio into an instrument in ways that no-one had ever considered before. I have so many anecdotes. I like it that he managed to burn down not one but two studios in his life time. He loved fire. Here’s the main, most important takeaway from the teachings of Lee Perry… The drums are the beat of the human heart, the Bass is like the brain. There you have the human being encapsulated. all the rest is our own interpretation of our feelings and relationships. Drum and Bass. All you need. The rest is, as they say, gravy. It reflects the Māori concept of the person, the Hinegnaro (Brian) Wairua (Spirit) and Tinana (Body), simply expressed in different terms. Speaking of which, have you heard Lordes new music? It’s fucking great, I have changed my mind about her, I’m on board now. Please go and listen to her two new singles, then go listen to the Te Reo versions she has done, it’s a great day to be a Kiwi. That’s all I have to say about that. I bet she adores Lee Perry too, most of us do, huh? No surprises that Hine Wehi Mohi was involved.

Anyway, raise a spliff for Lee Perry. Jah Rastafari! Give thanks for without him you probably wouldn’t have any of your favorite artists. Shit was lame before he took delivery of his first echo machine. Straight up.

ok thats all. I cant be fucked proof reading today, live with the typos or no, this apple keyboard sucks hairy super ape balls. I don’t spell realise with a z but it looks so untidy when the spellcheck underlines it that I bow to our American friends. In that at least. Vaccinate. Mask. Hands. Surfaces. Bubbles and social distance. Come on you guys!

xxxxm

Some Things I have Learned. Part II

Daniel Johnson is really cool. Kurdt loved him and I do too. he takes some work, you have to put effort into it but if you do you will be rewarded with some of the sweetest, innocent and wonderful music ever made anywhere.

If you ever see C.P going for the door at a gig, follow him out, trust me on this.

Jamie Stone, Biff Bangle, Styx Growler, Dirk Thrust and Eddie Hodad… these are the gods of rock that loom large over Hamilton music. Names of power, names that evoke the thunder of live, passionate, loud music played with abandon before a writhing, sweaty mass of their peers.

Snitches are easy to spot. They are untrustworthy with the tiny details. If you ask them a general question about themselves, say “Hey what kind of bands do you like?”, they will lie to you to impress, seduce or recruit you into their snitchy world. But those initial little tells will give you a good idea of when they lie about the big stuff. Snitches are gossips. Once you clock one, beat a hasty retreat and simply refuse to engage with them any more, the sooner they are removed from your circle, the less damage they can do… This can cause issues because a snitch scorned is a viscous, snitchy animal. Fear not, dear reader, as long as you are true, they can’t touch you with their snitchy lies and back stabbery.

Some people just cannot abide someone like me, someone who is loud and has to soothe himself with music all the time. It helps me block out all the constant negative self talk, suicidal ideation and all the wonderful fuckery that makes mental health so god damn interesting. At a distance anyway, am I right? heh. Fuck those people. They are tantamount to snitches. Actually, there are two kinds. The kind that will come and speak to you “Hey I am finding that loud music hard to live with, could you turn it down a bit please?” then there are the others that will sit there and stew for hours, days or even weeks before exploding in a blind fit of rage. Banging on walls or doors and generally acting like an animal. The first kind is probably someone you can reason with. The second kind, well, they deserve your scorn and ridicule. Wind them up if you can. Extra headroom is useful. If some fuckwit is outside your house losing their mind because you have the amps only up to 3 or 4… hit em with an 8 or a 9, you wont hear that fuckwit at all. Eventually they will give up. At that point go silent for an hour or play church music really low, just fuck with them, they do not deserve your gentle and kind diplomacy, they deserve WAR.

You may notice a theme developing. My home life is not, um, ideal.

A wise man once told me that “If a person in authority asks you a question, they usually already know the answer, they just want you to confirm it”. Like did you take all the photocopier paper home or use it all for your stupid gig posters? Well, that guy already knows you did…. you see. Best to be honest.

A half measure of PVA Glue and Water each. This makes a fine lacquer for art, posters or things you want to last out in the weather. It finishes nice and hard but clear so you can still see what you are protecting. Apply enough layers (Allowing each coat to dry before application) and it’s as tough as most clear gloss type arrangements.

Afghanistan has a wicked drug problem. All across Kabul there are abandoned buildings full to the brim with heroin addicts. The reporter said that the place she was in smelt of the sickly sweet smell of heroin and human feces. That means “Poop”, in case you are a moron. Can you imagine it? That country produces something like 90% of the worlds opium. I wasn’t sure if that included pharmaceutical or not. I know I am naive but I just thought all people there were good Muslims who might smoke a little charras but generally keep a tidy mind where chemicals are concerned. I know, I just have a hard time imagining, it’s a world beyond my experiences. I felt really sad to see that. I remember now that the ISIS fighters used a form of methamphetamine during that struggle, so I guess I wasn’t completely naive but I just never expected to see people using drugs and drinking out in the open in Afghanistan, one more thread that connects me and them. We are all just people trying to get through.

Here, watch this, it will make you feel sad and happy all at the same time. Plus you might make a new friend, heh two even…

That’s all. I am not doing great, kinda barricaded in my room again. Like the microtel, like jail. Man I fucking broke myself huh, kind friend. Fuck.

m

Post Scriptum: Daniel taught me that I am an artist, that if I create every day and put my heart into my work whether anyone cares or not, then I can call myself that wonderful word. No-one listens to my music, no one sees my art but still that art keeps me getting out of bed, so… fuck it. Today I made a cool “No Junk Mail Please” sign. I made two beats for a guy who wants to rap and recorded a few tracks for him. I haven’t done any mixing yet because Zed Brookes taught me to leave a piece of music alone for a few days, let the ideas percolate in your brain and give the music some time to stew before you get in there and start pruning. Hell, Lee Perry would bury the tapes in the garden for 6 months before getting freaky, he reckoned it gave the music an earthly roots tone. I used two whole cans of spray paint making our dining table way more interesting to look at. (Dont worry, I coated it with 2 or 3 coats of PVA lacquer…) and I continue to make new stencils every day, I am amassing a whole range of them, once I have the money I will grab a few cans of paint and go out and make Hamilton east more beautiful, something I have labored at for decades now. It’s not all doom and gloom. you know?

Goin’ To Jail Tonight

I am listening to Kanyes new album. Titled Donda after his late mother, many folks report that her death was the catalyst for much oh his, um, acting out. I struggle with this music, I can’t tell if it’s good, great or shit. I have lost the pulse of this kind of hip hop, stadium hip hop, you know? Not really my thing. Jay Z gets a cameo but we find out later that he was ringer to replace DaBaby, who’s management refused to clear his verse in the track “Jail’. I get the feeling that Jay Z just had to take one for the team, as Def Jam management I guess the buck stops there, pretty cool. However on the pirate copy that I have that particular track is included as a bonus. All the elements of a truly classic album are here but I can’t tell if it’s good or not. It has pace and narrative as well as his fanatical Christianity. I reckon Kanye feels that he transcends Pop Culture, he sees himself in the same lane as Michael Angelo, Handel, Mozart of Beethoven, all of whom had periods of christian themes. However I think that a lot of that rampant god bothering was done on commission from the church, nobility or benefactors. Whereas Kanye preaches for free. That’s ok, I can tolerate it, the same way that I can appreciate Qawwali music or classical church themes.

I have just got up. I was waiting for the chemist to open. I have been sick in bed for two days, nauseous and really sore, no position felt comfortable and I kept worrying that my kidney was failing again. I have got hold of some ginger beer and anti nausea tablets and it finally seems to be settling down but that was a scary night. There were moments that I considered calling an ambulance. Last time that happened I ended up in hospital and I’m told it came quite close to losing my life. It is scary living as precarious as this. Why won’t they help me huh? Those lonely moments at 3 in the morning, pacing or just sat hunched in my chair wracking my brains for ideas to combat this, wondering how to gauge when it might be prudent to call an ambulance. HATING the thought because all the creatures will come out and stare at me having a bad day. Wondering what stuff I should take with me. Money, Medication, keys etc. Thinking, it’s only a couple of hours, maybe the chemist has something to help. He was actually wanting to call ambulance, he knows my situation and was concerned. I forget how serious this is, at any moment my kidney can fail. It will happen, it’s just a matter of when. It’s like having a time bomb inside me.

I didn’t take very good care of myself in the last week. I basically sat here in a bubble of just one. I visited a friend but mostly I just sheltered in place, drinking way too much and smoking pot like a champ, living on microwave food and soda water. Every couple of days I guzzle a litre or two of V8 Purple Power because it has all the goodies my kidneys need but I think I went too far and ended up in pain for 36 hours. This lockdown has been a bit dark for me. It has highlighted just how isolated I am, how little I mean. It has put me in my place. I wish I knew what in particular causes this to flare up but, straight up, I have tried everything, every kind of abstinence and privation. NOTHING makes this better or worse. No way of living makes any difference. Narcotics work. Now and then I pinch a sheet of tramadol from a friend. THAT works, I can bounce around for a couple of hours, I can stand up for longer and can, for a few short hours, not be thinking about how much it hurts. Unfortunately they won’t give me good drugs at the doctors. My privileges have been revoked due to past indulgences. Fuck them, judgemental pricks. I’ve given up asking them for help. They don’t see me, they just see a big fat mess that’s way too hard. In the fat basket.

I like the second half of this record better than the first, the pace picks up and the depth and breadth of not only the guest artists but the production team as well if fucking staggering. The amount of talent he pulled in for this project is truly impressive. Hell its more like the class of 2020/2021, a whos’ who of the cool kids. Auto Tune sales will go through the roof. I think, after two spins, I like this record. I do. Go get some.

Fuck there is so much happening in the wider world, it feels crippling sometimes. Afghanistan, Palestine, Flooding! a great man once said “Its flooding in the streets of the home of the blues“, massive flooding and loss of life and property in New Orleans, one side of continental north America lashed by weather whilst the other side is on fucking fire! Joe Biden just said the war in Afghanistan cost the tax payer three hundred million dollars… a DAY…. for Twenty Years… That just baffles my tiny mind.

Anyway, that will do for today. I hope you are safe and well. All we have to do is care about each other and we can get through this cluster fuck of a decade. I miss the 90s. My parents generation had the 60s and that was pretty cool but the 90s… dude, hands down, for me anyway. Bill Clinton getting freaking in the oval office, NIRVANA and Extasy, the 90s were cool.

Thats all folks.

M

Did You Know…

When a tree is unwell, lacking in nutrients or suffering from a broken branch, vermin or whatever… well the other trees will supplement that trees nutrients by sending some of their own through the mycelium that connects their root systems. Not just a handful either. If there is a tree, there is mycelium, like some silent global organism that not only devours the filth that organic life produces and turns it into food through it’s fruit (Mushrooms) it also helps the plant life thrive by being the tissue that connects it all. Its a bit like the internet, all these tiny little connections that extrapolate out to be a million billion trillion little pathways that ebb and flow with data. Except in this case the data is nutrients or information about the general health of the surrounding fauna. If our lush green native forests are anything to go by, I would say Mycelium is doing a fantastic job!

’til we meet again, masks, wash hands and surfaces, do not lick strangers faces no matter how tempting it may be and stay home of you can. I know it sucks but its the only way.

Love From New Zealand.

Fuckers.

m

ps – justice for Kendrick Johnson

Caution To The Wxnx

My eldest son has a really unique name. I doubt there are any other people in New Zealand with his name. When he was small I worked with a band from North America. Indigenous people from what they call “Turtle Island”. I guess you might call them Native Americans or even Indians, if you are particularly racist. These folk liked to be called First Nation.Did you know that the word Māori simply means “Normal” or “People”? We call everyone else “Tauiwi” or “other people but not us”. By all accounts the word “Pākehā” is not complimentary… I forget what tribe or nation they belonged to but when they found out my sons name they doted on him because he is named after one of their legendary leaders.

I called the I.T department of our internet provider. Readers may recall that I had a nasty fibre vs Mitsubishi lancer incident and I needed some help.The young man that answered said his name was my sons name and sure enough it was him. “hello, blah blah blah my name is xxxxx. Surreal.

I know it’s weird but I didn’t tell him who I was, I haven’t spoken to him in a long time and, to be honest, it really threw me. It was just so thrilling to have him on the line. I imagine he is or has been very angry towards me, I really fucked up. It’s the same story, when he was small and helpless it was me that wiped away his shit or vomit, me that walked him around the block for hours when he was teething to give his mum a break, all that stuff. But I did not follow through dearest friend, I fucked up. He is such a wonderful young man, courteous, strong and capable. He loves all the things I used to love at his age and he is definitely a child of his generation. When I was about to hang up I said “It’s been really good to talk to you” and I think he clocked me.

An entirely unexpected handful of blissful and confusing minutes.

