I should have said, "and wet ones!"

Hahahahahhaaaa

superlative

sitting in septic sepulchre
solo
spectre
in solitude
solo, or solitude
there is a difference
what is the difference?
scepticism or cynicism, I've
no idea
who knows

unforgiving and unforgetting
I can neither forget nor forgive
I give, and for what?
I get, and for what?
I slumber, the most
sound somnabulent, and
for what getting?
For no giving
for only some solitude
without solace
"come and be more sociable" she tells me
what, so I can bequeath my silent soliloquoy?
no thanks
sorry
(and yes, I still say that).

It doesn't have to be good. It just has to be familiar.

cornwall park

Whenever I go here I think about your decrepit body wandering around between the trees. The trees are all women, split in two by flash-phallic lightning. I think about you being alone and quiet. You are an observer. And when you speak it is a small, steady utter which carries across the crater. The newly-shorn sheep gather around you but don't come too close. They are fitter than you and wary. You are wary of the other people but like the sheep. So because you are wary of the people, and the sheep are wary of you, you are alone.

This is my imagined version of you.

urban blues

first kiss shorts
they are the oldest piece of clothing I own*
they are quite ripped on the left side
they still fit me
I still wear them
they have seen eight summers
and five countries
the insides of six wardrobes
they have made multiple memories
they must stay, they must
stay
until they eat themselves open

they have seen midnight sand dunes
the seats of bicycles
tropical storms
the underneaths of summer dresses
their own reflection shining back at them on stage tarketts
caravans and campervans and tents
austrian mountain tops
sulphur-drenched gondolas
they have been a closer companion to me than most humans
these shorts -
is that weird?


*I have not held onto them because they are my first kiss shorts, it just so happens that they are the only thing I owned then that still fits me and that I still like. 

YES!!!

What are you?!

ghost arm

Yesterday I had a girl come into work with most of the lower half of her left arm missing. I asked her if she wanted to put a puzzle together (before I saw this) and she said she did. It was amazing because since she still had her elbow joint her arm moved as if there was a ghost lower arm and hand. I assume she once had a whole arm because of the way it moved and how the end stub looked (folded and tucked skin as if it has been surgically put like that rather than the skin neatly grown over in once piece).

She was using her little elbow stub just like a hand. she picked up pieces with her right hand and turned them with the little arm. It was actually incredible to watch. How it kind of rotated and moved around like a thick arm antennae. I wondered, 'why is it moving so weirdly' and then realised it must just be normal except looked heaps different because of the lack of length. I kind of wanted to touch it (don't worry, I didn't). It was like a creature on its own or a robot with an purposelessly manufactured limb. This girl was amazing. I think she was 9 or something (I asked her but I ask most of the kids so it's a bit vague).

I also noticed the elbow stub had the faint remains of blue pen ink on it and I guess she must write memos on it like most people do with their hands. I don't know why but I really liked/was intrigued by this. I really, really liked watching how she had learned to accommodate not having her whole left arm in order to still be able to do things. Like, I felt like a bit of creep watching so intensely but didn't feel rude or wrong. And I did actually look at her face when I talked to her.

She was wearing a pink scivvy with sequins and had a bit of a belly peeping out underneath at the bottom. I wanted to be like, 'your arm is awesome and you are awesome and I hope your life becomes many wonderful things'. But I just said, "awesome!" and smiled when she finished the puzzle.

bed

only just realising how many memories are held in this same bed
the friends who've stayed over
and all the books that've been read
how many cups of tea have been consumed
dreams spent
or sleepless hours
upside down
draining
diagonal bedsheets, rarely made after first placed
how many ideas have been birthed from my head
the words scrawled
suddenly upright
I forget what came before my bed's current home

I am trying to forge new memories
I am remembering and creating
I am imagining
I am talking about these plans
I am drinking several additional cups of tea
but forgetting to scrawl ideas
and forgetting upside down
too upright
current book is coming to an end
the pens I have left I don't like

ghost birds

Drove through Khyber Pass yesterday with the flatties and saw a bunch of people putting up posters. But looked kinda strange because: 


1) There were four or five people pasting, usually there is just one person on their own;
and
2) There was a photographer and a guy across the road filming too. 

Mucho curiosity.
Thought it'd probably become public what it was.

Here's the answer:

http://j.mp/uOJbpZ

"and even when we make a cup of tea...

...we are still performing."

naivety

I was just thinking about naivety and how it is probably actually a good thing. Because it seems to me to be the absence of fear, or at least more courage. Some people call this ignorance. Maybe ignorance isn't necessarily bad. I mean, if it makes you more likely to attempt things without inhibition, and therefore more likely to succeed, then surely it doesn't matter if it is naivety or ignorance. If you gain from it who cares.

industry night speech

She said to us,

"Another person's victory is not your loss."

I am not the worst if I am not the best.

to be expected when it rains on the first day of summer

After quite a few loops, walking, walking, behind the rehearsal rooms. I don't know how many. Lots. Every time I think I'm breathing again I can hear my jaw clicking stubbornly. It refuses to move. One of our choreographers once said that the jaw is directly related to the hip joints and so you must hold your mouth slightly open to breathe while dancing. No tension in the hip joints. Free legs. No tension allowed.

I know things need to change when it gets all gristly in there, in the sides of my face. Sometimes it's more like cracking, even, than clicking. About twice I've been sure my lower jaw might just crack right off from my face and be hanging all loose in the bottom of my head-skin. It's not like that tonight. Still at the clicky stage.

I try to go back inside but now people are sitting eating dinner in the doorway. So I cross past them (so composed) and think that the workshop door might be open, but it isn't. I get angry that I don't know this place well enough to slip through a doorway around the side somewhere (where?). It is familiar and not familiar enough. I feel betrayed. By the venue? By people and by myself. By locked up buildings. I lie down on the concrete at the other end. It's right by Gillies Ave. Friday evening. There are cars going past parallel to my linear posture very near me. Two lanes in each direction. I turn my head to the left to see the drivers. They are all looking straight ahead at the road.

Then I am thinking about the fact that I am right by a metal gate. It is made of vertical bars. About ninety minutes ago it was open and a truck squeezed through and pick up a huge bin. So then I think about the cars going past diverting and coming in through the gate like the truck, but except while it's closed. I feel my head turn sideways to the road, through my neck and all the tendons in there, which I imagine as taut and brittle although they're probably quite tough and malleable. Like extremely thick wire or a plastic shoe-horn that's been sitting in a car for a while on a hot day. I feel the sun on me and especially on a small gap of skin between my too-stretched singlet and shorts. I'm lying on a diagonal slope and I feel uneven. I imagine a car coming through the gates as I hear them going past. They seem quite fast but must only be going around sixty. I know I get slower when I'm not good though. I keep imaging the stray car quick and sudden and loud and me on the concrete and then I am surprised at myself but I still keep playing the scene over and over in my head. It's a little short film on loop. There are no consequences of the car coming through the gate because it all ends then, there's nothing more in the movie after that. That's the end.

