Going South.

Bluff, NZ.

Bluff, NZ.

Finally I’ve reached the very bottom of New Zealand (I lie, not quite the bottom, but close enough…)

Myself and two friends met in Invercargill at a quirky little backpackers know as Sparky’s. Decorated with the most bizarre asortment of trinkets and knick-knacks, I quickly became suspicious as to where the owner’s nickname as “Sparky” had originated form. Between his love of the notorious weed-hotspot Byron Bay, his vacant expression, collection of exotic paraphernalia, and general paranoia with everything, I formulated some idea. Whilst he seemed mostly kind and harmless, after a few days I decided things were getting weird; his belief that 9-11 was an inside job by the US Government was one thing, but threatening to kick me out for cracking my knuckles was a bit much.

The place itself was very cool and cute, with only a few rooms and a really fun vibe; it even had a spa pool out the back which was heaven in the Invercargill cold. Now that I’m writing about it, we really didn’t get up to much, but it was a good time nonetheless; played cards, drank coffee, baked cakes, got drunk in the spa. All good things.

Sparky's Lounge.

Sparky’s Lounge.

IMG_1446

Bedroom.

The trip to Bluff was…meh. Really, there’s very little there, and it was little more than a novelty. Still, it’s a cool thing to have done and I’m glad I had the opportunity to travel that far south. We found a really cool beach near Invercargill and endured a midwinter swim in the freezing water which was near fatal to my toes, but a welcome shock to the senses.

IMG_1466

A tire puncture cut the Catlins trip pretty short, so I’ll definitely have to go back some time to see more. Still, it seemed sublime, and I’m glad we got there long enough to wet my appetite for more.

So, back in Dunedin, but only temporary, tomorrow I fly home to Auckland for the first time in ages. Recently returned from Wellington with my (then) girlfriend as a goodbye trip before she went home to France, so quite a bit of moving around recently. The Wellington trip was bitter-sweet; I miss her but that’s okay, I’m still happy! We cut a pretty sorry sight crying on each other’s shoulders at the airport.

A bientot.

IMG_1465

Advertisements

Before his first step he’s off again.

Long time no blog; that’s how the saying goes, right?

Given the lack of substance you’re about to endure, I’d better offer something tangible. I’ve been formulating an idea for a book (so soon after I started another one….discipline = O). Roughly, it’s about eating each other; a world in which the moral abhorrence of eating people has dissipated, and some humans are actually farmed from birth in order to feed the more fortunate humans. I hope I can pull it off. I imagine it will be shocking, but hopefully good.

For the past few days I’ve had a friend visiting from back home. We’ve known each other a long time now; about 6 years. It’s a cute story, really, but I’ll save it for in person. The short version is we never met, txt’d for about a year, finally met in person, then didn’t meet again for so so long. Anyway, 6 years later we’re finally hanging out regularly and it’s just ridiculously pleasurable.

She came and stayed at our flat down south; Tom’s away so his room was free (who, incidentally, might be stuck in a North Korean labour camp atm). Initially figured we’d camp for 3 or so days but I managed to end that idea by forgetting the tent, discovered at approximately 8pm of our first night camping. The next few days was just so interesting; I can’t really remember a thing we did, but we were doing them, I know.

There are seals not in this photograph. Skilled.

Hanging out was wonderful in the most ridiculous way; I’ve always thought she was incredible but actually spending a significant period of time with her has made me realise how right I was. I feel quite liberated around her, and everything is just…good. Was so sad to see her leave but I’ll be heading back home soon enough for the Tool concert so we can catch up then. She read her way through Catcher during the weekend and we just talked and talked. It killed me, it really did.

This is seeming a sort of pointless blog entry, I know, but I guess the core is that there were moments that weekend where I was just so happy. As Holden says (not verbatim); it was real right then. As it turns out, by some weird twist of fate, she’s one of my oldest friends now. Makes me wish I was home though. I could fly home tomorrow. I wish.

Since this is going nowhere, and I’m totally exhausted, here’s something I wrote the other day for you guys to muse on, if you feel like it. It’s the closest thing to poetry that I’m capable of.

Every man has it within himself
to be born privileged
Perhaps not with a silver spoon
in his mouth, but
with a song and a fire in his heart
that as long as he
wishes it, shall never be extinguished.