I am considering writing him an email now because after the thrill of listening to my grown son ply his trade on the telephone I felt blissfully happy but now my heart aches, I can barely see the keys through the tears, and I feel lonelier than ever. I spend my days helping old bastards who will definitely survive whether I do it or not but I am apart from, you know? I feel like a tree branch that has been torn off in a mighty gale and flung to the wind, never to be grafted or part of again. It hurts, it hurts way more than my stupid stomach. Don’t get it twisted, I love my friends. When I look around the people I live with, their friends are all toxic… Mine are glorious beacons of love and Community. I am grateful to be a part of that but still, it is not whānau and if I drop my guard like this, just for a moment, I feel the weight of it all. I miss my babies so much. But what do I have to offer them? How do I say sorry? How do I do this huh? Fuck. I can tell you this, my Son is amazing. He is clever and funny and tall and beautiful. He is curious and he knows his own mind.AND he is a Whovian. I didn’t have much to do with that but for the first few years of his life I was there for him. I loved to comfort him when he hurt and rock him to sleep in that dingy room under the Riverview terrace house. I have his birthday tattooed on my arm. That’s all I have to say friend.

Wow, that hit me right out of the blue.


We are in a lockdown. I go to the supermarket every other day. They told me I should not change my shopping habits. In the beginning of the lockdown it was hard to get flour, for baking. I use flour and I know folks who also liked to get baked. Sorry, I meant Baking. So when I saw a lady and her daughter trying to pay for a large tray of bags of flour in the self service checkout at the bridge street countdown in Hamilton, I did not bat am eyelid. It wouldn’t have surprised me to find that it was the last tray of bags of flour on sale at the supermarket. . Anyway. I get it because I’d bought a huge sack of it a week ago. However.

You know how when you do the self service checkout you need someone there to approve alcohol and tobacco purchases? The one that un-fxcks the terminal when it shuts it’self? Well she decides that this lady and her daughter are stocking a dairy/local store. Breaking the rules. They weren’t, she expressed that she was shopping for two large families but why did she even have to be in a position to express that? Nope, the lady in control is not having it! She actually takes the flour from the hands of the lady. Confiscation. Wrenching the flour from her hands. It was disgusting. She was easily old enough to be a grandmother. They were obviously shopping for heaps of people but they happened to be Indian, or similarly asiatic and of course all Indians own a dairy. I started in on her, everyone else in the queue did too. She gave the flour back and no more was said but it was yucky. As I left I said “you mean old racist old bag”. She goes “Did he just call me a racist?”.

Yeah I did.

To be really clear. New Zealanders do not think that all Indians own Dairys. We are loving and accepting of all peoples. The folks that chose Papatūānuku as their new home are welcome and cherished. Those other folks in the queue made me feel proud to be a Kiwi. We Love Whovians too, I bet there’s a Māori word for it.
Ahakoa, Nek Time Y’all. Chxcl Out Reservation Dogs. Dicks.

Xm

No Names. Fuck That, we aint that close.

Kick Starting The Nuclear Option

Charlie Watts, the elder statesman of Drums has died at the age of 80 years. He only very recently pulled out of an upcoming tour for health reasons, the first time he would have been awol since the 60s, otherwise he has been holding it down all around the world. Millions of satisfied customers, including me, can’t be wrong. Charlie embodied class and cool, he seemed to always be on point. There is a cool story about a drunken, braggart Mick Jagger calling up to Charlies room at 2 in the morning whilst Mick was entertaining in his hotel room. So Mick wakes Charlie up and squawks down the phone-line “Get MY Drummer down here this instant“. So Charlie, ever the dapper Gent, got out of bed, showered, shaved and put on his suit, tie, cuff-links etc and went down to the party. When he gets down there he punches that poofy little cunt right in the mouth. “You’re MY singer, not the other way around, don’t forget it”. Then he retires back to bed for the evening. Nice. Succinct and to the point. Charlie was a Gent, a real Gent.

Exile On Main Street is, in my humble onion, the best example of his work but honestly, watch any live clip of the Stones and you will notice that Charlie is the calm, cool center of everything. Unlike 99% of other Rock bands, their rhythm section was Charlie and Keith rather than Charlie and Bill Wyman. The Drums and Guitar being the driving force rather than the drums and bass. Bills Bass kind of glues it all together. If you have not seen the Rolling Stones Live then you have really done yourself a disservice because, unfortunately, thats all folks…. R.I.P

Charlie Robert Watts

1941 – 2021

Drummer in The Rolling Stones.

That’s all I have to say today, life sucks. I want out.

m

Ghost Town, Semolina, Ghost Town.

As you know, I go to the chemist three times a week. The medication I am on, well, one of them, is a controlled substance and so there is a little more oversight than usual. Even if I wasn’t using that one I would still be collecting the other stuff at least weekly. I have proven to be irresponsible with medication and having a lot of it lying around is dangerous. Not because I could kill myself. Most pharmacy medication is not lethal, even in huge doses. No, the risk is that I’d render myself catatonic or worse as a result of trying to harm myself. It’s an unspeakably violent act, overdosing. Anyway. I woke up at around 930am on Wednesday. I made a cup of tea and a cigarette and then hopped in my car to the pharmacy. However when I got up to the main street, a busy inner city suburb that is usually bustling with shoppers and the cafe set, it was deserted. Deserted! no cars, no people, all the shops shut. At first I thought “Fuck its actually 6:30am and I’ve come way too early”. As I got closer to the chemist I noted that the door was ajar and the scales they have out on the street for people to weigh themselves (A nasty, disappointing prospect) was out and so I parked and went to see what was going on. It was pretty cool because, for a change, I could park outside and not have far to walk. It turns out that New Zealand is back in Covid Lockdown. We had been for almost a day at this point, I was oblivious.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

So, kind reader, we are back to masks and lining up outside the grocery store. Petrol stations, corner stores and supermarkets are open. Everything else is closed. It’s been amazing to watch everyone fall into lockstep again. People are courteous and polite and I have to admit that I kind of like it like this. All the assholes have to stay at home. The driveway has been conspicuously quiet. Although there was a ruckus at about 3am this morning.

I have been quietly going insane. I spend most of my time alone. I have had some real bad moments. I went without food for three days last week. I approached a foodbank but you have to line up with about 50 other people and wait for your number to be called. I can’t stand up that long and there are no places to sit. You aren’t allowed to leave the queue or you lose your place. There’s a place in town that does meals called “The Serve” but I can’t face all those people. Anxiety is a bitch. I doubt people who do not struggle with it could imagine what it’s like. It’s like the whole world is hostile. Not just the hostile people either, the normal, benign and even benevolent people too. A little old lady at a second hand shop can seem like an immovable obstacle and the only real response is to run! Get Out! After which I spend ten minutes in the drivers seat of my car crying or simply trying to get my breathing under control and trying to figure out how to not be like this. It’s not just that interpersonal angst thing either, Anxiety has many facets, one persons experience may differ wildly from the next but still remain under the same banner. The most debilitating part of my anxiety is hyper vigilance. Being always alert, scanning my surroundings for potential threats. If i can hear the people next door, talking in muffled tones just beyond my hearing, I will assume every word said is about me. Its horrid because unlike most things like this, sometimes I am right, once in a while, and so it validates the behavior and the cycle continues.

I feel deeply lonely. I try to mask it with levity or apathy but I feel it. It’s like living inside an igloo, inside a private habitat built for one. Cold, lonely and smells ever so lightly of fish. I haven’t had much to say lately. All of my medical shit and my mental health, it’s too much for one person to manage. They promised me all kinds of support when I moved here. I have just been dumped in a corner out of the way where I wont bother anyone.

The guy upstairs is shitty because I play music. He does not. He has a little laptop and watches things quietly. That’s the standard he expects all people to live by. I tried to explain that, often, when I have the volume up, it is to block out the noise from the driveway. Then he started going on about how my volume has a flow on effect and others turn their volume up when I do. I am not responsible for that, I am only responsible for mine. I do not use subwoofers after 830pm and rarely even watch movies later than 1am. If I am watching media that late then its on my lappy and that’s quiet as. I tried to tell him that but he just thinks I am a cunt. I grew up in a country where you accepted that now and then your neighbor might get the Led out, or Pink Floyd, Katchafire, Bob Marley… you get the idea. It’s about allowing people to be themselves and accepting that I do not have to like what anyone else does. We are at a stalemate but I am just going to continue. I am always mindful of others where volume is concerned because I make music and I want to be able to continue making music so therefore i must be mindful of others. If you are a weaselly little feral fuck that only ever listens to things through poxy laptop speakers… well, that’s on you pal. The point I hope I stressed was that, if the volume is too loud, just come and talk to me. Don’t run around talking about me, that only fuels my poor mental health. I am reasonable as fuck but I am also old and deaf so… hmmm.

I’m killing time before a Zoom Meeting with one of my Drs. Another relic from the initial Covid 19 lock down. I wonder if I should watch some news and find out how serious it is? I follow all the major North American news networks as well as AlJazera and the BBC but so far none of them have mentioned good old New Zealand so I am assuming that means that we are managing things right. No News is Good News. Afghanistan is taking up much of my thoughts. It’s a disaster for those people who have grown up without the Taliban and I wish we could rescue all of them. Let the stupid Taliban have their stupid archaic laws but release all the folks who do not wish to live like that. Afghanistan was a thriving modern country in the 1950s and 60s. Tourists flocked there for the archaeology (and the Afghani kush, of course) and it seemed to have a bright future. I have been gobbling up documentaries about the area. One of them was about a trader who drives into the really remote parts of Afghanistan, in the mountains. He brings much needed supplies and goods to the remotest parts of the country. At one point he remarks about how backwards he feels his country is. “On the other side of the world,” he says, “They are going to the Moon and mars….”. That sort of sums it up for me. I know that we must not force our way of life upon others but it does seem like, particularly in that region, the Religion hasn’t changed much in eons. The morals espoused are stone aged and the way they treat women is shameful. Depriving them of freedoms that men have even refusing them an education. Rendering them illiterate and dependent on Men for everything. I sense the fate of those Women and Girls who have grown up with freedom and education. For them this turn of events is catastrophic. I feel very sad. As with most of the current humanitarian crisis I am completely powerless to do anything other than feel shitty about it so I wrote a letter to the Strange man who is my Member of Parliament asking if we could please have some Afghani refugees. Its only slightly better than doing nothing. This planet man, sheesh.

My Dr meeting is over. After an hour of fucking around with Zoom and pass codes and shit we opted to just talk on the phone, old school! Hey speaking of which. Check out Reservation Dogs! It’s fucking awesome!

That’s all for today. I have been given a food grant so I am going to get some kai. Keep Safe. Buckle up, wear a condom and wash your filthy filthy drawers!

xxxm

The Taliban Are…

….going house to house looking for unmarried Women and Girls.

My heart hurts. Where the fuck is Tony Stark, Bruce Wayne or Captain Marvel when we need them huh? The weapons of mass destruction we were there to thwart never eventuated. In fact you could say that the only people in Afghanistan with weapons of mass destruction are now pulling out. So much sorrow simply to secure oil reserves and thumb their noses at Russia. My hope is that the international community will evacuate those who wish to not live under Islamic Law (sic). We have room in New Zealand. Hassle your elected officials! The Taliban have granted safe passage, lets make the most of it. Will we? Sadly No.

xm

But you’ll finally have a husband Edie…
Now’s not the time for levity Mother….

Lollapalooza in Chinese?

They are having an Olympics this year, during a pandemic. They are having a Lollapalooza too… We get what we deserve.

Fuck it’s weird knowing who is reading this. Please, if you bump into me in public… please don’t tell me you read this shit. It’s the same approach I have to sex. I could never respect any woman that would wriggle around naked with a fucking Walrus. A nicely tattooed Walrus, but a Walrus none the less. Anyone that would read this crap… well, anyway, today we have a little crossover.

I was out in public last week in a theater filled with most of Hamilton’s cool kids, for want of a nastier word, and a phenomenal performer to tend to our aural aches and pains. . At one point the artist encouraged some audience participation. I recalled that my friend, the guy who actually drove a VW Bus around north America in the 60s, the guy who drank beer with Bukowski…. yeah well he has this perfect quip for when audience participation is asked for… it goes “Any Questions?” and he delivers the line and its amazing comedy. Sadly I reacted too slowly and without much tact or savvy (yes yes, aided by intoxicants) and I go “Why do birds sing?”. The artist on the stage stopped for a beat or two and goes “are you joking?” Well, yes, yes I was trying to. The problem is, kind reader of mine, I delivered the wrong fucking phrase and it flopped like a pancake in the hands of an asshole. It’s supposed to be: “Why do fools fall in love?” or something clever like that. I fucked up. Later on, when my mate is mocking me for it, he goes; “did you mean why do fools fall in love?” I go “no, I meant the title track from The Violent Femmes 1991 album of the same name, dick…”. When, in actual fact A) I did mean “why do fools fall in love?”, I just fluffed the line because I was stoned, immaculate, and I did not want to admit it and B) There’s no title track on that album….

I am not always great at this sort of thing but I give it a go. Whether it’s singing the Southland Boys High School school song at a Chris Knox concert or screaming out song names during the third encore of a Supergroove show, I am a big fan of interacting with those untouchable ariki on stage. I am on the seven worlds collide DVD screaming “You Rock Neil!” and he goes “Thanks man, you rock too”. So I am not always bad at this sort of thing. I just fucked this one up. The lesson is “DO NOT PINCH YOUR MATES GAGS“. It never works.