You are not allowed to watch that movie anymore, I tell myself, and I turn it off and turn my head back to the centre of my body. And then I turn my head to the left again and play it some more. I turn it off again. I listen to the sondtrack of cars going past instead but I don't see anymore images. There is no more sun anymore either but my eyes feel less stained than before.

'I could not do this', I think. I have no idea what the time is. I'm anxious. I don't feel capable. I feel like I am running out of time. I have things I need to do before seven o'clock.

My eyes feel sun-dried now but I don't feel real. And standing backstage I don't feel real. The audience don't feel real, they are so far away. The other dancers aren't real, I don't know them. The costumes aren't real. I would never wear that. I might wear that colour, I do, red. I have something in front of my face, I can't see anyone, I'm on my own.

When I try to keep up I can't. I'm in the middle. There's people in every direction around me to follow but I'm still going on my own. I have to slow down. I have to speed up. I'm just right for a small second. I miss out, I add on. I hurt, I'm depleted. I've gone too far in to this thing.

In the bathrooms there's still music. The same music in my head. It's in the changing rooms. It's on the stage. It is following me around and I could compose myself, I could if it weren't there. Go away sad song. I can't want you right now. I don't want it.

I know that if I could empty myself things would be better. But there isn't an end this time. This one feels longer and much more passive. It's passivity scares me. It seems infinite. I know it won't be. But it's settling in quite comfortable. I don't want to be so receptive anymore. I want some time. I don't want to sleep it's so uneventful.

I just want some time.

sneaky bloody bastards

Government Ramps Mining Agenda On First Day Back In Office

Really? Call yourself a Conservation Minister Kate Wilkinson?
Not only are you doing something bad but you are lying and being sneaky about it.

don't vote apathy

From here.

Want some educating?
http://www.onthefence.co.nz/

self serve

I like mornings and nights
up close
because there you look most like other men I know, but
(strange to use the word 'men', but now)

still retaining that
uninterpretable allure
of daytime light --
which I like the most
(and which likes me least)
so I'll win twice
I'll see each half
I'll know both edges
I have all of each end and nothing in between


and then I will alone
I will alone
and I can pry
when she leaves the table
(I'll face that way deliberately)
into eyes the colour of antarctic winds
set amidst black shadows and blank stares
There is no guilt
because I
know the rules.

hardening II

thing creeping out of me
loking for air
outside
it's not there, creautre,
it's in
stay in me
get out
don't come out like that
but get out
get out of me
you're awful
and air-stealing, get out
get out

shazam shazam

Tomorrow at Golden Dawn there is a sweet evening of performances going down.

"Millionaire PM." 

$5 on the door. Pretty much a steal.
Political gems with perfect timing.
Should be a good one.

Film, dance, performance art, poetry, music, DJs, rap, paintings, pretty much a buffet of brilliance.















DJs from 8pm, performances start at 9pm. 
HERE.

self-saucing chocolate pudding

Last year: self-saucing chocolate pudding in a glass bowl
This year: self-saucing chocolate pudding in a white plastic bowl.

The white plastic bowl is opaque.

I don't really like chocolate-flavoured things because they can never match actual chocolate and always taste semi-imposter-ish.

hardening

calm head
inside
hysterical body

0-8-REPEAT

I saw a spark of you,
unattached, or attached, but
prior.
It was brilliant.
It was odd.
I liked it.
We conned con artists
We told lies
Nice lies.
Good lies.
Lies for our benefit
and theirs
and his.

I saw a spark of you
It sat in gutters
and said yes to sweet sweet.
The spark knew numbers one through to three; it
multiplied five by two.

You held hands with me.

We would be only a little drunk and still in control.
In control enough
of control,
of the out of control
for our benefit
to our advantage.
No regrets
only shrewdness
(if you can call such deceit that).

And this would be the norm, in each other's seats
and both retinas the same colour.
To be honest I don't really mind
it's just nice to have those glimmers
We have never sat down together
We have never been sweet
Numbers eight and six eating each other
They shouldn't
They do

Yeah whatever, that spark
It was nice
But not essential
was, but not now
thanks anyway
I liked it.

plough

How nice to put your knees into your eye sockets
you can press them quite far in
if you turn your legs in
they fit quite nicely, nice
press them in
into your eye sockets
so it feels like your knees have replaced your eyes
in your eye sockets
no eyes
no seeing
no sight
lonely vacancy
or not, occupied by some black
great possibility black
a vacuum of offer
clean openness
brilliant vastness
dark goodness
shining shimmering neutrality
we can all start here
(and did)
and end here, too.

forward

Are you cute because it's cute or are you cute because you're cute?

baby don't break me

A list of my injuries since at Unitec.

1st year:
Left knee - medial ligament strain.
Right knee - strange joint things happening (suspected chondromalacia, probably a muscle imbalance).

2nd year:
None that I can remember. But pretty sure I had eight split toes at one time.


3rd year:
Left wrist - stressed joints.
Right arm - partial tear of medial ligament.
Right achilles - fluid sitting around the tendon.
Left foot - dropped metatarsal head.


My initial reaction to injuries is frustration and anger.
Probs crying.
Then I kind of absorb them and they become part of how I dance and things I know about my body.

