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.





A dog named Jacque

The last year of high school I inherited a dog named Jacque.

My elderly neighbour had died and his dog was unwanted by the family. I had a bit of a rapport with the animal so was volunteered by my parents for the role of dog adopter.

Jacque was a good dog though he had a penchant for chasing flying birds, he was obsessed with it.

I tried in the first few winter months I owned him to try to interest him in other games. It worked well with a triangular rubber boomerang. We passed those few cold months together and developed an even greater bond, throwing that triangular thing.

Later in the year one warm spring Saturday I took him to the beach with friends. I had the boomerang, and planned to throw it in the surf with Jacque.

My friends were having a barbecue at a popular beach. Lovely spot.

I was surprised by the size of the crowd when we got to the beach. It was heaving. The weather was perfect and the water was beautiful.

Jacque and I took to the surf and had a great time. It was surprisingly warm and there were more people swimming than usual, it was magic. Everyone had a great barbecue meal, including Jacque who got a chop and a sausage, good dog.

We lounged around for awhile and then I took Jacque for another swim.

I threw the boomerang a few times and Jacque dilligently returned it.

I then threw it hard but I thought a little too deep. That was when I yelled first.

Some people to the left of me looked over.

I could see Jacque swimming deeper and deeper. I yelled again. This time louder.


Some more people looked around, I wondered why.

Jacque swam further and further out.


I yelled it quite loudly now, oblivious to everything around me.


Suddenly I heard someone to the right of me scream.

“Shark! Shark! Shark! Shark! Arrrrggghhh!”

Jacque had got the boomerang and was swimming back toward me. To my great relief.

The problem now was the beach was in a panic. Someone had yelled shark and the crowd was rolling toward land at high speed. Hundreds had taken up the cry, shark!  shark! they screamed. The beach was a chaos of human panic, a speeding torrent of flesh, rushing from the water onto the land.

A man had died at this beach in a shark attack four years ago.

Jacque and I luckily scrambled safely up to our friends car. Rather shockingly we heard two people weren’t so lucky. They were knocked out in the crowd crush and fell into the surf and drowned.

I always felt so sorry for them. What a terrible coincidence.

It wasn’t till three years later that I realised the drownings were the fault of my elderly neighbour.

He named his dog for a friend called Jacque he’d had in the great war.

“Jacque, Jacque, the card shark”.

Stuffed: Or why I grew even more tired of the media

Stuffed: Or why I grew even more tired of the media

So I had this childhood ambition to write for the Hawke’s Bay Herald Tribune.

Unfortunately, it was merged into the Napier rag and became Hawke’s Bay today.

However, I also aspired to write for the Dominion. Which unfortunately was also merged into another paper, the Evening Post.

The Dom got the first name though, so remained the Dominion.

For me personally, the day I got my first story in the Dominion, some flood plain carry on in Greytown, was a proud one.

Then I got a number of fronts, seconds and third pages so it was pretty good for a bit. Despite the wage slavery I was under. I could have got an extra 25 percent or more pay doing the same job in Melbourne or Sydney, or probably most places in Oz.

Now I’m working in a completely different industry and doing well in NZ, thankfully, it’s just a transition though.

The thing is, I did enjoy the thing that was the NZ media for a bit. Despite the lameness and boredom. There were some great characters. People I really enjoyed talking to and interacting with.

I got to drive a nice late model car and charge expenses for interviews and meetings, the odd freebie, the skydive was probably the best, followed closely by the ride in an ex airforce aerobatic plane. It was ok in some ways.

I met a lot of really cool people and wrote stories that changed things in their lives. Me and my good friend JP Delamere saved our mate Frank van Steensel’s dog.

A triumph, we beat the machine (SWDC), which wanted to grind his dogs bones to dust. And spent over $20,000 on one of the top law firms in Wellington trying to do it.

Fuck them. We won.

Several other decent stories as well.

I wrote some lovely bits of prose in the Dom and on Stuff that a few people read.

I used to throw literary little gems in, like, ‘baleful’.

That was in my first page two story after a central Wellington shift. It was a little photo and spiel anchor piece. I think the intro was something like, “The annual blah blah swim took place in baleful conditions at Petone Beach today.”

I was petrified whoever edited would take baleful out, gladly they left it. Too good a word I think.

I’d try to get at least one lesser-used word in an article. Just to get them out there.

My first Dom front page was an anchor, with a lovely photo of a whales tail coming back down after bursting through the surface of the brine.

It was about oil companies using sonic detection equipment to disturb whales and other sea-dwelling mammals off the NZ coast. I was happy it bore out because I’d had issues getting the oil companies for comment.