In other news I have been teaching the young man upstairs how to cook. Last week we did Chicken Cabonara with bacon, smoked chicken and philly cream cheese. On Sunday we did roast pork with potatoes, kumara, yams, pumpkin (but with no apple sauce coz I got the munchies the night before and ate the apples….). How do you like them apples? Yesterday I walked him through decarboxylating about two pounds of shake and cabbage (Leafy stuff you tend to throw away) and then I showed him a basic brownie recipe. I wonder what he will want to make this week? Do you know that I have bought almost $3000 worth of rare ornithology books in the last 3 months? I have a friend who is building a library about Birds but he doesn’t use devices. He is old… I taught him how to scroll on a mac touch pad the other day, fucking torture, panic and all sorts of crude language but we got there in the end. He just pumps coins into my account and I go searching for the tomes he wants, it’s fucking cool. That’s all. Drop by for some tea and cake, for real. m

ps – stay the fuck out of my music back catalog, that’s not for you.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

way too many italics, I reckon

Mundane, Banal and Base.

Hi Friend. Man, I was having the best day on Saturday. I helped my mate set up his TV for the Olympics, I went to help my other mate get groceries and I took a couple of younger men to the park and showed them what mushrooms to eat and which ones to leave alone. It was pretty funny, I say “So you know what they look like?” They both go “Yeah bro, of course bro”. So I parked by a spot I know and left them to it whilst I went and set the TV up. When I came back they were grinning from ear to ear, “Yeah we found heaps bro”. He he he They weren’t the good ones, they were something else. As we were going there anyway I took them to my friend who knows about these things and no they aren’t even simply edible. I threw them out. If they’d been edible I’d have given them a little time on the heat with some butter and garlic, pepper and salt. After that we went for some big walks (Well, BIG walks for me anyway) looking for fungus. One of them packed a sulk and sat in the back for an hour whilst we foraged. When we got home and dumped a huge pile of mushies on the kitchen table he goes “oh shit you mean you actually found some?” He is a schizophrenic and so he didn’t want to eat them but he was interested in the process. From identification all the way through to the Lemon Tek, after that it’s 4 hours of not being in pain and engaged in some creative mission or devouring something on the big screen like Scorsese or Felini, you know the drill, don’tcha my adventurous intronaut reader? I’d been given a huge hunk of fresh Tuna and so the evening was set to be one of the really rare pleasant ones. So, much later on, the mushrooms are peaking and I’m knees deep into a Terry Gilliam film, thinking that today was a really good day and looking forward to some pan friend fish with some root vegetables and my sour cream and caper sauce. It’s rare that I spend time with people I don’t know very well and it’s even rare-er that I socialise the same. It’s Karma huh? The moment I sit back and think “Well, sometimes life is pretty sweet…” Like clockwork….

To understand the story you will need a little of the back story. Two or three weeks ago the friends of the lady who lives in the house behind me liked to break into my car every night. They wrecked the passenger side window, they forced it all the way down and broke it. Now it’s taped up but they still keep fucking with it. The only thing I could think to do is park hard against the wall on the passenger side. That way if they got the window down again they wouldn’t be able to get the door open. It wasn’t fool proof but I didn’t know what to do. The next time they broke in they left the light on, drained the battery and when I got a jump start it fucked the computer and that had to be repaired. My Dad loaned me his truck for a few days but, dude, they must be just fucking with me right? There was never anything worth taking. So one day I got too close to the wall and smashed the WIFI Fiber Cable box. I screwed it back to the wall and it seemed to be fine. That’s about 2 weeks ago.
On Saturday I had passengers and one of the doors opened and knocked the box off the wall again and this time the internet went out. ALL of it. We didn’t notice for about 3 hours because we were watching media on the TV from a USB drive. So, in the middle of Saturday night, on a full on mushroom trip, all the wifi goes out for the whole property… 11 other people with mental health issues all now with their TVs and WIFI not functioning, because of me (and the fact that the neighbors fucking mates can’t fucking keep their fucking hands to their fucking selves). Even if it only costs $200 it will still take me weeks to pay for it. I am so close to panicking. Until now I only had to worry about that one lady and her friends. NOW I have the whole property hating me. It sucks. The guy who’s job it is to fix it, he told me on Saturday night don’t worry, he will fix it first thing Monday morning. 1030am rolls around and I call him for an update… Nope, he’s working out of town today and it won’t be repaired until Tuesday. I have called every place I can think of but they need information about our internet service provider and I do not have that information. Today sucks. I’ll try use my mobile data to upload this little rant.

I hope your Monday is less dramatic. Keep safe and be mindful of Covid if you are not in New Zealand or Switzerland. It’s ravaging us and it seems to be getting worse, not better, after the vaccine roll out. If you live in Tokyo, you have my sympathies, your government and the Olympic Games Organisation have fucked you, royally. Leave town, if you can. Hey isn’t it about time they started addressing Gun Violence in North America seriously? Xxxm

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

maaaaate….

I have to jot down a few brief lines about tonight. I went out with friends. We’d planned this for months but, sadly, my friends are used to me bailing out at the last minute. Not tonight though. I have just seen Courtney Barnett play a live set and my whole human is energized. Shes a fucken wizard on guitar. Straight up, also sadly, there aren’t many woman guitarists that I rate…. the Deal sisters, Sister rossetta tharpe, Tina weymouth… not fucken many. I saw three bad ass woman guitarists tonight. I dunno how to adequately tell you how awesome it was. Go google her live concerts and you will soon be a fan. I just wanted to tell you guys, because it was really cool.

It was fucking terrifying being in a room full of hamiltonians… the “oh its that guy” set had me running outside during the interval having a massive panic attack. But I blazed up a big fire and shook it all off and went back in and had a ball. I even saw some old old friends and of course all the local guitar slingers were in rapt attendance. It was killer, fuck those other dickheads.

I often miss out on things like this because I am afraid of what the strangers might say or think about me. It is not all just paranoia, it’s real sometimes and I end up sitting at home thinking what a dummy I am for A: Letting my mates down and B: missing out on something awesome.

Let me tell you this though`, kind and knowing reader, a handful of mushrooms and the prospect of a pretty lady on stage with a killer guitar rig and you will find that even you, dearest friend of mine, can do almost anything you like. That is all, go find her if you don’t already know.

fuck yeah, hail hail rock ‘n roll!

xm

Hotspots and Hopscotch

Hola Friend, welcome to the suburbs, please make yourself at home. Would you like me to wash your feet? Sure! Smoke ’em if you’ve got ’em! One thing most pot heads have in common is an incurable habit of cigarette lighter theft. I have two “Stims”, for want of a better word. One is that I will sometimes light my smoke and hand my lighter to the person I am standing next to, out of habit. The second one is that if I borrow someones lighter, I will stick it straight into my pocket. Honestly, if I go to a party I will either wake up with a pocket full of lighters or I will discover that any lighters I left the house with have all disappeared and I’m getting electric shocks trying to light a ciggy off the elements inside the toaster! Fortunately I don’t get many invites these days.

I have had a hell of a week, kind reader. I feel really out there at the moment. I spent maybe a week alone just in my room making art and music and trying to not just lie in bed and read or watch endless youtube documentaries. I don’t feel very well, my mind is slippery and I fear that I am a bit of a bore once I get started and no-one really wants to be around me. I am supposed to join my friends tomorrow night to go and see Courtney Barnett but lately I feel that my presence is not really needed, I’ve been squeezed out and it hurts. So I have been reaching out to my supports and stuff but even they are fucking useless. I dunno if I told you but I went to the Dr on monday because something is not right. He basically told me to fuck off. Once again I am sitting in a doctors office, sobbing, trying to explain whats happening. Once again I am told there’s nothing he can do and I get the sense that he’s uncomfortable and wants me out of his life. So then I ask my advocate to help, no joy there and the people who are supposed to support me whilst I live here seem to be also avoiding me. I had a meeting last Monday that seemed to address my concerns. They were amazing, they said that all of the problems I described were valid and would be addressed. Its now coming up on a week and a half since then and I haven’t heard a peep from them. I called on Wednesday last week but they said they haven’t done anything about it yet. It’s frustrating because this living situation could be really cool it just needs a few tweaks. Then I can start to also address some of the other problems I am facing but I need for a case manager or something like that just to support me a bit. PTSD means that simple things can become daunting and it helps just to have someone else stand beside me. I can’t seem to access this.

Last night I bought some PVA glue and sealed up the two tables I have covered in Beatles photos from the THE BEATLES anthology book of prints that accompanied the television series of the same name. It got water damaged, as we’ve discussed before, and I started covering everything with Beatles photos. I will show you, wait there…. Sorry, my phone seems to have shat itself, you will just have to use your imagination I’m afraid. They sort of look like this but imagine them on the top of a dining table and a coffee table….

It looks really cool in here and I want to continue making a nest. I am going to buy a charcoal BBQ and some outdoor furniture. Eventually anyway. It’s a real drag here at the moment and it’s been causing my mental health problems to all escalate. Sometimes I am back to having to take a deep breath before I leave my room or come back from being out. My hands shake, my breathing gets shallow and light headedness makes me feel giddy. I have been singled out for speaking out. The Jury is still out on whether or not I did the right thing.

Hey have you ever heard of Kelaguen? It’s a dish from Guam and I got to try it yesterday. It’s very similar to Raw Fish or sashimi but it uses beef instead of fish, marinated in lemon juice and stuff. It takes your taste buds a minute to adjust. Beef, cold and lemony, flies in the face of pretty much everything you know about beef. I have tried Beef Tartare and it has similarities but not really. It’s really good and I bet you can find recipes online. I am not sure which cut you would use, schnitzel would be best I guess unless you meticulously cut up a larger cut but why bother when its already been done for you?

I haven’t been as adventurous in the kitchen this week. Fiscal restraints have shepherded me gently back towards baked beans on toast and 101 things you can do with potatoes. Fortunately I grew out of the Raman Noodle phase. Even with a tin of salmon or tuna, Noodles are nasty, no matter how much kecap you slather on it!! I did slow cook some more brisket the other day. This pain that fluctuates between a sharp scary stabbing or a low murmuring ache in my chest is not a good sign but, dammit, I love food and the act of preparing, executing and cleaning up after myself is good for my mental health. I think that people think I am fat because I eat too much but, dude, I only eat one meal a day. The medication I take at night is notorious for weight gain. About an hour after you take it you become ravenous. It can get really bad if you don’t have any food in the house… I’ve eaten raw spaghetti once, just to quell that hunger. So I cook one meal a day. because of my pain issues it takes me a long time to do stuff. I cannot stand up at the bench for very long so I do a lot of my prep sitting down. I try to do dishes that are quite complicated and I always clean the kitchen after I am done. I also vacuum and mop in there once a week. Then, when it’s all done, I take my night time meds and watch a movie or play guitar until I feel hungry. That’s how I eat. During the day I might eat a bit of fruit but mostly I do not feel very hungry. I assume it’s the pain killers.

I have a really interesting piece of music on the boil. I have been recording the ratbags that hangout beside my bedroom. They say the dumbest shit. I think my friend Jane is visiting today. I don’t get many visitors. I dunno why, my place is cool, loads of instruments and things to do, 80s arcade games, big screen youtube and a bloody recording studio. In a few months I am hoping it will also have a Radio Station too… Watch this space. I think that maybe . Well, I dunno. I feel isolated. I do try to put some effort into my friendships but lately, coping with all the shit going on here and inside my body, I guess I withdraw. Hey my phone is working, once it’s charged up I will flick you some pics of my new furniture!

I guess that’s all for today. I don’t feel very happy. I watched some Chris Farley movies with a couple of the men who live here and I noticed that I didn’t laugh out loud one time, despite him being one of my favorites from that era. I’m so intense and I have so many things cluttering up my thoughts I don’t think I am very good company. I don’t even know what the point of this post is, just killing an hour or so. Thanks, I miss you so much.\M

ps – check my other new coffee table out….

ps – aaarfter all that whingeing, my mates slots machine and caine turned up with a big screen tele… just goes to show, dunnit?

Man Fucks Universe With Space Dildo.

If I’ve done the math right it’s only one more year until I can see my baby boy. From afar he seems like a pretty cool dude. It hurts. Y’know? Anyway, happy birthday amazon billionaire, or whatever this is all about. Nice work.