Each new injury seems linked to a past one.
At first realising that has the same feeling as realising you've made the same mistake twice.
Like a bit stupid/foolish and angry at yourself for not having more foresight.
But then it's kind of nice also to realise that you're one complete thing; you are not lots of tiny little scattered parts but actually one whole functioning organism that is interconnected and works as an entirety.
That's quite reasurring.

seven or ten

There are gaps in us now
our heads are stretching
I'm thinking, 'are we out of breath or out of ideas'?
Maybe both
It's a semi-accident
You can't blame anyone, or at least
I'm told
(we're all always told)
You Shouldn't Blame Yourself.
I imagine that statement would make a good slogan
for some marketing campaign
targeted at a larger per cent of the population.
Like we're all a river of people
that's what I thought as I looked at us
and smelt us
and felt the circling wavepools of the larger
world wrapping around me
and crushing into my sides
into my rib bones
and it wasn't just that familiar jest
that play-fighting
it was Something More Serious.
I didn't even know if we won.
There was too much else which I was losing.
Two new posessions,
a sad seven dollars sitting in run black paint
somewhere
I mean, it doesn't really matter
right?
But there's others:
sad clear company
I was recognised
I said, yes I was here before
do you remember me?
Of course you do.
You remember my weight.
There's others:
fresh words
I later borrowed
two fresh words sitting in my mouth
You're going near where I'm going
but we're going to get there by different means
I knew after two intakes of you
We know things pretty qucikly, we do
or at least I do. I assume it's the same for others.
And sight and sound,
and sight
and sight
Lovely sounds
keep talking at me
I'll stare at the footpath and breath it all in
I'll look up occasionally
I'll anchor my weight right, as usual
Would I put myself there even if you were to the
left? Probably.
Sad truth.
So every morning I'm thinking, last year
here we are at last year
or here I am
solitude feels like last year
but it's nice to remember
so just me, there's possibilities
that's why I disappear
sometimes so stealthy
sometimes an exit speech
and dramatic flailing
it's all for effect, honest.
You know, I'm asking question because I'm curious
but that's Not Allowed.
Nothing normality, we can't
all be straight all the time
I'll prove to myself there's still some yesterday in me
and maybe I'll venture back there again
Should head south more anyway, right?
That's where it all starts.

conversation

To: enq@naturesorganics.com.au
Subject: re: plam oil in product

From: Natalie Clark [mailto:natalie-c@windowslive.com]

Hello,

I was delighted to discover your range in my local supermarket in NZ. I just wanted to inquire about the palm oil you use in your shampoo - where it comes from, if it is 'guilt-free' i.e. not contributing to deforestation??

Regards,

Natalie.

---

From: help@naturesorganics.com.au
To: natalie-c@windowslive.com
Subject: RE: plam oil in product

Dear Natalie,

Thank you for contacting us.  We share your concerns with the supply shortages of palm oil and the impact this is having on old growth forests in south East Asia and the resultant devastation to the habitat of the Orangutans and other at risk animal species.

Although we do not purchase palm oil directly from plantations we have obtained written confirmation from all our ingredient suppliers ensuring that the palm oil used in our ingredients is not from areas cleared of old growth forests.  We have also banned any surfactants produced from palm oil which has originated from Indonesian and Borneon plantations.  This ensures that any product we produce does not have palm oil derived ingredients which have come from newly deforested areas. 

We are continuously looking into alternative sustainable materials but our choices are limited to what is commercially viable and readily available in the global market. At present, the only plant derived substitute to palm kernel oil in cleaning/cosmetic production is coconut oil.  Unfortunately there simply isn’t enough supply to meet demand and there are not any suppliers willing to guarantee a sole coconut source due to this lack of availability.  There is also a compounding issue in that coconut needs to be grown in the same climate as palm oil, yet one hectare of coconut palms yield less than one third the amount of oil as one hectare of oil palms.  The obvious conclusion if everyone stopped using palm and started using coconut is that over three times the amount of land would be needed to produce the same amount of palm oil.  The only other alternatives to palm or coconut are derived from petrochemicals or animal fats. 

Manufacturers in the food industry are able to substitute palm with other oils, for instance canola or soybean oil, but we cannot use these oils, as they don't contain the required fatty acid composition.  The food and Bio Fuel industries account for 90% of the palm oil usage and their increase in demand has led to the deforestation issues.

There is no requirement for us to divulge the type of oil used to produce our products. We choose to state our ingredients openly. Many manufacturers do not provide such information on the labels of other products. Palm oil is in fact classed as a vegetable oil so any product containing "vegetable oil" as an ingredient, including food products, could potentially contain palm oil.

We have been using palm oil for our cleaning/personal care products for over 30 years, as have many manufacturers in this industry. This palm oil was sustainably grown and no animal species were at risk. The problems that have arisen over the last 10 years are due to the food industry utilising this ingredient because it is much cheaper than other food oils, and the rapidly expanding biofuel industry. Cosmetic and cleaning companies use less than 10% of current palm oil production; the biggest threat to the future of the south East Asian rainforests are these other swiftly developing industries.  

We are in the process of reformulating all of our products with some new sugar and corn derived surfactants but this takes time and these new ingredients have only recently become available. Unfortunately, at this present time we cannot get away from the fact that all surfactants and detergents come from petroleum, animal, or coconut and palm derived ingredients. We are ensuring, however, that our palm derived surfactants are sourced from sustainably grown plantations. 

Natures Organics can assure you that we are committed to protect the environment and all of its creatures.

Kind regards,

Emma Butler

Customer Service

Natures Organics

31 Cornhill St

FERNTREE GULLY

VIC 3156

Tel: (03) 9753 5577

Fax: (03) 9753 5177

www.naturesorganics.com.au

The information contained in this email and any attachments may be confidential. If you are not the intended recipient, you must not copy or distribute any part of this email or its attachments.  If you have received this email in error, please notify the sender and destroy the original transmission.  Natures Organics does not represent, warrant or guarantee that the integrity of this communication has been maintained, nor that the communication is free of errors, virus or interference.

Please consider the environment before printing this e-mail

---

yes alice yes

This is an important/great series of images that you should look at on Alice's blog.

I like lots.

bus stop

It's like all these people know all these things about me that even I don't know.  Like they've been keeping me secret from myself. And every time I move, think or speak I realise, "yes, I know who that part of me came from." I can't identify any parts of myself that originated in me. Do people even have those parts? Or are we all just untidy, scattered palimpsests of each other?

But still, the first 'thing' had to come from somewhere right. Where did it come from?

 Great, there'll be a job for me next year then.

arcadian dreams

Why aren't you sleeping with your piglet?
You should be shitting in your silver bowl which matches identical to your other silver bowl - the one they keep your water in.

Your piglet is experiencing heatstroke.
Do you know that? No. You don't because you've abandonned your crate.

24 apple parts
growing out of straw
They should be strawberries

There's some collarbone in me
On couches and city ledges
In lounges
In old-blue and new-red
blankets
I've got to have sun on that open shoulder
Neck
Neck-and-crate

The wrong one's got his fingerprints out.
"You know what?" I say,
"No I
Don't
want to sign your petition.
And yes I do smoke occasionally. That's exactly why.
Take off your shirt, man. You're no better than the others. The only difference between you and them is that they've got gold amongst the green on their t-shirts."