In the end though, it was a job where you were expected to write certain stories a certain way and do things as they had been done.

Ridiculously uninspiring at most times. Unless you were a ‘newshound’, good grief.

I despised Stuff before I worked for it, briefly entertained the idea it was ok while working and then swiftly returned to despising it post-employment.

I still have a soft spot for the Dom though, it will never be ‘Stuff’, and the people there were by and large excellent.

Helpful, intelligent and insightful most of them. Special mention must go to Eric Janssen, Piers Fuller, who hired me, and others like Katie Chapman, Jo Rigby and Patrick Piercy who all helped me develop my writing significantly in the time I was there.

Tom Hunt is a cool cat I liked to have a yarn too and my former office-mate Jack Barlow is probably one of the most talented Kiwi writers I’ve ever met.

In the end though, there were certain kooks who managed to ruin it.

A high up Stuff chap (recently confused with a U.S. pro athlete), took offence to me joking to him at the Stuff Christmas party that I was the best writer working for the company.

He complained to my boss who had a word with me a few weeks later while all the while probably knowing I was just having a laugh.

Fragile egos. I should know, I have one. Not that fragile though. Jeepers.

I also told someone very high up in Stuff online, the same night, that the entertainment writing was extremely poor and that they should get my friend back in.

That also didn’t go down well and was party to the warning the came after the joke.

I really lost a lot of respect for the job after that, knowing that such people were in charge. Such painfully weak minded people, in thrall to the verbal slings and arrows of maniacs like me.

How pitiful.

I pull no punches sometimes and say things for a laugh. Or for a thought. I’d gladly work for a media outlet again if I could write whatever I wanted, but that will most likely never happen. Oh well.

I made a lot of vids for Stuff as well, over 70 for the website. My favourite was from an aerobatic plane. SUper vid. I’ll include the link below if I can find it.

Peace out my loves. We know nothing about this universe and what makes it tick and yet consider ourselves so wise at times.

Such folly, beautifully humorous folly. May humanity learn much more moving forward. And may you have a beautiful day.

Thank you to whoever took the time to read this, I appreciate it a great deal.

Link to aerobatic story, check out the vid I took, it was wild. Really great buzz.



Supercilious am I? Yes.

For what reason? Not entirely sure, though I have a handle on it.

I have deep rooted insecurities stemming from moments as a young child where I felt as if I was unimportant.

Seems plausible doesn’t it?

I think so. Is this a poem?

No it isn’t. Or is it? I’ll make it rhyme soon.

I always find myself commenting on things on social media as if I know something that other people don’t. One of my strengths as a youth and young adult was my encyclopedic general knowledge, thanks to a lifetime of book reading.

Thanks to google that now means shit. If you know something people assume you googled it. Unless they are in your presence and you spit it out within about twenty seconds.

Oh well, I’m comfortable knowing that if there is a power cut I am generally still the best at general knowledge.

To he’ll with that though. Do you ever think about killing people? I know a lot of people do.

I do. Only sometimes. Just when someone annoys me too much, when they cross the line of insanity. I think for a few seconds about if I had a scimitar and just swept it violently through the air in their general direction.

That’s normal behaviour I think. We all think about violence, it’s normal on some level.

Or if it isn’t for you, it should be, you sanctimonious prude. God damn it.

I’m deluded enough to think the world would be a better place if I was in charge.

Then I realise, eventually, that that is an egotistical quagmire and I relax.

I hope you are all well.

Try to be great and try to be good, but if you can’t just try to be loud.


I woke the other day, I mean, I became woke. I decided I was, and so it was.

I realised quickly I needed to find my people. I had to find the others who had woken.

We needed to distance ourselves from those who were asleep, the sheep. We were the elite, the thought leaders.

Our new found mental prowess enabled us to immediately decide who people were based on the first ever communication we saw from them. No matter how trivial. Or even base assumptions on where they lived and their ancestry.

It felt powerful, in a world where I had often felt powerless. I joined several Facebook pages and followed a lot of Instagrams. I became a top commenter. I was making a difference to the total perspective.

My wokeness was awakening others. It was like a dream.

Suddenly I knew what was going on. I knew who didn’t. I knew what the problems were and I was pretty sure I could figure out how to fix them.

Memes suddenly changed my perspective minute by minute, and I would rarely confirm the things said in them. What woke person would make a false meme?

Obviously someone not woke. I trusted my fellow woken. I was pretty sure we the woke would fix everything. For the future.

In fact, I realised we would fix it. I realised we were like gods. I had woken.

Are you woke? I think it’s best to be woke.woke

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.