“That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for dick jokes”

xm

Put Another Prawn On The Bar-Bee…

It’s sparrowfart Sunday morning here in Aotearoa. I am awake because the people I live with and next to have no sense of others or any kind of polite, normal neighborliness. Anything most of us learned at home, school or sesame street via the people in your neighborhood song seems to have been lost on these fuckers. I know that it’s Meth and that being an ex meth user myself I should cut them some slack. However, even at the worst of my meth use I was always mindful that, despite the fact that I lived in a 48 hours on 12 hours off kind of day, most others don’t and that between the hours of , say, 10pm and 9am I should keep a lid on the amount of noise I create… and I create a lot! I have learned though, over the years, that its not worth the trouble it causes. I understand that they have to be up and about at different hours than me. hell, I used to like taking timelapse videos of the sun rising and the flowers in the amazing garden next door coming to life or the foot traffic on one of the busy city streets, from stillness and darkness til’ 830am when it’s bustling and rambunctious. My point is that even though I was out and about doing my little crackhead missions, I never once fucked with my neighbors need for sleep and peace. Fuck I love that word…. Rambunctious. Glorious! Even the very worst of us at least learn to live in a sort of harmony through juvenile detention or prison. Those that don’t, well they don’t get to play with the other kids. I have just had a run in with the neighbor and now I am being abused through my window. I am shaking like a leaf but standing my ground. Dude… Urgh. I’ve got a phone ready to record video and a shure sm57 set up for hi-fi audio. Yes, Comrade, it is now a war.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

AAAAAAAANY-FUCKEN-WAY. What I actually sat down to tell you about was way more interesting than a bunch of crackheads that can barely put two words together without the word fuck inserted ad-nauseum. I am watching a doco about how, at the end of the British Empire, when the last few stragglers were declaring independence, the clever little bastards at The City Of London, set up all the, now infamous, tax havens. Place like The Cayman Island or the British Virgin Islands set about funneling off all the wealth from abroad illegally and without any kind of repercussion or scrutiny.

Here’s how i think it works, in a nutshell.

So, say you are a wealthy South African (most probably of Caucasian ancestry but not always) and you own a diamond mine. You don’t want to pay tax in Africa, in fact you don’t want to pay tax at all. The pittance you pay to the people who risk their lives every day in the mines is of no concern, it’s barely a dent. Tax, on the other hand is considerable and therefore undesirable. The only parallel I can draw from my own experience is when I sold one of my Radio Stations on a buy and sell website. I had forgotten that the website, as the broker, want 20% and I had not taken it into account when I sold the gear. When it dawned on me that I now owed them about $1100 I was mortified. The money was already earmarked and, well, I just didn’t pay them. I shut down that account and started a new one under a false name. Eventually I had to pay it but at the time… meh

Now this South African can manage his affairs under a trust or a shell company and have all the profits go overseas where they are safe from all those pesky hospitals, schools, infrastructure and such that are always wanting your taxes. To give you an example of how this affects ordinary peoples daily lives. Sub Saharan Africa is about 177 billion dollars in debt to international bankers. On the other hand, 944 billion dollars gets funneled away to offshore bank accounts. The money is not owned by the various Elite that benefit from it but by trusts and shell companies and the various legislated loopholes that allow for this to happen legally and with impunity. Where the Swiss say “We wont tell anyone about your account…”. The Caymans say “you don’t even have to put your name on it.”. The discrepancy between Africas debt and credit numbers are directly related too. The various governments cannot collect tax on the wealthiest business and natural resources and so they have to go to the international banks in order to stay afloat. In actual fact, Africa, or more specifically Sub Saharan Africa, should have more than enough to provide their populations with first world governance, health care, education and infrastructure. Instead this area is known to be as among the poorest in the world.

It’s infinitely more complicated than this but that seems to be the gist of it. It’s not a localized African thing either. There’s a reason American crime movies often involve the Cayman Islands or someplace similar, it’s because that’s exactly where they put all their money. Here are a few for your perusal, in case you have couple of Mill you don’t want to share with your government…

  • British Virgin Islands (British Overseas Territory)
  • Cayman Islands (British Overseas Territory)
  • Bermuda (British Overseas Territory)
  • Netherlands.
  • Switzerland.
  • Luxembourg.
  • Jersey (British Crown Dependency)
  • Singapore.

Not all of them are British but some are and they are the ones I want to focus on today. You see after the really big British colonies like India declared independence the empire scrambled to shore up the last few remaining British colonies. In doing so they drafted and implemented all the necessary laws in order to create the tax havens…. You could say that it is not only boats and planes that disappear in the Bermuda triangle… Outposts from which to siphon the wealth of some of the poorest (yet resource rich) nations. It could be argued that slavery didn’t really end, it simply got smart. All those kids working in Lithium mines or extracting gold, up to their armpits in things like cyanide and mercury, for just enough money to eat for that day. The die in droves and even if they do get to manhood their very chromosomes are fucking munted from the mercury and all the other various and nasty chemicals used in the different industries . Chemicals that any industry in the first world treats with extreme caution and workers must use protective gear. Both Lithium and Gold are doing extremely well in the current zietgeist yet the people doing the hard work are being paid just enough to live day to day. Meanwhile all the profits are sent overseas further robbing those wretched people by not paying taxes so their governments can function for them.

I saw a thing once about lithium mining. Many of the workers are underage and they have to bribe the police, who turn up at the end of the shift to collect the bribes from the workers. In this instance they were taking a third of what the kids earn. I bet the pay clerk tells them that they have to pay tax too. Dude we are talking about enough money to buy a bowl of rice and maybe some meat. How is this any different to Slavery? It seems worse to me because its so blatant and nasty. At least the slavers were honest. “Right pal, you are going to work for me, for nothing, or I’ll kill you and rape your wife. “… These guys are like “Hey, yeah man of course you can have a job! You are lucky you know? many people don’t have a job! Here’s a shovel, go get em!”. It’s slavery and that’s only one tiny instance that I have seen on the screen. I am sure it is happening all over the world in different guises and endeavors but all with the same intent. To not only strip resources from a nation but to not even put anything back into the community and countries involved.

“Mongrelism” as my Brother would say. Mongrelism.

Apparently the root cause of all of this is the “Trust” system. Invented by the Templar’s during the Crusades it is an inherently British thing and has been used ever since to obscure and disguise the ownership of wealth or assets. It began as a way for Knights to protect their interests at home whilst they were off killing Muslims and, well, everyone else that got in their way. As they went about the business of massacre and looting they were amassing more and more wealth. Wealth to put in “Trust” back home where it was being managed and invested and such. From there we get the modern scam known as the Tax Haven.

I haven’t finished the movie yet so I am not confident I am by any means an expert but it got me thinking. Also, I am stalking the fuckwits with a microphone so sitting here quietly typing is good for sound capture. I got called a “Fat Bastard” before. At fucking 815am on a Sunday morning for fucks sake! Fuck that. These people have to go.

I hope you are having a good day kind reader. Sorry for calling you a snitch yesterday, I am not very happy at the moment and I lash out sometimes. They just threw all the trash from the crack dealers car at my car. This is so fucking childish. I hate it, it is really affecting me, I haven’t left my room in days. Having no gas kinda dictates that but still I could go for a walk or something. That involves walking past the meth party though and I am afraid of some of them, they are gangsters, make no bones about that and me complaining about them is going to affect their sales. Why am I even involved? I keep to myself and don’t bother nobody. Sheesh, this fucking sucks hairy ape balls. On that note, adios, abysinia, mahalo, Ka Kite Ano.

Now they are standing outside my microphone window discussing the drug deal that just went down, ha h aha. Fuck them, they are dickheads and now those dickeads are going to be DUB Singers! Woohoo. I will spend the morning gathering samples and then make some beats for the good bits. I try to occupy my time productively. I am going to mosaic a dining table tater on today with all the Beatles photos too small for my wall murals. It sucks being broke all the time. I am unsure of how to fix that. I used to have loads of art supplies. When I was cashed up I spent a lot of money at the art shop! Anyway, I am making do with what I have left. I might try budget for a can of clear gloss and some white spray paint as I have an idea that requires them. I’d like to work but I tend to get a bit mental and end up screwing up. Man, the last job I had ended so so badly, it was a train wreck. My friend helps at a place where homeless people and poor people can get fed each night, maybe I could do something like that? I don’t necessarily need to make money, I just need to get out more. I am not well, kind reader, my mind is slipping a bit. Urgh. Why are you privy to all my secrets? It’s weird. You really should be paying for this privilege.

That’s all

xox M

sun july 18 2021

Athletes Foot and Toe Jam

Have you ever washed someones feet? When I was a child the church my parents belonged to went through a “feet washing” phase. Apparently it was a big deal in the old testament. Like, when you met someone in the desert or whatever, you washed their feet as a sign or respect, humility, fraternity, hospitality and welcome. It says “hey man I am your friend, come on in off the trail and rest your feet”. Something like that? The next thing you knew they were all washing each others hoofs like it was going out of fashion… despite the fact that it had only just come back in fashion! You had Pastors and youth group leaders coming around to your house, filling buckets with warm soapy water and… well, getting down to business. I get the act. I did it and I immediately understood how intimate and personal it was. I also understood that I did not want to be doing this with people who were effectively strangers. Not only was it weird but, like much of what happened in that church, it invaded my personal space. A soft, soapy assault all the while making all this over the top eye contact and probably earnestly praying out loud for my salvation and bullshit like that. Nah. I’ve soaped down my fair share of other peoples bodies but that was consensual and certainly not couched in some 3 thousand year old dogma. I did not like it, dearest reader of drivel, I did not.

That’s what I was thinking about just now, prompting me to put pen to paper, as it were.

I have been tentatively making art. I figure that if I am going to be this depressed and this isolated then I might as well use the time wisely. I am making good music too, not that any of you snitches would like it. The art is very chaotic, more bathroom wall graffiti than anything else but I like it, it appeals to my eye. It’s not art for exhibiting, its art for living with. Its a whole wall covered in mosaic, it’s the coffee table I started doodling on one day and suddenly its a complete idea, fully formed and wonderful. It’s art for coping. That’s what it is, mental health art. I suppose I could photograph it all and show you but I get the feeling you aren’t that interested. It’s one thing to watch a train wreck, it’s another to go home with the train driver and look at his watercolors….  

Oh hey I went to an appointment at the Urology clinic yesterday. The phone rang at 9 am. It is very unusual that I answer it but for some reason I dragged my ass out of bed and blearily answered the call. It was the lady from the Urology clinic to say I had an appointment. “No that’s not til’ friday” I said…. It turns out yesterday was actually friday. So I got up and had a cuppa and took to the road. The confusion didn’t end with the day of the week though, it took the Dr a good ten minutes to figure out that I thought I was there for something else. Once we cleared that up he booked me in for surgery and said it will be within three months. Under the knife. Again. Sigh. I am seeing the other Dr on Monday and I am hoping they will adjust my meds so that I don’t have to double dose and end up running short every week. When your health is fucked it becomes the central part of your existence. I have to measure each possibility and figure out if what I intend to do is worth the pain it will cause me. The mathematics of discomfort meets the algebra of stamina. Living within the new limits of my body has been a drag. I honestly do not wish to grow much older like this.  

I think that really good art confronts you. I think that there’s a huge chasm between a clever image and a challenging idea. Andy Warhol or Salvadore Dali, these people made art that some critics HATED, some of it can be offensive or outside polite norms, some directly voicing political or social ideas that not everyone shares and some of it, at first glance, seems childish, primitive and stupid… at first glance. Kandinsky wrote symphonies of color and movement, Gieger reached into your primordial mind and conjured horrific nightmare dreamscapes. This is the kind of Art I like, gritty, raw and nasty. My friend Russell creates this kind of work. I think mine gets weirder and angrier the less I care about what others might think and just work for my own aesthetic pleasure. Mistakes become pivotal, accidents inspired… It’s good to be free of criticism and just float in the cool breeze of creativity for a while. I will look up from what I am doing and see that 5 hours have passed. 5 hours when I haven’t hurt too much and I haven’t been over thinking the whole world and my place in it, 5 hours where my hyper vigilance hasn’t been scrutinizing every sound I hear from the outside world. Kind of like how I use this typewriter to you, dear reader, as an excuse to listen to loud music for hours at a time. So thanks for that. Be kind to people, be unconditionally generous to a stranger (don’t wash their fucking feet though, ok?), be mindful of the virus that’s killed 4.7 million of us. (That’s just a rough estimate too, it is expected that there will probably be a much higher death toll in remote areas, the third world and places like China and Russia that tend to fudge numbers when sharing data with the rest of us.)

Try to be happy, smell the flowers, you know? One of us might as well, right?

xm 

A Likkle Ray of Sunshine

So the other day I promised something a bit more positive. My life has become very dramatic. I guess it is dawning on me that this place I am living is really just another microtel. I was offered a small olive branch this week though in the form of confirmation that this is a tiered structure and if you prove yourself to be functional and a good tenant then you can move up the ranks to houses with either more mature people or no people at all and you have a place of your own. So I will just keep plodding along and hope that I can move one day.

There is a lot of conflict and it revolves around two people who behave so badly that they make the other 10 of us living on this property have to suffer and not be able to use the place like a normal home. We want to but we can’t. If we ask them to be quiet they will make a point of being loud. If you ask them to stop breaking things, they will break more things. It’s like really shitty children. They make it so yuck for everyone else. It’s a place for mental health people so I know that I have to cut slack but why should ten of us who can get along without encroaching on other peoples privacy, security and peace, have to cut all the slack for 2 people always? I feel angry but anger won’t solve this.