But I save this for a hypothetical occurrence. Just in case.
I've always either planned everything or acted much too irrationally in a flash of sudden idealistic spontaneity.

Luckily he never approaches me. (Of course, this is New Zealand and I am blasting summer eight.) He just keeps circling, fins tucked into his ribs.

I'll have some other please.

So in number three I go and
stick my fingers into some man's cheekbones
wipe the fluid from his eyes across those
beautiful collarbones of mine
Saturation in holy water, I imagine
dripping off the side of what they call
a 'plinth'

I worry about you, darling ice skull
You're not centred
you're not balanced
(follow my advice, I'm a Libra, I know all about balance darling)
If you don't straighten up
your pretty little head is going to
tip right off and
shatter all over that well-sanded wooden floor.

Then the thirsty little piglet next door
trottles over
laps the ice skull all up
licky licky licky
laps up the melting eye sockets which I tried to
deepen with my fingers, but failing
let the ice seep out of my own cheekbones instead
(or collarbones).
No collar.
No alcoholics.
I'm going to leave you lying around.

Just outside the piglet crate, probably. You'll be fine for twenty four days, with twenty four apple-parts to ration.
Good things happen on the twenty-fourth day.
And after twenty four days I can do what I like. I can venture out of the piglet crate (or into it, if I decide I've never been into it in twenty years). Twenty. Only twenty.There are no add-ons. Pudding and pie,
jumping over the moon
and so on,
And cows. Lots of cows.
Bovine mysteries.
Or diseases.
Cows in crates. And on
teacups, and in
money banks and
t-shirts and
ice-cream scoops and
in breakfast
I just want to scream at everyone, "Yes, it's all true!"
But they say, "wonderful.
Stand-out creation."
I say defiantly, "Its not a fucking
script!"
And the older friends says, "Is that true?
Was that one true?"

"Bloody hell", sighs me dramatically. "Do you want me to write a dance about it? I'll draw you a fucking ballet if that's what you need."
I'm real patient now.
"I need taking care of!"
I don't think anyone read that part.
Unfortunate really.
Else they'd have cradled me under their skin
the moment I changed my stage skin.
Or else, I have forgotten to recognise cradling.

Instead they all say, "great, great." "Stand-out." That's a common one too. It's just like these campers though, right? And the news, and the charities. Everyone will empathise. Some will even speak. But no-one's going to do anything about it.

"So are you going to employ me then?" I say. And they look at me not saying anything for a while. And then they say,
"Well we've got to go home now even though we live just up the road. This space is just getting a bit too crowded for me
Too many ideas floating around."
I just cross my arms and wonder whether I should look at them (every night, I did that every night)
and say, "Yeah, three's a crowd huh"
even though there are four of us standing.
Amongst other numeric idioms.
Then I apologise.
Sometimes get reprimanded for apologising.
Sometimes not quite heard, apologising.

It's ok because
if you're lonely you can always go and sleep with the
piglet.
Or make out in public places
(avoid racist comment here).

"Your bicycle's going nowhere"
I tell Matt
- no, Marcus.
Neither of them know my name, but they invite me inside anyway.
"Ah, I read about this yesterday," I say.
"It didn't end up so good. There was blood and other bodily fluids involved."

"I've seen this twice before, actually," I tell them.
"What are you on about?" says Marcus.
"That bicycle's going nowhere," repeats me. "It's a bad omen. You should get out while you can."
"We've done this before," he says. "And there's seven more days to go. We'd be letting everyone down if we stopped."
"Naahhh," I insist. "Number two and the piglet's friend have already left and number three's slowly melting away. No-one'll even notice you're gone, trust me.
I try to talk all the time and people still don't hear me
They just clap their hands
So what's the point?
Take that typewriter with you and
go."

Then I leave. It's awkward being that intimate with people who don't know your name. (They'll probably turn up on a KFC ad in a year or two.)

As I'm leaving I read on his wall, with my fast and nervous eyeballs,
"Congratulations if you've read this far."
Which seems like an appropriate theft to insert here. Well done, Natalie. There's no prize but well done.
(Some more hand-clapping - which really is just self-abuse, isn't it? Just whacking one limb against the other like, "ffarrrkkk, you just did something better than I could conjure".)

Oh dear. She's losing the plot. Let's hit ourselves.

Well you can't hit me anyway, can you? That's against the law now. You can't hit the piglet either, that's socially unacceptable and will be Frowned Upon.

"When does this end?" everyone's breathing. Well, you know, you don't have to stay in it forever. You won't anyway. You don't want the end and
you don't want whatever this thing happening now is
So what do you propose we do?
I'm just going to say, "I don't know I don't know I don't know"
over and over again, which is fine 'cause
I doubt it will be
read anyway. I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know I don't know. There's things on here which maybe I am the only person to have ever laid eyes on in the world. Out of six billion! That's pretty special huh.

I don't know how you could say, "me too," that's pretty astounding. Though I guess when you make nine o'clock plans it's no suprise
In bed by ten
in love by ten thirty
or in 'like'
I thought I invented that one
but apparently not, the internet tells me.

Your fourth cigarette and your eighteenth cup of tea --
That beats me, even
and beat yourself
two limbs
unbeaten
"Unbeatable Cleaning Power!"
and prowess like collarbones
Poor piglet.

I keep forgetting about you.

No piglet, you have great collarbones too.
Yes, honestly.
No honestly, you do.
Noo!!! I'm not just saying that.
Piggy promise. I mean pinky.
Yes.
Yes.
Yeah really.
Really. You do. Seriously!

Shut up piggy. Go back to your heat-stroke seizure zone.

standard

to have choice in what you remember
such luxury
to discern the pieces of information which don't suit
to de-clash the clashing
to unravel the wound
and the wounded
in piece and in place
in task and in tasking
and in handling
handle this very carefully
handle with carefully
with care
take care

take caution when you farewell
your farewell might not be remembered
your farewell forgotten
forgotten fare, well--
so you've no choice in the matter
you don't choose your choices

foolish farewell
foolish, well
well but foolish
or unfooled, but sick
sickful and careful
carefully sick
farewell sickness
I have been careful with you but
you have chosen me
many times with remembering

fool
and full of fool
or fool of fool
not foolish
but full
full of carefulness

take care
and taking care
then a farewell
that's how we all go
eighteen years or so
less in my case
(more in others)
premature farewell
farewell without care
and so I thought

or thinking, in my case
thinking well
and thinking carefully
stuck in some silent mantra
satiate
and say she
farewell
take care, carefully
due choices and choosing
premature decision making
and understanding: a prerequisite
a prerequisite to farewell
and those who farewell
fare well
farewell

sunday mope

I get pretty lonely on Sunday nights. They make me feel really awful actually. I'm usually super tired and drained but fighting sleep, maybe I'm waiting for something to happen - yeah, I'm dissatisfied by the lack of energy Sunday nights have so I keep trying to find where it might be. But it isn't anywhere and then I just get more tired doing nothing. Nothing productive.

