My so called depravity

FeaturedMy so called depravity

Beware of how vain this piece of writing is, if you are you may enjoy it more. Perhaps you could think of it as your own.

I often think about how depraved I am.

Then I push it out of my mind. I can’t dwell on it too long or ever speak of it.

This is false. It isn’t really me.

I’m the person who has these dark and depraved thoughts, these imaginings and impulses that would shock and scare people.

Would people still think of me the same way if I told them who I really am? I think many I know think of me as a ‘good’ person.

Does a good person think for a moment of running a person over in the forecourt of a petrol station because they are standing in the way of your car and won’t move fast enough? Probably.

Does a good person think of killing someone because they are irritated by them momentarily? I think so.

I think the idea of ‘good’ is illusory. We do not do certain things because we know the penalties we would face. So are we really good just because we deny our impulses? Or are we weak?

Are we good because we feel good being good? Or are we good because we think we should be?

In terms of ‘goodness’, I think the penalties we give ourselves would be the harshest.

The torture that we would subject ourselves to if we strayed to a place where we killed or really harmed someone we loved or even someone we hated. You see it in the eyes of someone who has done such a thing.

I have met a man who killed the love of his life. I felt pity for him. He betrayed himself. And betrayed those who loved him and the person he killed.

But I am a good man. Whatever good is. Fuck good and fuck bad.

Is a really bad person, condemned by society, who admits their fault, better than a good person who does not? I think probably they are.

People think I am good. Not everyone does of course. We all have our detractors. My biggest being myself. Which is not unique.

I think of chaos, destruction and evil. I think of Violence, anger and hate.

I balance this out with the positive aspects of my character though. Peace, love and understanding. I do not sink into the depravity I imagine.

Does that make me less depraved though? I don’t think so.

I think of vengeance. Vengeance for wrongs done to my loved ones. Vengeance for wrongs done by my loved ones.

Vengeance for wrongs done to me, vengeance for wrongs done by me.

I think of death. Death to those who do not believe I am right. I know more than everyone else. I am greater than you.

I can’t articulate it yet however.

That is sheer vanity though. The true weakness of humanity. My weakness. My humanity.

I know enough to know that it is meaningless to know more or to be more. Though it is also meaningful. We will all die. Or will we download our consciousness to a hard drive and live on?

Will that be good? Or helpful? To live forever? Is god in the machine? Will we create our god? Will we make ourselves gods? Maybe.

I don’t look forward to fading away. Of aging until I disappear. Lying in a bed being waited on by patronising fucks. Though I am intrigued by death.

I look forward to the alternate dimension. Death is quite possibly a magical thing. It hastens to us with it’s beautiful fatality, it’s end, regardless.

Death is the end they say.

That said, what do we know of it? Of what lies beyond it? What do we really know? Of inter-dimensional realities?

Very little. There are alternate dimensions, I know this, and many others do also. I have seen them. I do not care if you do not believe. If you do not then you should think on it further. Ruminate.

I know more than you do. I am more depraved than you. I accept the depravity and the knowledge. I accept death and life.

I hate, and I love. I love you. And I hate you. I am at peace with this. As you should be also.

I bore myself and others. I know enough to know I am a bore. Peace be with you.

I do not look forward to reading this in a year. I will despise it tomorrow.






New Zealand more ignorant than racist

New Zealand more ignorant than racist

Racism may not be New Zealand’s problem.

In fact, it would, as in many cases, more likely be ignorance.

Who are we? We ‘New Zealanders’.

Are we really truthful to pretend we are one people? With the division and lying that has gone on for 150 years?

Why not lay things out and then work toward a united future regardless of our race? It seems more logical. To know each other better.

There is no real, full and true account of our history available in our education system. Does that not strike others as strange?

That we are taught more about foreign nations, than our own, in our schools?

It lies at the root of this ‘racism’ issue. It is ignorance. So many people have not been taught a full and accurate history of this country.

It creates a false reality, which we live in. We can make it better.

Clearly a curriculum must be developed that actually talks about what happened in New Zealand since the treaty was signed.

It would give all in this country a chance to look at the details. Then see that we are in a fairer place now than for many years.

The moans of unfairness that abound in 2018 regarding treaty payouts are so irksome.

People have no knowledge which lets them realise the value is ten percent of what was lost even in the best treaty payouts.

This changes with education. It is that simple.

We can move forward now without resentment, without anger. We are at the potential beginning of a new and glorious period of NZ history.

We need to begin this change. We have to. Why do we ignore the truth. It is disfunctional.

The Ministry of Education rejected teaching the land wars in 2016, only a part of our history, which was astonishing really. Who are these people? Fostering ignorance?

We need to know the real story in order for everyone to begin to heal.

It will bring about a better and safer New Zealand. Ignorance and pain are crippling our brilliance. Let us altogether move beyond these hindrances.

The murk

The murk

Beware the murk. It lurks. It creeps across the land, ensnaring minds, seeking a greater hold with it’s crooked grip.

You’ll encounter it tomorrow. In my experience the best practice is to stand up and look before swiftly dispensing with it.

It lurches around our communities, flowing through slander and gossip. Trapping us like flies with it’s honeyed acceptance.

We are magical beings from a place beyond our minds. This place we are in, it is that.