Something positive. It is very hard to find a happy story in the world at the moment. I know that the coding adage “Garbage In Garbage out” applies here but its not like I chase negative stories, I watch aljazera and nbc nightly news regularly and it seems to me that the whole fucking world has gone batshit crazy. At home things are crazy too. The meth amphetamine culture in our driveway that operates at any hour of the day or night. It revolves around these two fuckwits that make it a horrible place to live for everyone. We had a meeting about their behavior today, they all agreed that the behavior would stop. Half an hour after the managers left it was all on again, it sucks. Meth would be a disaster for me, I do not want to be around it because I know how fucking easy it is to pick it up and go through the wringer again. PLUS, having hyper vigilance and ptsd means that I fucking panic every time someone stands outside my door shouting as loud as they can until their friend comes down. It happened at 630 am today and can happen any time. They stand right outside my window and yell. Its doing my fucking head in, Positive? nah, sorry friend, I’ve got nothing. Today, at any rate…

xxxm

The spell check thinks that Aljazera should say “Moralizer”. How interesting….

The Braxton Snitch

Hola Friend. I am in a strange sort of loop. It’s not really living, it’s a bit like treading water, but in stead of water it’s treacle. Treacle is a strange sort of thick, syrupy substance. It’s like molasses or honey but it has a bitterness that the others lack. I am not a fan of treacle. I admit though that I am not a big fan of breakfast altogether and treacle makes me think of marmalade and toast and stuff like that. It’s baffling to me that I don’t really do breakfast. I was a “coffee and cigarette” for breakfast guy for so long that my body would probably balk at the prospect of corn flakes or porridge. However, I love bacon and eggs and a glass of pulpy grapefruit juice. Apparently Hunter Thompson was a big believer in starting the day with a considerable meal. Having said that, he also accompanied his breakfast with things like Speed, Bourbon, coke, bloody marys and ganja (The “Benevolent Giver” as Jeff Buckley once said).

In some parts of New Zealand we have a thing called “Intermediate School”. A two year gap between Primary School and High School. That was the first year I started having to wear a uniform and things like that. It was all so very mature and organized. You go from the chaos of primary school to the ordered and rigid type of study that would eventually morph into High School and then, with a bit of luck, University.It is at Intermediate School that you start to have things like Wood Shop, Metal Work, Music and a curious class called “Home Economics” Where you learned to cook, sew, clean, basic “House Wife” type skills. Everyone, boys and girls alike, had to do all the subjects and it wouldn’t be until midway through high school that you could pick and choose which subjects to specialize in like Calculus or physics, art, music etc. Until then you basically got an introduction to everything. Me being the dummy I am, I chose french, eventually… well, there was a girl that I liked who did it and we got to sit together 3 times a week for most of my high school career. Well, until they kicked me out for ganja, even at a young age I was waving the flag. A political prisoner of conscience in a freedom fight for our minds and what we do inside the privacy of our own skulls. If you asked me if it was worth it? The rudimentary parlais francais I posses only ever rarely gets used apart from in a comedy context… I can say “How much are the chips”, “unfortunately” and “sex drugs and rock n roll, don’t forget the alcohol” in pretty good french. Still, I got to sit next to that girl for 3 years. Totally worth it. She helped me pull off one of the first instances that I know of where the board of trustees (like a parent teacher association, PTA) stepped in to punish gender fluidity.

We used to have a thing called “Mufti Day” where you could wear what you wanted instead of the school uniform. It was always a good excuse to be different and one year her and I swapped uniforms for the day. Her mum helped me let the skirt out on her sewing machine because it was too small. The bra pinched like hell, I dunno how you people do that every day. The stockings, on the other hand, were snug and warm. She wore my trousers, blazer, tie etc. I can’t remember if we went as far as wearing each others undies but I bet we probably did. We thought it was the best lark ever! We caused such a stir that morning, it was fucking glorious!

The Board of Trustees, unfortunately (or..malheureusement, as the french say) were not thrilled about this, it blew all of their prudish little minds and before the lunch bell rang I was hauled in front of an emergency meeting of the Board. They didn’t mind the girl wearing my uniform, that was fine.. Me, on the other hand, I was cross dressing and we simply do not do that. I was furious and my Mum was too. She came from work in the middle of the day to pick me up and tell them what a bunch of cunts they were. My Mum was a champ. Small minded, insignificant fuckwits. It was the same board that later expelled 5 of us for cannabis. My crime was that I’d been handed a bag of seeds in a toilet and hadn’t rolled over and told on the person that had handed me them. This little prick had told me he had some weed for sale so I followed him into the bathroom. He hands me a bag of stems and seed, it was fucking Hay! So I threw it in the toilet and told him to fuck off. Malheureusement, another person was in the bathroom and him and the guy with the seeds both snitched. I’ll never understand why. You don’t spill the beans. Ever. That was my big crime and they threw me out for it. Twice I was discriminated against by that group of despicable racist cunts.Excuse my French….

Today I want to take you back to 1984. Live Aid was just around the corner and bands like Duran Duran and Sigue Sigue Sputnik were warping music and fashion into the one concise amalgam that was “The 80s”. My friend Jason had an older brother and sister and they were as cool as cucumbers. They would go to concerts and tell us about them. They had the best records, clothes and accessorizes. His brother Carl had cool hair and ripped denim jackets covered in metal badges and buttons of all the bands that he liked (Bands that we gorged ourselves on by osmosis.) and he taught us how to pierce our ears using nothing but a safety pin and a frozen sausage! On the weekends me and my ratbag mates would break into our school office, pinch the petty cash and nick all the smokes and booze that we could find. There were Louvre windows way way up in the ceiling of the school hall. We would go in there on a Friday afternoon and push the big crash pads from the gymnastic gear into position and then come back at 2 in the morning and pretend we were ninjas. If the crash pads weren’t in place you could easily shimmy down the windows winding mechanism or swing your way down to the ledge of the little kitchenette that they sold pies and hot soup and stuff from in the winter. Sometimes they even had fish and chips. Cheese Rolls… dude I could write for days about the humble cheese roll. We never did any damage and we only took what we thought we could get away with. We weren’t vandals. Not yet anyway. We never got caught either.

The Crash Pads and Gymnastics equipment are kind of relevant to today’s topic… Dun Dunnnnn!’ Allow me to tell you the tale of Mr Braxton Vs A Bunch Of Little Hoodlums!

At Intermediate School one of the regular classes was Physical Education and it was compulsory. I hated it. The only thing I could really nail was high jump, the rest of the time it was torture. The boys wore White shorts with a green T-Shirt bearing the school crest. The Girls, however, had to wear these skimpy little form fitting really high cut shorts. I will try to find a picture of something similar… Actually, that sounds like a bad idea. Anyway, they were basically a really high cut pair of granny undies, if you take my meaning. From the outset it was a bit conflicting because, damn those girls looked great in those shorts but it just felt a bit pervy. Mr Braxton was the P.E teacher. He wore really tight Adidas track suits and he must have been about 400 years old. Short and wiry with a shiney bald head and a wicked temper. He must have strapped and caned me twenty times. The Welts it would leave on your arse would sting for days. Eventually our government banned corporal punishment in New Zealand Schools but sadly not soon enough to save my skin getting flayed the hands of successive determined assholes. But this isn’t a story about that, this is a story of heroes and the divine nectar of sweet revenge…

Braxton was a very hands on teacher. Picture him standing at the end of a runway, you run up to the spring board and do, whatever, flips, etc and land on the crash pad. Simple right? Except every time one of the girls runs up he has to put one hand on each arse cheek and guide them, tenderly through whatever maneuver they were attempting. Boys, however, didn’t merit such, um, handling, shall we say? He was a fucking creep and the girls came to dread his classes. Time went on and we all moved up the years to high school but he was still teaching when I left high school and I wondered how it was possible. It certainly wouldn’t fly today.

Now, hey man, there were never any allegations of misconduct, please let me make that clear. It was just creepy and we thought some measure of retribution should be extended his way. So for the entire length of my high school year, we tortured him relentlessly. The best one was when we managed to order him a Call Girl/Escort and then hid in the bushes across from his house pissing ourselves with laughter as confusion, outrage, conflict and sex all exploded on his doorstep, right before our very eyes! Back then you could get delivery pizza. It was before eftpos and uber, you had to have the cash ready at the door. We exhausted every takeaway in the city of Invercargill sending him pizzas, fish and chips, you name it, we had it delivered. Once one pizza place cottened on, we just went to the next one in the phone book. A burning paper bag on his doorstep filled with my mate Rangis feces. And crank calls at all hours of the night. He changed his number a few times but, dearest reader, we were breaking into the school office and getting his new number from the front desk. He he he. Dude, I must admit, it wasn’t all bad growing up down there, we made our own fun.

So. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I am having trouble with a case manager. I don’t like or trust him and its really toxic. I am avoiding his calls. I have asked to see his supervisor but he has stalled me for weeks. So now I have instructed my community mental health Nurse to intervene. For a handful of really valid reasons, I do not wish to be alone with him. Ever again. He keeps calling me and I have asked him not to. I actually went up to where he works to try and talk to someone up the food chain but the lady was so aggressive and rude when I asked about it that I had a panic attack and left. Then I used their online contact form and asked to have an appointment with his superiors. I have done that twice now. So I just have to be patient. I am sure it can be easily mended and a new case manager assigned and then things will be ok. Right? Right.

I am listening to Jimi Hendrix in Sweden in 1969… man, it doesn’t get any better than that… A Golden age… Like the 80s but grubbier. My favorite hippy is my Dad, Not everyone can say that.

xxxm

ps – please go and listen to my music… I made it for you…

pps- hey I figured out how to describe those horrid rompers that they made the Girls wear at school… they looked the bottom half of a modest full body swimsuit, cut at the belly button, except it was made of stretchy terry cloth. Come to think of it I had a pair of togs like that but don’t get me started… heh. Weirdo. That’s what you have to be to read this. I applaud you.

My Sweetheart The Plague Doctor

Kia Ora Friend.

I grouched at the pharmacist today. For the first time the big boss was there and he scowled at me when I came in. When I go in I usually make eye contact with the guys behind the counter and then sit down. Especially if I’ve walked up, I really need to sit down. Anyway, as usual, they served a bunch of folks who came in after me. There were two people at the counter and a bunch of others in the shop. They finally give me the methadone at the counter and as I am drinking it I look around the room and they are all looking at me and quickly look away. One of the ladies at the counter was arms length away and I have to squeeze past another to get to the water cooler behind the counter. It’s fucking soul destroying, 3 times a week, month after month. So within earshot of the boss I go “There’s not much dignity in taking this in front of the whole shop”. They bluster, you know? I knew that if I’d stood there they would work out a way to make it my fault. “Oh we do it like this because….”. Fuck that. I just growled that I am used to them treating me like this now and say thanks and leave. I normally keep a lid on any kinds of communication beyond whats necessary but it seems that every time I go in there they serve a bunch of people before me, people who walk in after me and it fucking bugs me.

So the kid upstairs now comes out of his room and down to the communal areas EVERY fucking time I leave my room. I am starting to wonder if he is dangerous. I grew up with Lachlan Jones… so I know how mental health problems in young folks can get all lethal real quick. Poor Lachy, fuck man they really let him down. I once met a lady who was his case worker for a long time. I told her that I’d grown up with him in Invercargill, his big brother and I were best mates. So I got a little inside info on things that went down. Mental Health really really fucked up and people lost their jobs following the murder. One of the really creepy parts of the story is that, because Lachlan never left his room, his victims friends used to joke that maybe he was an axe murderer… you could not write that. A tragedy. All round.

Here…

and here….

So, the threat is real. I am struggling with it. Crack heads around here spend all their money on Monday nights and then, because I don’t, they resent me for the rest of the week because I have food, smokes, ganja and stuff that most people just provide for themselves. I try to spend as much as I can on food and petrol because some weeks it doesn’t cover the whole week and I starve for a couple of days, can’t use my car etc. Things are really tight. I am struggling. But even then, I’d never fucking stalk my neighbour’s for food or whatever. Right? Who fucking does that? What makes it worse is that I do fucking share with the house when I have more than I need. Of the hundreds of times these folks have approached me, never was it to offer me a smoke or a beer or a feed… they always have their hands out and it’s doing my head in. I am hoping to meet with the managers this week, I intend to ask if they have any properties with mature, house broken people.

Hey in the same theme. I am thinking of monetising this blog. Not subscriptions or anything but maybe a donate button. I seem to be getting new subs every week or so so it can’t be that unpleasant to read. Anyway, it’s an experiment. Bandcamp tells me I have made $159.50 in music sales since 2012. That’s my stuff.. Screwjack have made $151.50 since 2017, which makes it slightly more lucrative per annum but not much of that money gets back to me. I have 10 bucks in my paypal wallet but you need to have at least twenty to do a funds transfer so it’s stuck there until someone buys some music. I’ll tell you what? I will finish one of my new tracks today and put it up and maybe some of you guys might buy one. If 20 of you buy one for a dollar then I might be able to have funds to get a premium wordpress account and start doing this a bit more earnestly…. We shall see. Here’s my bandcamp page…

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

I have been really depressed. I have no gas in my car, no credit on my phone. I just stay in and watch old horror movies, make music, clean, cook and listen to music. I have to push myself to stay out of bed in the day time. I am batting about 50/50 I guess. I want to hang out with my friends but they all have money and stuff and the things we do together requires money and, unlike my friend up stairs, I can’t just rely on others all the time, it’s not fair. So… yeah. Sigh. Sorry. A very long one. I might cut the story about the park out and do two separate entries, one a whiney, self absorbed cringe fest and the other, I hope, an expression of joy sparkled into life by the memory of love. LOVE.