Sunday nights follow Saturdays nights (Rebecca Black much?) and so there's this weird anxiety to be around lots of people and having 'fun' or something. So there's just me in my downstairs room feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could go wandering without the threat of potential danger. Or having to walk up ridiculously large hills. Yes, there should be lots of people around me all the time. And listening to music which is pretty much heightening the problem and it's like this small, compact conflict over pushing the play button - needing to hear these songs that I know are going to make me feel worse than I already do and yet sound so wonderful.

Wah wah.

So much tea. Like trying to nourish myself since there is no-one to keep me company. Or even just a body in the next room. Bloody hell. There is a mannequin in the next room instead.

I feel so restless. And especially on Sundays. Especially on Sundays which follow closing night of your last show with a beautiful group of people and a hectic nocturnal trance and knowing there is two weeks ahead of your own head and some vacant sunshine (maybe if we're lucky). Hijasjnavdjvnakh.

I want to have adventures. Of the July kind. '08/'09/'10/'11. Warum werde ich nicht satt?

open

I wonder if they get used to us rushing past
puffed, large exhales
they probably don't even hear it any more
just some 'normal' drone
background noise

They probably don't even feel the air
swift past their black clothes anymore
top off before you're even backstage
lost hair-tie
hair-tie stuck
we're so afraid

not just of normal things but bizarre things
although its probably of greater concern to be afraid
of bizarre things
though they'd have you believe
being afraid of normal things
is more abnormal
It's not.
That's why they are 'normal'
and normal to fear, too
I don't ever want to sleep

That familiar niggling is returning
in familiar and unfamiliar places
is that normal or abnormal, that niggling?
is it normal to feel the niggling at all?
normal here
not normal, here
and here
not normal at all
except in this profession
so healthy and unwell
pizza and gas marks
are all signs of the profession
if you can call it that, more like an occupation

yes it occupies all our time
I live here now, in this place
I live here
this is my home
my only home, my body
and your body
and yours
and yours
I'll sit in your side
with my head pressed deep into your waist
more flesh in your absence of flesh
more crunching in my toes
more folding in my top lip than in my hip flexor
I don't know, is that right?
it feels right

And we'll get along just fine without the other
we are who were then, when we
wished we were the people we are now
circular
arms folded into each other's waist
circular
celestial
with glitter stains on our unshaven legs
too busy to perform normal hygiene routines
still stick my fingernails in your leg anyway
still give you purple marks
purple love, Mark
so beautiful to see you chaotic
(am I allowed to say that?)
it feels right
I almost told you in person
Yeah, they were definitely men
men, now
"not now", to quote
(I love them really)
some unbalance in our teal-rimmed dress cult
animal
in a dress
or creature
creature
like eating eyelashes

I can talk now
I can see
I still don't hear as well
but I know things at any given moment
I am knowing
yes, there is more to know
but I am knowing a lot now
now, not now and know
and knowing
the knowing is the best
we should all know things.

tuesday thursday run

24 August 2009
You wear glitter in your hair
You wear short dresses
and ripped stockings cut into shorts
underneath, shorter
short of nothing
but glitter around your eyes
(that came shortly after)

Across the road from the first place
17 October
2009
smoking some thing
some entertainment
when the glitter isn't strong enough
isn't shimmering anymore
isn't sparkly enough
September 2010
sometime
backwards swinging on a not-quite-chair
glitter scalp
some sparkle oozes from underneath your right shoulder blade and
slides down your waist skin
into the fold of your hip joint
down the inside of your leg
liquid shine, gold
burning hot melted gold glass
opaque

5 February 2011
some parasitic flying on the backs of winged squirrels
down 5am staircases
and coloured lightbulbs greener than the sand dunes
shit hits the $895, ever-spinning, mock chandelier, round and round forever or at least for a very long time fan
splatters around the living room worse than chocolate-covered pancakes
on all the living thing underneath
trying to live calmly
wanting no normality
seeking chaos but rejecting its arrival in reality
most unwelcome love

that typical triangle
where multiple multiples of three become involved
an entire class, say
and others
a public affair
but not in Women's Day
public but not publicised
not published
just secret usherings
hushings
under everyone's breath
dancing breath
ushering confrontation out the door
(there is no carpet)

and now September
the new September
September 2011
the glitter isn't strong enough
isn't shimmering anymore
isn't sparkly enough
ripped, short of something
it has escaped your body
oozed out of your left shoulder blade
slid down your waist
over your skin
and underneath
ripped
opening the folds of your hip joints
oozing down the insides of your legs
liquid tar burning but
you gave up smoking
sometimes, but
still there is tar in you
burning
sometimes
often too often
due to parasitic flying
and 5am meetings
appointments never scheduled yet you daren't miss
his coloured lightbulbs all colours

Shit hits the lightbulb
round and round
for a very long time
we are living
 under shit-splattered lightbulbs
all colours
but mostly
poo brown
most unwelcome love
shit-splattered
(there is no carpet)

We will clean it up for you
at the end of the holiday,
remember?
We clean it up for you
and of course we clean it up for you
We'll clean it up for you
no-one wants to be living underneath that

Please

We will replace all the coloured lightbulbs
and they will be brighter
and more colourful
multiple colours
a new September
Please don't let your lightbulb go out
for some other brighter colours
sure I favour red,
but here I can give you any colour you need
just be vulnerable
I don't even have to give you colour
someone else can
but one of us
there's a whole class worth
pick anyone
pick any colour
just be vulnerable
we'll put some more glitter on

list

Things I do to pretend I am in familiar spaces:

1. Choosing particular teacups (rose with a chip in it or white with dark green rim).
2. Playing particular songs.
3. Working upstairs instead of downstairs at the desk in my room.
4. Sleeping with the curtains open.
4.1. And sometimes the window if it's not too cold.
5. Remembering my sense of smell.
6. Planning dark walks to no-where specific (but being unable to follow through).
7. Grilled cheese on toast.
8. Sending my bank account backwards and remembering I am young.
9. Glitter everywhere.
10. Dresses.
11. Making plans to drive to Albany at higher hours on weeknights.
12. Listening to the rumble of cars going over the white lines on the edge of the motorway (but knowing they're going home and I'd rather stay here, just not here).
13. Scrubbing mold off the shower ceiling.
14. Washing the dishes without using the dish rack.
15. Inorganic collection wooden tables next to my bed.
16. Gate-crashing shows which I'm not supposed to be performing in.
17. Watching shows at Gundry St.
18. Being in busy places on my own.
19. Catching the bus.
20. Bjork.
21. Buying lunch from Long Black.
22. Wishing for faces that I claimed as my own without permission.
23. Making plans to catch up with people who should be my neighbours.
24. Running across roads in front of cars.
25. Red lipstick.
26. Cutting my ankles shaving.
27. Avoiding my own bed.
28. Looking in the windows at the flats above Mt. Albert shops.
29. Spray & wipe + paper towel on mirror.
30. Fashioning some sort of blog post.
31. Talking to beautiful faces in bars.
32. Talking to familiar faces at parties.
33. Running from flattery.
34. Entertaining ideas of knowing myself.
35. Not wearing a seat belt.
36. Drinking wine which tastes terrible.
37. Staining the carpet.
38. Avoiding sleep.
39. Showering at night.

how to make friends and still appear normal

The world is ‘normal’.

I am of the world, and therefore I must be normal. 
But the world is different to me; I am apart of the world.

If I am apart of the world and the world is normal, then I am abnormal.
I am abnormal and strange and need taking care of.
I need taking care of because the world is insane. The world is strange and dangerous.
The world is insane and therefore, because I am of the world, I must also be insane.
The world is insane but I am apart, I am different.
The world is insane and I am the only normal thing in it.

chronologia (2008)

Time is the duration of everything. It's measure is the essential dimension. The 'moment' is the interval between now and then and then again. Time is a thought, and we are clocks whose heart beats are the tick and tock. Time is vacant. It is both the tortoise and the hare: depending on where, it is languid and impatient. Each moment is the inception of some newer moment yet to occur or else a witless realisation of what happened prior. Yet there is no past except what lasts in the flickering of our memory's doubt. There is no future except in the anticipation of the salvation of some few devout. Now is a contradiction of fact and fiction. Genesis erupts into a cornucopian extravagance. The secret key to the arcane life - all things imaginable and unimaginable - is in the brevity of now, a timeless flash in perpetual continuum. In 'now' language fails. We are confined within the mind's capacity, our incomprehension beyond three dimensions. Our illusions and delusions and ideals float on waves of time like concentric circles in still water. Time recedes in ripples from the moment of splash or flash and on the foreheads of aging or prematurely-successful men, caving to time's command. The ripples widen into waves of stillness when time becomes nothing. And if there is new stillness, this stillness will also be disturbed. Time only exists where there is action. The clock hand never sits still and if it does some ripple reminds it where it should be. If you ask me the time is I won't be able to tell you. I'll be lying once I've told you. I'll have been lied to. The system we've created deceives us. Clocks lie. 'Now' is empty.

silver lipstick and sequins

More legit/slightly ocd diary excerpts (age 9)

09.12.2000
Last night we put up the Christmas tree. I have 25 ornaments!

Ok so it's 15 days til Christmas. 13 days til the beach. 21 days til the end of the year. 5 and a half days til the holidays. Today I'm doing my end of year dancing concert. Our theme is Outer Space. I'm planet Venus in Tap and an alien in Modern. For Tap I'm wearing a blue leotard with silver sleeves and I've got a beady silver head piece, white socks and tan tap shoes, silver lipstick and sequins. For Modern I've got Green peddal pushers, mixed blue and green top, two feelers, white socks and white modern shoes. And silver lipstick. I got best level 3 Modern dancer. And a letter writing set.



14.12.2000
I'm going away for a week to Danielle's Granny's. She says they own a forest, have an attic, have rabbits, birds, horses, dogs, goats and many other things. Sounds cool!

Mysteries:
1. What is the thumping?
2. What killed the rabbit?
3. What is the feather for?
4. Does the ? shelter in the tree?
5. Does the ? shelter in the barn?
6. Is poo in the barn part of our mystery?

Plan: 
Detect and find as much evidence as possible. Get some fly spray. Get some maggot spray.


Evidence: 
Rabbit poo.
Spotted egg.
Rabbit bone.
Footprints.
Thumping noise.
Flea in brown fur.
Fur = Grey.
6 Rabbit holes.

19/12
Saw rabbit at 11.45am. It went into a burrow.
Saw 2 rabbits race down hill and into burrow at 2.47pm.

20/12
Saw rabbit run into burrow by barn at 1.36pm.
Saw same rabbit in barn at 1.39pm.
Saw baby rabbit pop its head out of its hole at 1.50pm. Then it snuck back in. At 1.52pm it did the same again.


Brief probable:
A ferret is on the farm and eating duck eggs and rabbits. We think it is a ferret because they make their holes straight down and so does one in the middle of three rabbit holes.

Mystery solved:
A ferret decided to start living by the rabbit hole so it could catch food. Failing, and then noticing a few hares, it caught a few and ate the necks. A wild dog came by and finished it off except for the 2 leg bones. Then 2 farm dogs came by and finished off. After eating the hares, the ferret finished on duck eggs.

shameless plug

Please come watch me dance/throw some stuff at Alexa. That's about it really. There are green spotted dresses and balancing on books and giant pieces of perspex.

That is not me dancing in the picture, by the way.

THIS WEEK
Tues 30 Aug/Wed 31 Aug @ 8pm
Galatos venue on Galatos St (off K rd)
$10 - bargain.

Facebook
Blog
Eventfinder
My web

Please come.

cool man

These are legit excerpts from my diary when I was 12.

26 September:

Ms. Roberts packed a nervy spas today. Laura farted at about 30 decibels. We all flashed the rugby players. And said hi to passing oldies. But other than that, nothing really happened today.


16 October:

Pizza for dinner tonight! Who doesn't like pizza? It's just so yum. Here is the part where I make up a poem about pizza:

Ode to pizza.

Oh pizza sitting on the bench
Why can't you see
That your olives are yummy
And your pineapple scrummy
And your ham is meant to be
(In my mouth)?"

October 24:

Grandparents day. DON'T ASK.

5 November:

"Everything Cailtin has done to be a dick:

1. She calls me a stinge every 20 seconds. 

2. She said I stole her eyeliner. I don't even wear eyeliner and the only thing I have ever stolen was a half eaten lolly when I was two AND I gave it back.