Our perception gives us a small sight of how amazing this universe is, if we really were to comprehend it fully at one time, it would probably overwhelm us.

The murk stops us even on the lowest level from seeing any of this wonder.

Beware of the murk, look to the world around you and remember how astonishing it can be.



I heard something fucking shit house last night.

A guy I thought was pretty cool decided he didn’t want to be around anymore and made himself scarce in the worst way possible.

I still can’t really believe it. I never met him but he’s like a friend because his voice has been a constant over the years. And it meant something. He sang things like they meant something. And he loved and feared and cried and screamed. He felt.

I feel a bit lost today. Really sad such a beautiful guy has gone and he felt so alone that he had to do that.

I’m typing this on my work computer and trying not to cry.

I’ll always remember the moment I felt like I ‘got’ the song Superunknown, it was magical, like an epiphany. I love that about music. It helps you believe in the universe a moment like that, it helps you believe in humanity, just for a moment anyway.

It’s a bit scary when someone who is a hero of yours decides they have had enough. I’m wary of the world because he helped me to see I needed to be.

But I also revel in its magic because he helped me to do that as well.

It’s weird feeling like you’ve lost a friend when you never even knew them.

But I still feel it.

Shithouse. Universe.pic


Making a beast of oneself

I made a beast of myself the other day.

It was an exquisite joy to wallow in the mastubatory madness of ego and detachment. I wandered the streets in an accelerated hazy drunken daze, like a crazed failed actor on an unwatched stage.

Talking feverishly and ranting to strangers, charming and boorish in the same moment.

Like an unwanted balloon bouncing and floating on the breeze across the grass, moments from popping.

Smiling and making pithy observations, a clownish psychologist stumbling upon feebly conspired diagnosis.

It was a good day.

The highlight was welcoming some lovely Chinese people to New Zealand with the promise that I would try to spread the word that all the people of the pacific and the world are welcome in New Zealand.

Rednecks who don’t like that sentiment, can go fuck themsleves.




Football circus begins again

I’ll tune in interestededly to the upcoming resumption of the various football leagues around the world.

The great sensational not as meaningful as people make out sideshow that sort of means something, even though if we think hard enough it doesn’t.

I love sport, but it is sport, which by definition is not anything, but sport.

The reality is obvious because everyone has been harping on about it for centuries, but we still just let the entertainment wither us away politically.

There needs to be a balance that we do not have at present, an academic and sporting balance would be a way toward sorting things out a bit further than they are at present in terms of understanding across the planet.

There are presently certain technologies and systems we need to perfect moving forward that we are not working on enough, to the detriment of many.

I still play and watch football, the professional game is what it is, an amazing strangely flawed homage to true human greatness.

It seems obvious to me that we have much education to do as a race moving forward into space on earth.

Ploughing forward into the universe at incredible speed.

What a maddeningly amazing and wonderful situation it is being an earthling hurling through space.

Long may it continue.

I’m listening to the Mint Chicks “I don’t want to grow up”. And now Soundgarden “Jesus Chirst pose” has come on, always loved the rolling rhythm section of this track.

Good evening. tarauas

I took this the other day with a Nikon something or rather, it was a good camera anyway.


Pantera at Queens wharf and a cold breeze in the mosh

Pantera at Queens wharf and a cold breeze in the mosh

Many years ago I went to see Pantera play at the Queens wharf events centre in Wellington.

It was the Great southern trendkill tour.

I was just listening a few moments ago to a song from an earlier album, ‘Primal concrete sledge’, a ditty of theirs which could be described as, quite compelling. At this second I hear ‘War nerve’, from Great southern trendkill, their music is probably an acquired taste. I’ve always enjoyed the ferocity and technical effort.

That particular evening many years ago I saw a beast of a band flailing about in the beginning of its slow slide into banality, they seemed to be me to be at the peak of their powers, but coasting through Wellington vaguely interested, at the end of a long tour.

Phil Anselmo lurched about the stage, clutching a beer bottle and delivering his lyrics with characteristic polished anger, looking boozily bored I thought, at the same time.

The rest of the band played and it sounded familiar and magical to me in the pulsating crowd, up near the front.

A friend and I managed to push and cajole ourselves into a standing position at the front of the crowd, only metres from Dimebag Darrell, who did not disappoint, casting stupefying sound forth with his guitar into the cauldron of the events centre.

They were a vehicle of US culture, smashing forth with their electric maelstrom, blasting out noise that was thrilling and bizarre.

I was at times almost entranced by the performance.

Then, halfway through the set as it turned out, a cold whoosh of air from behind us, very strange in a mosh pit, a sign of something untoward.

We turned to be assailed by members of a prominent red coloured New Zealand gang, I was rudely shoved aside with a forearm and my friend was punched in the side of the head.

After being pushed aside I looked and saw their leader, surrounded by his retinue pushing the crowd back. He stood defiantly staring at Anselmo as if the Pantera singer would care.

At the time I suppose it made quite an impression on me, though later I would realise it was merely the futile attempt of some fragile ego to sooth itself.

As I do often with my own.

Who knows whether Phil and the boys met them for a beer afterward? I don’t.

I was saddened to hear when Dimebag was killed years later, not that I knew him, but he played a mean fucking guitar, and I have always appreciated a good guitarist.

It was a good night out.