‘ll catch you guys tomorrow, when our intrepid hero walks the fine line of a fat belly and tight t-shirts…

Spare a thought for folks in the middle east, Afghanistan and Palestine, Syria and Iran… So much death, hatred and woe….

“Woe to the downpressors
They’ll eat the bread of sorrow!
Woe to the downpressors
They’ll eat the bread of sad tomorrow!
Woe to the downpressors
They’ll eat the bread of sorrow!”

Bob Marley (Guiltiness) 1978

Keep Cool.

xm

Walk on the Mild side

I sometimes walk up to the chemist to get my naughty water. It’s not far, two long-ish blocks and a short stroll up through a shopping area. Some days I can, some days I can’t. One of the blocks is a massive green park with grass and a pavilion, a playground and a public toilet that for years after his death carried a purple stencil Prince Rogers aka Ƭ̵̬̊ aka The Artist Formerly Known as Prince aka TAFKAP

Hmmm…. this: ” Ƭ̵̬̊ ” was promised to be a keystroke prince love symbol… it took me ages to figure it out and it looks nothing like the real thing. Here’s the symbol and the image from which I based the stencil. I probably have many pics of that stencil on my facebook acc but I shut that shit down years ago.

It’s a pretty park. I chose to place the stencil there because back in the late 80s and early to mid nineties someone had scrawled “Unemployment is not working” on the building and it grabbed me the first time I drove past it. I figured it must be a good spot. There are really old growth trees all around the perimeter of the park and in the summer evenings you can see big crowds of people playing cricket or touch rugby, bbqs and stuff. There was a festival there once too but the lineup was stupid… Ben Lummis… wtf? It’s a beautiful park though.

It’s also the site of perhaps one of the happiest days I have ever had in my life. Outside the births of my babies anyway. So it hurts walking up there, walking directly through the scenes of that day and having to relive them every time. It is bitter sweet. Truly.

The first live concert of Tyler The Creators “Call me if you get lost” album is up on youtube today. He performed the record and a handful of his oldies the other night in Brooklyn NYC…(Imagine that! Tyler has Oldies… fuck). I am listening and drinking earl grey with a twist of lemon and thinking about that girl, that day, at that park. Actually, it was mostly spent in bed, on the couch, in the shower and then at the outdoor market up in the shopping area. She sold really cool clothes and we’d organized for her to have a stall there. She’d spent a couple of days with me before that, we went to a party and spent most of the rest of it alone together, you know…. being sweet to each other. She got a spot on the corner of the park, I ran around doing little jobs for her. I do not know if it was a good or bad day for her, her finances and stuff were private but I’d hoped it would be a good day because then she might have reason to come back. After it all turned to shit I avoided that market, I do not want to know if she has been coming back. It would be way too hard to see her again. It still hurts.

After it was all over we packed up all her stuff and she dropped me home and drove away in her cool little house truck. That was the last time I saw her in love with me. The next time I saw her it was all over and it was beyond my control to fix. Listen man. If you have to lie to someone under the pretense of trying to spare their feelings. Don’t. It doesn’t work. Neither does not being clear with someone. I really fucked all that up. Being a grown up really sucks sometimes.

I thought, today, as I walked past the spot where her truck was parked that day, that I might write a series of pieces about some of the really wonderful Loves of my life. I will try to keep the details savory and not divulge too much about the ladies in question. I doubt anyone who doesn’t know the story could figure it out from these details. I will try hard to be a gentleman. Aside from that, in one of her lines of work, keeping your fucking mouth shut is the cardinal rule and I don’t wanna sleep with the fishes…

I met her online. Where everyone seems to have met since the end of the 90s. We decided to meet. We went for a walk. From Kinglsand station, up K Road and got Thai food is a little food court and then walked home. I think I had Pad Thai and she had Tom Yum, some kind of fish soup anyway. We just spent the time walking and talking about our lives. We clique’d on so many things, she seemed so exotic in that she lived outside all the 9 to 5 bullshit. She supported herself with her own businesses and dressed amazingly, hippy chic I guess. She smelled like Kama and when we said goodbye she hugged me and pressed her hips up against me hard. She felt so firm and alive underneath all those layers and colors. As you can imagine, from then I was fucked. I have said this before but when I was a kid my Mums best friend was this beautiful, curvy, sexy woman called Loma (not sure of the spelling, probably for the best). She wore cashmere and had loads of bangles, earrings, rings, all that stuff. She always smelled like Kama. Since then I have fallen apart at the meres whiff of that shit. If you do not know the fragrance its a cross between Nag Champa incense and sex. Flat out. My cousin told me a decade or so ago that that lady got nailed on our kitchen table. Not sure about the truth of it.

We spent a good two years being friends. Spending time together. She came and stayed with me a few times when I moved back to Hamilton and she’d helped me moved out of the rat trap I was living in. I can remember being all frantic when she would come. My flatmate at the time was so kind and helped me set up a guest room and make everything nice. She was the only person I’d really told about how I felt about the future of this friendship and she was really supportive and made sacrifices to help me make the stays nice and comfortable. We were not lovers yet though. That came later.

I guess that’s all I will say about that part. My life was so fucking complicated and I messed up real bad. I used a LOT of meth around this time. It is not an excuse, it just is. You think you are so fucking wise on meth. You are not. It’s a trick of the serotonin… which is, meanwhile, rapidly running out!

That day up in Hamilton East, that was so good. When I was with her I felt like I could do anything. I started a Radio Station. I ran a functioning recording studio and on her advice I screen printed and sold my own t-shirts (for the radio station). It just felt right. Our lives were separate, we did not dabble in each others shit but when we were together it was magic. I remember one night she turned up out of the blue. She had family stuff going on and just needed some down time. I lit the fire and made her a little nest on a couch and then I lay on a couch on the other side of the room and we just stared into each others eyes for hours and hours. Grinning like idiots. It was real and it was right. She accused me of using a Womans Weekly recipe (New Zealand Tabloid) when I made her a badass vege lasange. I think it surprised her that I could cook.

The climax of the relationship came a few months later. The last time we spoke I was on my knees, beside her car, begging her not to go. After that, life got real dark. For a long time. A real long time. No more studios or radio stations, just a steady decline and eventual jail time.

Overall, in the 5 or so years we knew each other we spent at least half of that as friends. I think that was what made it so good.

I have been in love since. I will try tell you that story too. Not today though. The ending was less spectacular but no less painful. The “Chick drives off into the sunset” theme continues though. I will write more about that in a few days. And of course there are other substantive relationships in my youth too. My mind flashes on 4 or 5 faces of women who have been kind enough to offer me their love. I am not sure if I believe that I am simply a broken adult with childhood trauma that has real trouble keeping relationships or if I believe that humans are not meant for monogamy and that maybe love only lasts for a season and then it’s time to move on. What I do believe is that if I’d played my cards right I could have grown old with that Woman.

I believe in Love. I hope to find it again or rekindle it somewhere, somewhen with someone.

Please take Care if you are in a country still fighting Covid. The Delta variant is running amok and many places are simply ignoring any kinds of restrictions or self control altogether. We are not out of the woods. It is not time for political rallies, parties or big crowds of drunken assholes on cruiseliners.. Floating Petri dish… doesn’t anyone remember that colorful little quip? It hasn’t gone away. Dicks. (Not you, faithful reader, THEM…

xxxm

ps – also, that park I mentioned? That’s where I used to go cruising, when I was bi, or whatever the current acceptable term for fag is….

‘Pon De Left Hand Side

SO here’s something I saw in the news today. Do you happen to remember high school science classes? Chemistry in particular? Lithium burns really fucking hot. Like a little self sustaining furnace. Apparently the problem with the new lithium batteries in electric cars, aside from the terrible cost to nature as it is extracted, is that it is damn hard to extinguish once it is on fire. Sometimes they find that, after they have put the fire out, it re-ignites on the tow truck, or back at the wrecking yard. It takes between 4 and 40 times as much water and man power to put out an electric car fire compared to an ordinary gas guzzler. Some firemen say that as the electric car fleet increases and the percentage of electric vehicle fires grow, first responders will sometimes be forced to just let the fire burn out itself. This seems like a terrible way to combat climate change, by accepting that a percentage of these devices we have constructed to defeat fossil fuel dependence and climate change will some day be on the corner of your street spewing all sorts of nasty shit into the atmosphere… not for hours but for days.

We are so bad at this.

I have a conceit, it goes like this… I reckon we have been here before. I posit that there was a cataclysm, maybe many cycles of cataclysms, that befell earlier but similarly technologically advanced civilizations of Homo Sapiens (and, maybe, just maybe, other species of hominid too). I suggest that modern archaeology has the timeline of human development way way wrong. That many ruins (ruins ascribed to our more, relatively recent, primitive ancestors) are actually far older than established academia will admit and represent barely a whisper of what actually was. That millennia upon millennia of weathering, sediment accumulation, lichen, geological events like earthquakes, plate tectonics, desertification, coastal erosion and rising ocean levels have obscured beyond all identification and dating. Having said that, many of the efforts to date some sites and artifacts are hampered because modern academia flat out refuses to accept the results of things like lichen growth or radiocarbon dating. They refuse to accept them because they fall outside the accepted timeline by orders of hundreds of thousands of years.

The Quimbaya artifacts are several dozen golden objects, found in Colombia, made by the Quimbaya civilization,

The existence of Ooparts (Out Of Place Artifacts) spread all across the globe, and the glaring similarities in stonework, knowledge of cosmology, mapping and building techniques suggest at least a modicum of shared knowledge and hint at the possibility of an ancient global civilization. For instance…. According to academia, ancient Chinese documents display a masterful understanding of the stars and planets. Not only the cosmology of the skies in their hemisphere but all of it, hundreds and hundreds of years before they were even a sea faring people. How did they know this? Taken as a single anomaly I am sure there could easily be a rational explanation… Perhaps maps were traded with others as trade developed and soon a comprehensible cosmology could be extrapolated from many individual sources? That’s just off the top of my head and I am sure you could come up with a bunch of other theories too. However, despite that, it remains a question mark and is certainly not the only example of our very primitive ancestors doing things that our own clever minds have taken centuries to figure out.

How does the Peri Reis map have an accurate depiction of the continent of Antarctica when we only just found out what was under the ice in recent history? How is the megalithic, multi faceted, polygonal masonry of Machu Picchu repeated on other continents over and over again in places like China, Russia, India and, of course, the Giza Plateau (which in itself is a massive, MASSIVE, ancient stone work.)? (Here is an interesting article about it with some good pictures) How come we find, all over the globe, quarries where stones of unbelievable size and ambition have been left, unfinished, in situ? Time after time? Go find Yangshan Quarry in China, The Stone of the Pregnant Woman in Baalbek, Lebanon, the unfinished “el gigante” on Easter Island or Aswan Quarry in Egypt. All endeavors ascribed to our ancient, primitive, ancestors and all from separate and isolated peoples? Some of them working only with copper and stone tools. All sites abandoned at various stages of the quarrying process, some of the megaliths still attached to the bedrock.

Did we do this before? Fuck the planet up so bad that we had to abandon a global civilization? Perhaps a deluge or a war involving weapons as destructive as our modern Nuclear or kinetic weapons? At what is claimed to be the site of Sodom and Gomorrah there is evidence, not only of the ravages of immense time, but of a city that was instantly vaporized. In the crumbling remains you find balls of sulphur so pure that the “Brimstone” event that decimated the ancient city must have burned at ferocious temperatures. The result is still plain to see millennia afterwards.

(I make no comment on what the various religions of the area have to say about it.)

It might not always be Human folly that has forced us to shelter or wiped us out altogether. Perhaps a meteoric event like the one that, supposedly, killed off the large dinosaurs. Maybe the theoretical “Earths Crust Displacement” event? A solar flare, wide spread volcanic chain reactions…. all the volcanoes, all at once? I could go on all day but I am afraid that 40 something years on earth have taught me that, if you have something good (Like a temperate planet with a breathable atmosphere), we will fuck it up somehow. I am afraid I do not have much faith in us not to be stupid as fuck. Greedy, selfish, violent killers. That’s why we are alone in the Universe. There’s probably a velvet rope right around the whole solar system that says “Keep Out, Dangerous Animals”. The first thing any first contact would be met with will definitely be “firepower”.

Anyways, I am off topic. I wanted to tell you about the Brisket. Yesterday I had a friend come over for a meal. We slow roasted a brisket and had it with this cool carb/protien dish that he affectionately calls “Buttons and Bows”, this was drizzled with the generous but heart attack inducing gravy. Dude I always fuck gravy up. If I make mashed potatoes and gravy I use Maggi. However, the gentleman working in the kitchen with me is a gastronomic whizz and so I put my big boy pants on and rocked the shit out of the gravy! The only problem with the whole thing was the richness of it all. We both didn’t manage to finish a whole plate. Brisket is no joke. We had a smoke and I picked his brains about music and stuff. I love my friends, I am lucky. The thing I was getting to though is that the young fella from upstairs came down to the kitchen as soon as he heard me in there and stayed for the whole thing. Just sitting on the couch, with the tv on silent, staring at his phone, which was also on silent. Just sitting there, pretending to be busy but really just listening to us and watching us. It’s fucking creepy and I am glad my mate just got on with hanging out with me and didn’t even mention it.