3. She told Laura that I would try to steal Tom off her 'cause I was jealous HELLO! I am her best friend and I don't even like him?!

4. Everyone in our group EXCEPT ME knew she was going out with Reagan Denton (of all people).

5. She eats bega cheese stringers!

Honestly, I think she deliberately tries to piss me off all the time.

15 November

Laura's having boy probs. Her bf's being WAY too possessive and glares (!) at other guys when she social dances with them. Anyways, here is what I am wearing to the Form Two Ball: 

Hair: Messy bun with curls and dimante clip.

Top: Red halter top.
Skirt: Long black skirt (ew) accompanied by mum's silver belly chain.

Shoes: Strappy black shoes which are really cool! (High-heeled, of course).

Toenails: My own, unfortunately. They look like shit! I have mutilated toenails! I will have to give them a clip and apply some of that sticky red nail stuff. Why? Why are they so mutilated? WHY!!!???

(Later):
There are some of my almost new year's resolutions:

1. I will (somehow) get Isaac to like me (which is damn near impossible).
2. I will learn all of the dances and have heaps of fun at the ball.
3. I will (try to) keep my desk and my room clean.

17 October

AM
GOING
OUT
WITH
ISAAC!!!
YES! WOOHOO!!!

Hilarious. What a nutcase child.

tidy

When I was still living at home and bad things happened between people I would start doing the dishes and cleaning up the lounge. It seemed like a practical way to show support without dwelling on or intruding upon the people involved with the problem (when I am publicly upset I like to be left alone so I can pull myself together because if anyone shows any concern or love I won't have any hope of controlling myself and then people will think I am selfish or attention-seeking or dramatic (which I am a bit (which is probably why I don't want them to think this))). So I guess doing practical chores in the face of adversity seemed like a good way to help without sending the person over the edge with personally compassionate gestures. Also a good way to avoid getting stuck in the middle of the situation and thus suddenly and unexpectedly becoming a part of the problem.

I still do this (undertaking practical tasks) sometimes but not as much because while at home I was quite closed off and disconnected from the situation happening around me and had plenty of school work and extra-curricular activities to distract me. I had friends with homes in different towns and a car I could drive wherever and whenever I liked to physically remove myself. In my last year of high school I was hardly ever at home. No matter where home is or how fond of it I am, I have always liked not being home. When I was home and sometimes even when I was not it felt like I was a pillar of sanity and objectiveness amongst illogical turmoil. Nothing affected me and I didn't see why it should. I was probably actually what people call 'cold', sometimes.

Then one time, I think maybe at the end of first year (2009) I went home one time (rare occurrence) and suddenly realised the enormity of the situation and balled my eyes out. Everyone else was over it (in that coping way, not actually over it) and felt incredibly strange and sad.

The next day I woke up and felt small. I always feel small in Cambridge. And quiet. I flew out to Sydney for 2 months and resumed a semi-nomadic lifestyle quite disconnected from 'home' and felt very at home away from home and thinking a lot of my new home in Auckland and maybe future homes. That was a good section of life.

Now that I am in places I actually want to be in I am super connected to the people and spaces I encounter everyday. And it's much more confronting then when I lived at home. I still try to cram my life with other things but not for distraction from others, more for a distraction from the possibility of failure. There is always the hope that a semi-perfect utopia will emerge from the existing goodness. Goodness feels stagnant and complacent. So practical tasks are a good way to occupy otherwise-bare moments. Like taking a stack of chairs back to where they came from at the end of a long day, at the end of a long week, in a languid gap that wasn't meant to be and then was and then wasn't.

Chairs and a table. That's what this post was meant to be about.

niagara falls (USA side)

Understandably my expectations of the falls was that they'd be HUGE. After a bit of research I discovered they are 53m high. A mighty 2m shorter than Bridal Veil falls in Hamilton. Here is a picture of Bridal Veil Falls in Hamilton, New Zealand. 

Admittedly, Niagara falls has a flow of 600,000 litres per second. I'm sure this is much more than Bridal Veil falls (can't find the amount online, probably an amount which doesn't pull the tourists).

Niagara Falls is much more impressive from the Canadian side because you can look at them front-on, but I took those photos in a different format and can't seem to upload them. Here are some photos instead from the US side, for now:

Two countries one photo.

You could pay ridiculous amounts of money to wear a thin yellow poncho probably of a similar quality to that which you would buy at a two dollar shop and stand underneath large amounts of water and become quite saturated and then get mad at yourself for forgetting to bring a spare pare of clothes and trudge grumpily back to your car and get chaffing between your thighs along the way. Dad said, "do you want to do that?" I said "no thank you."

The international bridge between the States and Canada (did they used to swim before it was built?)

Boat's gettin' owned.

Churr Dad. I really did enjoy the trip, honest. Sorry if I didn't look happy. I'm gonna blame the jet lag.

no noodles natalie

Pretty proud of the fact that in all my two and a half years and two weeks and four days as a student I have not ONCE ever resorted to two minute noodles for lunch.

Claasssaaayyyyyy.

sleep (lack of)

Tiredness, I have always known you quite well. But these last couple of months our relationship has been heading towards new extremes. We are pretty much BFFs now. Like, we know each other real well.

Not really able to commit to that sort of relationship. Y'know? Too intense. It's difficult. I'm pouring all my energy into you and not getting much in return.

I'm sorry, Tiredness, but our relationship is unhealthy. I've known this for a long time but I've put up with you; convinced myself it's ok, maybe even necessary. But this can't go on. I'm going to have to end it.

The last six or so days I have been imagining the feeling of someone smashing a large, heavy object (square and angular) into my head several times over, Lars von Trier style, so that all the slithery insides within the many cables of my brain squeege out of my head like poo-coloured putty out the rear end of a two dollar shop plastic key ring animal.


Just like this:

make the speakers go boom boom

Here is a review I wrote for my friend Matt. His group EVOLP recently released their EP. Check it out yo. There is a link down the bottom you can download.

Chromatic (EP)
EVOLP MUSICK

EVOLP are Unitec student Matthew Moore and his mates Sam Slaughter and Andrew Cesan (creative aliases Terbo, Caset and Lapse respectively). Produced by Chris Mac-Jones, their recent EP Chromatic release features nine tracks in a neat 29 minutes of fresh hip-hop rap with a definite kiwi influence and an honest, articulate voice.

Although they are young EVOLP have much to say. The EP hugely projects a sense of their identity as young Auckland males. In true kiwi style the EP dabbles in other genres and is innovative and explorative while remaining relatable.