So that’s one more thing I can’t do here. If I leave my room, he comes down. He stands outside my room listening at the window. He is out there now. Did I tell you about my car, friend? Now I can’t have friends in the communal areas because he will come and sit there. It’s fucking weird. I do not smoke outside anymore because as soon as I do one of them decides to come and talk to me. “Oh hi…. blah blah,” eventually getting to “can i have a puff?”. When I moved in I loved sitting out there in the evening. There’s a nice big leather chair out there, comfy as hell. I turn it to face the big tree over the fence, smoke a spliff, play guitar and watch the birds do all their final business of the day as the sun sets. They spend all their money on meth, every monday night, and then they want what I have. Food, Smokes and stuff. It is causing me harm because I want to share but I will not be someones bitch, mum, or care giver. I hate what it is doing to me.

Shake it off! There are worse off people than me. Imagine being a woman who has grown up in Afghanistan under the protection of the might of the American military? They know freedom, education, drivers licenses, jobs and even positions in government. There will be none of that under the Taliban. Not just for the young women either, young men who have grown up without religious extremism face very real threats now. Now they face returning to a life their mothers and fathers know only too well but of which they have no experience. Back to the middle ages under the fanaticism and violence of the Taliban. The very dudes they were there to get rid of. It is cruel and disgusting. Maybe they could come and live here.? I do hope many of the youth of Afghanistan can afford to get out.

I do not understand religious faith let alone extremism. I simply do not get it.

Today I am all set up to spend a few hours recording. I will go for a little walk later on. Nice quiet Sunday.

Please bear in mind this is all just ideas. I don’t believe that anyone, no matter how educated, really knows the truth of our funky little species. Not definitively. So why should my propositions be any less valid. After all it doesn’t really matter…. Well, I mean it matters because all that antiquity produced Little Richard, after that… well it’s all gravy, isn’t it, groovy reader?

The love you get is the love you give… and vice versa.

xm

When I go driving, I stay in my lane…

I grew up in the deep south of New Zealand in the late 70s and 80s. I grew up in a place where, if you had a bumper crop of silverbeet, you took some around to your neighbors. If you go out fishing and catch more than you need you drop it off to old people in the neighborhood or people who are struggling. When someone new moves in you make an effort, bake a pie or a cake or invite them for dinner. If your neighbor is working on his car you could wander over and help, same with painting or splitting wood. You could go to your neighbors for help or for support when people die or things get hard. You didn’t do these things for money or to get anything back from them…. It wasn’t manipulative, it was love and care for the people around you.

I find it really hard living up here in the North Island. If I knock on my neighbors door I get yelled at: “What do you want?” Followed by a loud sigh and then clomp clomp clomp to the door followed by “WHAT???”. “Oh hey I baked some brownies, would you like some?”. I mean, fuck man, that’s how I was raised. I know I’m no saint but thank fuck I am not like that. I think that, because the culture up here is nastier, more suspicious, when someone approaches you out of the blue then they probably want money or smokes or the old classic “I’ve run out of gas and need to get to Ngaruawahia” or the even classic-er “Please sir I need to get baby formula”. What you don’t expect is an act of unconditional generosity. I simply can’t not do that. Fuck it, I refuse to become like them.

I’ve been spending a lot of time alone. I do not have gas money and I cannot walk very far. I have got into a routine and have found a balance that means I am not in as much pain as usual. I’m not very active but I do what I can every day and I feel ok about it. I still have really bad days but those are just storms to weather. It never lasts forever, it passes. It teaches you patience. I have had to stop the really heavy pain killer because it really really hurts my stomach. You are supposed to have them with a meal but when I wake at 3am in agony the last thing I want to do is get up and eat something. Sometimes I have milk, that helps a little but the benefits are not equal to the shitty side effects, not by a long shot. I wish I could get a Doctor to help me. There are bound to be better drugs for this but they can’t stop seeing me as a fucking junky and start seeing the god-awful mess the surgeon made of me. Cunts. Fuck. After all this time can you see, kind reader, why I have given up? I think my depression is really bad. It can be hard to tell. I do not feel happy very often.

I am making good music. The people who live near to me all have mental health issues. I do too but they are institutionalized and spend all their time seeking drug, they are selfish people, druggies usually are. I drew a line in the sand the other day because one of them offered to sell me some meth. I was firm but, well, firm. Just very very firm. When junkies get to near the bottom of the bag they try to find a sucker who will buy that last little bit for enough for them to buy another bag. It aint my first rodeo. When I moved in I was really generous, I was trying to be a good neighbor. Pearls and swine etc. It is very hard. I am house trained, you know? If you make a mess you clean it up, if you make a meal you do the dishes. You vacuum and mop regularly and all those little things that stop you from descending into fucking squalor. I cooked way too much food the other night and shared it with them all. One of them is a real hermit and hardly ever leaves his room. When he opened the door the smell of something rotten, chicken or meat or something wafted out, it was overpowering and I almost started dry retching… How can he live like that! Ha ha haa. Fuck man. It’s such a lovely modern house but I can’t really enjoy it because I’ve learned that if I go out to the communal area one of the other guys comes down and stares at me. It’s hard to describe this place. I have my own apartment so after a while I have learned to function spending as little time out there as possible. If I put food in the oven I have to tape the oven shut because they fucken open it and pick at the food. Yesterday someone had pried open my car window, they broke it and now it wont go up. I had to get the plumber who was here yesterday to tape it up but you see? I can’t even leave my car out there without these cunts putting their hands on it. They wanted the contents of my ashtray yet there was only 2 or three 6 month old butts in there. Now I have emptied my ashtray and have it wide open so you can see that it’s empty. That window will cost about a hundred bucks. That means no gas or groceries for a week. For 3 shitty butts. Fuck man I harvested my tobacco recently. It’s all cured and chopped up nice and fine. When I moved in I probably would have shared that around, why not? I have fucken heaps. Unfortunately for them they have taught me not to share with them anymore. It sucks here. It’s better than nothing though. I am making the most of a bad situation.

So that’s my grump today. My Pal is coming over and we are making American style brisket with gravy and grits! I got up early and cleaned the place, prepared the meat and generally tidied up. The Brisket is in the oven (with a “Please don’t open” sign) and will be in there for 4-6 hours. Slow and Low y’all. It took me about 3 hours to do all that stuff. Stuff that would take a normal person half an hour but I have found my pace now and can usually manage to get things done…. eventually. It sucks being feeble ladies and germs, sucks.

Covid is still very real, this Delta variant sounds scary. Mask, social distance, stay home, sanitise and don’t get naked with anyone who hasn’t been vaccinated or tested, preferably that day! Heh. Simply Give A Shit about the people around you and most of the worlds problems will disappear in an instant. I’ll hold my breath and see if it works!

xxxm

The Soda Land Crisis

Someone once asked my why I spill my guts on here, year after year, week in, week out. Rain or Shine etc. I do not know the answer to that. I began using the Russian website “Live Journal” at the very end of the 1990s and ever since then I have kept some form of public diary, for want of a blogger word… Julia Camerons’ fine fine book “The Artists Way” taught me to journal fearlessly and without a filter. You can go back through later and find the gold but the essence of the task is just to write, whatever comes into your mind. I guess you don’t be married to a guy like Scorsese unless you are a creative of at least equal genius and I am indebted to her for that lesson. I have cherished it since. If you are a creative that has lost your way or if you want to be a creative and do not know where to start I can tell you that actors, film makers, painters, poets, musicians, songwriters, potters, writers, plagiarists and punks have all found their spark through her books and you too could be someone that just needs a little guidance to get you started. Hell, I will buy you a copy if you reach out. It’s a fantastic journey and if you can commit to the whole book you will be doing your inner artist a massive, life changing favor.

(Puts Soap Box Away)

Where were we? Oh yeah, the spilling of guts. The thing is, kind reader, I do not give one single fuck what you think about me or the things I think about. It’s like a lead apron against the radiation of critics and haters. You know the ones, right? They surround themselves with creatives but do not have one single original idea of their own… psychic and creative vampires. “Loud as a motorbike but wouldn’t bust a grape in a fruit fight“, as the man said. I feel so so sorry for them. My imagination has been the saving grace of the last few years. Without music and stencils and stuff like that I would be just like the morons I share a section with. They spend all day thinking of ways to extort money, smokes, drugs or booze out of each other. And when they get it, do you know what they do with the rest of their time, oh knowing reader? They watch TV or fucking Pewdie Pie on their devices. Fuck that for a life. I spent every free moment in Jail drawing. I went through packs and packs of pencils, I diverted medication and stole tattoo gun ingredients just to get things like drawing paper, pencils and the all important pencil sharpeners. I still have my prison pencil case. It’s still in the plastic Chinese takeaway box that they give you to eat your weetbix from. I dunno why I kept it, it was such a faithful friend to me under duress that I feel like it deserved to be salvaged. I cannot imagine life without art. Why would anyone get out of bed? The worst is the online content where idiots watch other morons play video games. Instead of playing themselves… fucking bizarre right?

After my little meltdown yesterday I drank a nice big mug of Lemon Tek and spent the day layering guitars and stuff. When I looked up it was dinner time and I’d spent the whole day being productive. Without that I would be lost. Today was similarly spent. (sans Lemon Tek, never two days in a row as a rule of thumb, the same with lysergic…). Todays effort was fueled by the humble Earl Grey, less dragons and moving carpet but easily as inspiring. Tomorrow I am spending the day with my Dad. He doesn’t read this but even he gets lumped in with the rest of humanity in that I don’t care what he thinks about this either. Do you know where the phrase “Rule Of Thumb” comes from? Google sucks. I used to love saving up questions to ask my mate Malcolm. It’s redundant now coz I can just google them, nowhere near as fun.

So it’s no different from the stereotypical “Diary” except that it doesn’t have a tiny padlock on it. Having said that… from memory there are 151 “Draft” copies of blog entries that didn’t make the cut. Pieces that, by the time I got to the end of them, were deemed way too much even for me. It’s not really the same as obscurification, mostly they were censored because I was revealing too much about others or because of how the words might affect individuals. I work really hard to not drag others into this blog. I mean, we all know who I was talking about before, right? the psychic Vampire… But I’d never say it’s name or even be less vague. I mean it’s more like Hard up-ly Wonder Lost, am I right? Comedic Reader? People who either rest on others coat tails or flat out jack other peoples style. It’s easy to spot from the real thing. Even at a distance.

I can’t block people from reading this. I guess that’s a key difference between whatever this is and an actual diary or a social media account. In turn, however, I am not exposed to what you think at all, not in the least.

So yeah. That’s why I do this. OR, more precisely, how I do this…. I also write Prose but I keep that to myself. THAT is not something I’d inflict on the world. I used to write poetry and lyrics too. If you dig deep enough into my music you will find that I was quite a prolific little songwriter in my youth. Lee Scratch Perry absolutely cured me of that nasty habit. Now I’m strictly Roots. No Pop, No Style.

Be Safe. If you have a faith, please pray for the children of Palestine.

Mark Edward Tupuhi

Kirikiriroa

Aotearoa

Heart Ache and Klee-Klops

Hello Friend. I have just woken from one of those hyper real dreams about her again. I figure it’s better to come and write down what I am feeling rather than do what I was lying there thinking of doing. I am sure the last thing she wants is to hear from me, I am sure it’s the last thing they all want but especially her. In the dreams my family are all with me again but she is so cold, it hurts so much to wake from them because despite the temperature it is still so wonderful just to see her again, just to be close to to her for those fleeting moments. So I end up in this horrible space where it’s all fresh again and I simply cannot contain all the hurt and sorrow until it just gushes out of me in great body wracking sobs. I do not think I cried in Jail, maybe in one of the therapy sessions but certainly not alone in a cell. I felt that if i started I might not be able to stop.

I think that being unwell has hampered my ability to heal from all this. The drugs probably help me keep a lid on all these hard feelings. I do not really understand how I feel. I mean, I know how I feel I just do not know how to articulate it. What I do know is that it is crippling and i have to find a way back to at least feeling happy. I looked at my guitars and gadgets today and thought to myself “I am so happy when I am am playing with those things, how come I don’t do it but for once in a blue moon?”. I did not have an answer but when I politely invited myself to plug them all in and have a go… well I just went and politely declined. What the fuck? I did spend a couple of hours working on a mix today. Actually, probably not long after that thought actually.

Anyway. I just had to get it out because I was thinking of doing something dumb. It hurts so bad gentle reader. Right here in this moment, everything I have lost dances across the landscape of my heart and I wither under the enormity of it. I feel so useless and stupid. Alone and fat and worthless.

fuck

m

I feel like I want to start trying harder. I am far too old and jaded to go on a “I’m off to rehab” trip or to even think I could stop smoking pot at this point but at the very least I could start to maybe try and address this depression. Honestly I am so fortunate compared to many many other people in similar situations. The people that live in my building are grown men who cant even cook or clean for themselves, they are institutionalized as fuck, Me, I am at least functional. I didn’t manage to keep so many babies alive for so long without having at least a few skills. I know I know I know but at least I did that much, many many other dads (Small d) did nothing. Perhaps being this high functioning and yet with this current lack of motivation to do anything, even the things that bring me joy, represents an arrogance, a sort of willful refusal to move on from this place. It’s baffling because I have all the tools at my fingertips yet I seem to be mired here in misery and hopelessness. Maybe if I clean up my act a bit I can start to feel a bit happier…. I’ll take a hit of Mushrooms just to check.

he he he just kidding. Urgh, fuck life is grim kind reader. The last 4 or 5 years have just been hell. Maybe I can forgive myself a little, most normal folks would not have survived all the overdoses let alone prison and homelessness. I want to be happy. I have always been upbeat and positive, industrious and even gregarious with it. I do not hardly recognize this thing I have become. The problem with feeling like this is that after I have finished spouting off on here I will make a cup of tea and then climb into the shower. The shower takes a while, I do not have any accessibility stuff in the bathroom, not even a hand rail, so I have to keep stopping to sit down for a minute because it fucking hurts so much. Then I might make some brunch, it is Sunday after all. This will also take forever for the same reason. By the end of it I am huffing and puffing with pain and not at all feeling like food anymore and by this point I will feel miserable and defeated again. Every time I forget about the realities of my life and think, for a second, that I might be able to make a better life I am reminded, in no uncertain terms, that I, compassionate reader, am fucked. Royally. Fuck that’s a lot of commas!

So maybe a normal person would get out of the house, go visit friends, maybe go out for a meal or a coffee. Hell, go to the movies or a show! Dude I can’t even afford to put a rego on my car, let alone gas it up. I can walk. But not far. I owe money all over the place, just for little things, repairs, shit like that but it all adds up. I wish I’d been smarter and bought a bit of land instead of this stupid studio that produces music that no-one seems to like. Yup. Yup. One of those days.

again, M

No doubt I will be back later with some more happy little uplifting words…

Factors/Schmactors

I am watching the sentencing of Derek Chauvin live from Minnesota. The judge is just passing down the verdict after the closing statements from both sides. I didn’t actually understand the sentence, and you’d think I would, but the basics are 22 years away, an extra 12 years added for just being a bastard. He was also charged $78 court feels, prohibited from possessing firearms or explosives for life and he goes on a predator registrar. It’s probably more complex than that but I think that’s it in a nutshell. I do not know how to feel because I really can’t get my head around what a sham it all is. All those black men and women murdered by police since George Floyds death, do they get justice too? Do the Derek Chauvins now all stop working for the police? No, the answers are no. So how will the African American and wider communities of color react to this? It seems Luke warm, it’s not life without parole but its also not a 5 year tap on the wrist either. It’s a tough one huh?
At one point the prosecution discusses how egregious the crime is because Derek Chauvin is Police and people trust the Police. But do they? Do they really? I am sure there are situations where peoples of color feel there is no other option left but to call for Police help but how many times have we seen this go fatally wrong too? A family finally asks police to help with a family member in crisis and that family member ends up shot in the street, much like a dog. So to say that “People” trust the police, I am sure is not universally correct.
I was amazed that none of the impact statements went into just how little difference this trial has made to Police related killings in the year since George died. I was also surprised that no one specifically called out the other officers charged in relation to this case. Maybe there are things they were not allowed to say, I understand that much of the testimony during the main trial was very much restricted in terms of what they could and couldn’t discuss so maybe the same applies to impact statements? I think I managed to watch most of the whole thing, the benefits of being an invalid I guess.
Derek Chauvins Mother got up and told the world that her son is not evil, or a racist, he is a good upstanding cop, completely innocent and, strangely, is her favorite son. (How do the other Chauvins feel about this?). She reminded the judge that he was sentencing her as well and pretty much painted him as a saint of a son and policeman and told how she has believed in his innocence from the beginning and has had many letters and emails from others who also believe in this…. She did not glance towards Floyds family at any time or mention him once.
That slimy fucking defense lawyer spoke in circles for a while, much as he did the whole trial. He tried to make out that A: This is a trial by media and not really about justice or fair on Derek and B: The Mitigating factors merit a shorter sentence, hell, perhaps even just a probationary sentence… he he he this guy just throws any old shit up against the wall and has hopes some of it will stick but there’s just a shit smelling wall and soggy brown carpet at the bottom of it all. The mitigating factors are that he (Derek) is an upstanding cop (decorated) served in the military and has lived an honorable life. He draws parallels between Dereks situation and other people facing similar charges. He points out how unfair it would be to give him the maximum sentence because of his unblemished record (criminal record that is, not his work record, apparently that was full of misconduct and excessive force queries.) But the best bit was that, hey man, he was not even scheduled to work that day, he volunteered because they were short staffed… oh well then, that’s ok. The “Clerks” defense… (Gen X Joke)

Chauvin finally addressed the family of George Floyd, he simply expressed his condolences and then muttered that, for legal reasons, he can’t say more and hinted that he had extra information that might help them gain peace of mind… information that might “of interest“in the future. But what could that possibly be? He has a knee injury that means he can’t unbend it for nine and a half minutes after it’s bent? George Floyd was secretly a Vampire and Chauvin, as an avid Vampire Hunter felt it was his duty… in a way he was protecting them. Maybe , you know what? I cannot think of any mitigating circumstances that could somehow make this situation OK. If you can then you are a smarter cookie than me. He’s just following the advice of that Awful human he hired to represent him.

So a day of closure in one sense but not so much in others. I have been a part of a large family waiting on a verdict to serve justice and I know that, despite all the pain, it still feels good when the person that caused it gets whats coming to them. Vengeance can be briefly delicious. I cannot imagine how they are feeling caught in the spotlight dealing with things they never should have had to. The death threats and disgusting online taunting will not cease now, if anything they will probably get worse. Especially if, as Dereks Mum suggested, there are a LOT of people out there who feel Derek is completely innocent. Even despite the damning footage of the whole goddam thing there are still folks who think he acted correctly. KKKan you guess what kkkinds of folkkks they are? huh?. The thing that sticks for me is that it’s just grandstanding. The white judge and the white prosecutor, the white defendant and the white defense attorney all just playing the game earnest as fuck to show the world just how not-racist they are. That’s my angle. I am not always correct though so please don’t take it to heart if we disagree, it happens all the time.

I think George seemed like a really neat guy. He had obvious flaws and struggles but he was high functioning, a fitness freak, a father, a lover, a friend and yes a drug user. I think he and I would have got on just fine. I really ache for his family because of the genuine enormity of the whole mess. It’s a lot to put a family through. If you ever start to feel sympathy for Mr Chauvin, just picture the expression on his face as George was dying under his knee. Fuck Him.

How are you doing friend? I am in a deep depression, self medicating too much, staying home alone too much and struggling. I think that most normal people have security, food security, accommodation security and relatively good mental health (which seems like a kind of security in it’self… well, so I imagine anyway, having never really experienced it myself) . I do not have these things. I live hand to mouth from week to week and I find it really hard to ask for help. My Dad and his partner were here yesterday and he kept asking if I had enough food, gas etc. Even though an unexpected bill had derailed this weeks budget I was still not able to let him help me. I don’t want to be a burden, I find it really embarrassing and I give up. Which is dumb because I love being generous when anyone needs help, I am the first to give up the shirt on my back, to friends, family and strangers alike. I can “dish it out but I can’t take it”, as they used to say. I am struggling similarly with health. I have given up on asking the medical profession for help. I think all they see are the words “DRUG SEEKER” in 10 foot high Neon and so I never manage to get one of them to help me, they just pass me from person top person like the worlds fattest game of pass the parcel. I have an appointment next week but if recent history is anything to go by I will probably just cancel. There seems no point. If they would only just get me to take my shirt off it would be glaringly apparent that there is something very wrong with me but this has now gone on for over 2 years. I do not know what to do and it overwhelms me. Sometimes I have really good days and sometimes i have really bad days but every time I trick myself into thinking I see some improvement I have a really bad day and it sucks all the hope back out of me like when the tide recedes before a tsunami.

Speaking of which, my mate asked me the other day if I would like to do some audio engineering for his Operatic project. I was pleased beyond belief. He has this wicked long bi-polar type thing and this is the very first sign of hope that maybe he is coming back around to the guy I know and love. So, swings and roundabouts.

I feel really sad. It’s ok to feel sad but man it’s hard to snap back after a while. Your heart loses it’s elasticity.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

Back to netflix and pregabalin. I hope your day is better than mine kind reader. Don’t forget that we are not out of the covid woods yet, take care. Black Lives Matter. ACAB

Jah Rastafari

M

Trying Too Hard

Did you ever try to juggle the needs of several people all at once and fall flat on your face? I think I did that yesterday and today my heart is heavy. I do not have so many friends that I can afford to lose any yet I cannot always be the one who manages everyone else, driver, dogsbody and sometimes percussionist. I thought I was doing really well but I let one of them down and now I feel bummed. I think I feel that, often, I make sacrifices to expedite the social fabric of my life, I do it willingly because they have been kind to me in turn so why not? Right? But sometimes I am just not able to be everything to everyone and I feel really terrible because I am capable and I have the heart for it. I’m just not very good at it sometimes. Sigh. Sucks being on this spectrum sometimes.

yet we make such wonderful music together…

Pay Respects to the Wu Tang Clan

I don’t think I am an intelligent man. I know smart people and I am regularly caught nodding politely or going “yep Yep Yep” when, in actual fact I either have no clue what they are talking about or I simply can’t think as quickly or put my finger on knowledge as swiftly as the person attempting a discourse with me. I am, however, sensible. I can problem solve like a ninja and, whilst I sometimes get frustrated and panicky, I can usually figure most things out. The other day I locked my keys in my car. I initially panicked and asked a friend to try find me a coathanger (It’s a Māori thing…), all the while shallow breathing and catastrophising. In the end all it took was a sturdy stick I found in the gutter. I may not be a phd. but I can tackle most things the world throws at me without having to call the AA, use a rock on the quarter glass or cry.

. The one thing I have never been able to think my way out of is heartache. It is the one hurdle in life that I have not been able to finesse or transmute into something else. Well, wait… I have been able to turn it into more heartache, stupor and regret, I am genius at that… I guess. I make my way through every day alone. I know that a lot of that has to do with being in pain and stuff but it is also a result of the life shattering heartbreak that I cradle close to my chest like some kind of putrid talisman.

A man at the supermarket today was behind me in the queue and feeling chatty. The checkout operator was trying to make small talk and she goes “What are your plans today?”. After giving it some thought I decided to be glib. Often I try to answer banalities like this with pure abstract realism but this morning I was not feeling 100 and just said that I intended to try and keep warm. Anyway this old bastard behind me goes “A run around the block would warm you up”. Pretty much saying “You are one fat fuck”. I replied that it has been “a while since I could do that”. At which point he decides to have an “I’m older and frailer than you” competition. I suppose that, from the outside, It looks like I am just a whiney little bitch and that things are worse for other people and I should suck it up. But, dude, I am in the process of trying to access the new Euthanasia laws for myself, like, my struggle is no fucking joke. For some fucking dude to meet me for less than a minute and to cast such a huge judgement makes me feel ill and sad for my community. I am morbidly obese. Not because I am lazy or greedy or any judgey reasons like that.

I don’t pose any threat to anyone anymore, I am not the swaggering braggart these days. I just sort of petered out, all ineffectual and stupid. I fucked the cbd thing up so now I spend my extra cash on pain relief because the pain relief they give me doesn’t work. The reason it doesn’t work is that the Urology Dept and the GPs are too scared to go in to bat for me against the methadone people. Methadone probably does help but it doesn’t cover the whole thing. I still have to spend a few hours cleaning and doing dishes because it fucking hurts and I have to stop every couple of minutes. For how long do I do this before it’s ok for me to tap out?

Consequently I am not getting much done lately. The studio has never been in better shape but I just can’t fucking do it. I have people I could make music with but I am losing faith in them. The idea of meeting other minds as an equal has long since sailed. The people I have been gifting my time and talents too simply do not give one single fuck about my music or the kinds of things I care about. How long does a sane person pursue that before giving up? I wish I could find a clique of people my age-ish who just want to make great music, smoke and drink and eat food together with a mind towards recording and gigging. Like, it does not have to be all snitchy and fucking perfect. It does, however, have to bring joy to the participants and at the moment I aint feeling it. The general consensus is that I drink too much. I like to have a drink when I play. When those guys can play and sing as well as me when they have had a few, shoot… even stone cold sober, then I would take their complaints on board. I dunno man. I used to think I was respected as an artist and as a producer. I was all wrong. I usually am. God I miss my family.

fuck.

My music may well be shit but I crafted it myself, with my own talents and thoughts.

https://tupuhi.bandcamp.com/

sorry friend, I guess that was channeling my inner death metal a little too hard. It has to be amongst the most self absorbed asshole bullshit guilt trippy disfunctional asshat (wait, did I already spell asshat?) so here’s a little something cheerful to round things out…

peace love and safe-et-y

thank you for listening, my name is Mark.

x

If I sit still for long enough, breathing in and out, I can feel the echo of every single trauma that ever knocked me for a six, woke me in a hospital or landed me in chains. Achy Bones these are.