Refreshingly, EVOLP manage to avoid the chronic disease which plagues emerging NZ artists as they try desperately (and politely) to prove themselves in a country which “isn’t big enough to make it”. EVOLP belt out their lyrics without apology, full of fierce and fiery yet inoffensive testosterone and the hungry energy of urban youth. It doesn’t feel like they are doing this because they think they have to, this is just how they do it. Their sound is loud and competitive and although this alone doesn’t make them stand out, their lyrics suggest they are “the new kids on the block”.

The album begins with a two minute “skit” in which the characters (EVOLP) are abducted and taken over by “beats”. I’m not entirely convinced by the skit but it grabs my attention for being courageous and playful. Chronologically the songs are fluid. Towards the end the pace borders on becoming monotonous. Fortunately the last track, Demolish, delivers brutal, high-energy attack that verges into dubstep. I had actually heard this track before as an instrumental and was pleased lyrics were added to it for the EP. It’s a great outro.

There’s a contrast between chilled, easy-listening beats and more dynamic, confronting lyrics. The lyrics are as musical as if not more so than the beat, but this means that sometimes the lyrics carry the music. However, in an EP that is so focused on what the artists have to say it’s likely this is an intentional choice. EVOLP has stories they urgently want to share. Not lame, faux-real stories about a harsh upbringing in the Bronx with an alcoholic mom and an underpaid job until finding a musical ‘break’. I easily warm to EVOLP’s earnestness. It’s quite clear that they intend their music to be more than top 40 entertainment. In saying that the accessibility of some tracks could easily get them radio play.

There is a LOT of information to digest at first but the more I listened the more I appreciated it. I generally don’t listen to this genre but EVOLP’s lucid ideas, information and gutsy opinions make them far more enjoyable than shallow and superficial rap that leaves the listener unaffected. At the very least, this music is provocative. At it’s best it’s daring yet receivable and well-crafted.

The boys' website is here and you can download their EP for FREE from their soundcloud. DO IT.

dear cat

dear Cat,
I love love your violent affection
I love your noble alertness
I love your passive aggressive tendencies, dear Cat
You hold your duties with the utmost responsibility
no-one will stop you
you will save the world
defending the defenseless species homo sapien
one red woollen blanket at a time

dear Cat,
I am going to steal you from your
rickety cane throne
cart you down the hallway
plonk you on the end of my bed and
demand your company.
you will not have a say in this.
don't you shake your whiskers at me, Mister
don't you squint those eyes at me
mister
don't forget --
I am homo sapien
you are merely feline
I don't need saving from red blankets
actuallyI can take perfectly good care of myself, cat.

dear Cat
please come back
I didn't mean what I said
I like you really
I need you, really
(your company, I mean)
this red woollen blanket is going to swallow me up if you
don't come back and sit on it with your gargantuous furry mass
I need all the company I can get
feline variety included

I am only homo sapiendear Cat
I don't know what I'm doing, really
I am violently affectionate of myself
and noble enough that others will take notice of me
I am passive when I should speak, defend
aggressively overcommitted to the many duties of mine I have but don't want
I am without sense of responsibility
(although I do, of course, intend to change the world)
no-one will save us --
Stop the world!
Defend yourself!
you, dear human, need taking care of
and I know just the blanket who can do it

335

Sometimes, when I am in public places
I recall a Significant Event from my lifetime which
happened here
and I think, "It should really make me squirm being here
right now, all those memories"
but it doesn't.
It doesn't even feel like they're my memories.
They must be someone else's -- I feel too
detached
from
them
(though I still remember every detail, as if that
someone told me their story twenty times).

When I have the most to say I say nothing.

ground zero

They are re-building the World Trade Centre.
And also they are building a memorial scheduled
to open on the tenth anniversary of 9/11 (September 11 this year).

Seems like a crazy idea to me.

I'm not sure why they are six storeys less than the original towers.

If you look up, there is an obvious gap in the skyline where all the towers lean in guarding over some sacred space. But the space is occupied by cranes and orange plastic tape, so it is not truly empty. Or sacred.

On a sunny day with people walking back and forth and the hum of machinery it is hard to believe that such tragic events took place, though it was a long time ago.

There is a fire station right across the road.

One of the new towers under construction is reflected in a puddle which runs into a grill, my shadow adds to the palette of grey.

I was nine when the twin towers collapsed. 13 days before my tenth birthday. I heard about it all day over and over and got really pissed off that no-one would shut up about this event. I got sick of people asking me, "did you hear?", "have you heard?" YES I KNOW ALREADY. EVERYONE KNOWS. As if they has some exclusive news that no-one else could inform me of but them. Then I got home and saw the footage on TV and actually understood what had happened. And I felt small and silly.

Someone told me 7,000 people had died, but it was actually 2,753 plus the 19 hijackers.

In the aftermath of 9/11 a Sikh man was murdered. His murderer assumed he was a Muslim, because of his turban. Other people have died from illness attributed to toxic dust from the wreckage of the burning buildings. In the twelve months after the attacks, the road death toll increased by 1,500.

I was looking through a book at the memorial centre and there was a photograph of a leg on the ground. Just a leg. No body attached. Also photos of bodies in motion, self-hurled down the side of the building. Pretty crazy feeling, in these moments, viewing these photographs.

Strange, strange world we live in.

hypocrite

On Grafton bridge the bus driver beeped at someone who ran a red light.
Beeped angrily.

On the corner of Pah and Manukau roads the bus driver ran a red light
I thought, "bus driver, you are a hypocrite"
I thought, "Natalie, you are a hypocrite".

sick

I'm sorry if my breath smells
I have a terrible cold
including sore throat
stinky sore throat.

overpass

new york, new york

 in the subway

you are being watched

 i love lady gaga/thank you for not

 WET PAINT WET PAINT WET PAINT WET PAINT

 actually legit yellow school bus

 I pop pills!!!/WOMPWOMP

 DO

           DO

keep new york city clean

 risque automobile rendezvous affair/dad

 SO MUCH YELLOW

canbagman

hello my name is iii hilly???
(suggestions welcomed, I cannot decipher)

 that human looks whipped

++ unusual squat-bending position

bird extravaganza on hatched metal gate

 large uncuddle-able teddy bear/small people
WHY IS IT ALL YELLOW

 starbucks rules the city
KING ew
so many starbucks in my life

 I actually don't know exactly who david letterman is oops
I know you have to enter a ballot to get a ticket to his show
I know you cannot defer your winning ticket

could be rotorua geyser but it is not