Round Two.

E. E. Cummings

Only just discovered E.E. Cummings and he seems such an affecting writer. I like how he seems so unashamed to be consumed with writing about the feelings he thinks are important, which other’s might consider to be trivial. They mean the world to him and thus, they mean the world.

Arrived back in Dunedin today; the plane was full of students, I was fast asleep the whole time.

4 degrees Celsius, so not too bad! (heh). A friend of mine was picking up his sister on the same flight so I managed to get a ride with him. We stepped outside the terminal and it started hailing on us. Literally, that very second, it started hailing. Lovely.

This is the eve of the new semester, which means I have class at 9am tomorrow. It feels unreal being back, and knowing that I really need to be disciplined and work hard from here on. I hope it won’t get me down, especially while I’m very happy; this particular year of law has a reputation for bashing students over the head relentlessly.

I realised the other day that after this year I actually only have two years left of university, which isn’t soo bad. Hopefully I’ll be able to get my exchange next year; I’m very excited for it. My dad drove me to the airport today and he said a few things which I really appreciated. Basically, he didn’t say that I should be a lawyer, but encouraged me to finish the law degree as a personal achievement in my life, and as a source of confidence, regardless of what thing(s) I do once I’m finished studying. It was a pleasant change from my mother’s constant belligerence telling me I should be a lawyer.

Sophie sent me an email the other day which contained a beautiful poem by Kahlil Gibran…

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable.

Worthy; speaking of poetry, I need to start working on something for the August competition. I can submit up to three poems.

I had a really wonderful day today, although I am sad I had to leave Auckland. I went back to the illusory maze with somebody else; we walked from my house to the CBD and it was gorgeous and sunny. Of course, me being me, we ended up at the Chocolate Boutique because I needed my frappe-fix…. Dear Aucklanders, the Chocolate Boutique is really average, and bad for chocolate. Just warning you. Good view though; we sat out the back.

I had a great time, very cool conversation with somebody totally new. Allowed me to indulge my theory that the world is owned by an ultra rich, faceless ruling class who manipulate people from a young age through vast use of media and social structure in order to shape society to remain semi-conscious to the fact they live in an elaborate vassalage. And also about how facebook only creates an illusion of connectivity in an increasingly disconnected society. I think I may have ranted slightly….

But yeah, I had to go back to Dunedin soon after, which is sad. I don’t dislike it the way I used to; actually, I’m quite positive thinking of what I hope to achieve with the rest of the year. Having said that, I think I’ll definitely make more trips home this semester, if possible. Listening to Fairytale of New York really doesn’t help when you miss someone, I’ve decided.

Hope you are all calm and peaceful and without worries.

PS here’s too neat tracks I’ve picked up in the last couple of days.


The New Leaf

07 April 2013 Curtis

Half-way through this year seems a good point to figure out what I hope to achieve with the rest of it. In no particular order, here goes:

– Learn to Surf
– Learn to Ski
– Learn French
– Learn to Dance; swing, salsa, jazz particularly
– Get good grades so I can go on exchange
– Organize my exchange (what a nightmare…)
– Visit Stewart Island (at the very bottom of NZ)
– Get a Job and save some money to travel next year
– Travel through New Zealand in the Summer to all the places I’ve not been. Maybe hitchhike? Not sure yet…
– Work hard on a novel
– Win the University Student Poem competition
– Talk to an advisor/think about how I can move towards travel writing or freelance journalism.
– Volunteer in Dunedin, maybe with the elderly?
– Be open-minded towards everybody I meet. Judge not.
– Start a blog of my travelling, even if only before this Summer.
– Keep a journal CONSISTENTLY!

I want to be busy, immersed and stimulated. I want to be tired at the end of the day and excited at the start of the next. Good night 😉

The Sperm Whale of Happiness.

The Sperm Whale of Happiness.

The Shadow.

Hello my dove we meet again
this time introduced as friends,
I did not recognize your face
with a smile in its place.
But come now cherub what’s the joke?
I know time’s passed since we last spoke
you did not truly think we’re through?
I was never gone from you.

You let me see the space within
then opened up and let me in,
letting me fill you up inside
guiding your body down to lie,
and in those moments in the dark
you felt me close – I’m never far,
for I have crawled inside your heart
filled the chasm – never part.

I knew you cherub flush with tears
sweet little dove arrest your fears,
for you will never be alone
inside your heart I’ve carved a home,
caused a carnal black embrace
caressed the tears upon your face,
became your joy and your disgrace
saved you – laid you down, to waste.

Please remember, please remember
to when your happiness was embers,
and it was I who gave you warmth
took your hand and pointed north,
gave you pain and grief and anger,
let you crawl inside my manger.
My little love what I have sewn
will never leave you – no, no, no.
My little dove what I have sewn
will never leave you – grow, grow, grow.

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.

Something Old.


Plains, endless plains, and beyond that, the hazy sprites of distant mountain ranges; the only frame that stopped the rolling grasses from stretching for eternity. It was as if the world had laid itself down before me; there wasn’t another soul in sight to share in this overwhelming sense of limitless isolation. My eyes followed as far as they could, searching for that distant point where the grasses met the mountains, and where in turn those dark and distant peaks morphed into the clearest, most unlimited sky I had ever seen. It enveloped everything in a way no sky had ever done for me before, for here seemed to me the place where the infinity of space was reproduced on Earth.

Although I had never been to the Serengeti before, it felt to me a homecoming; a place still primal, where life existed unrestrained; it was a wild earth; a place of equilibrium where man still feared nature, and nature feared man. It was as if every place I’d been in the world, and every path I’d followed, had been only a means to arrive in this expanse, at this exact instant.
Here, in the infinite wilderness, storms could arise in a moment, like a thunderbolt from a clear sky. I waited and watched as the tanzanite sky grew quickly volatile. All blue disappeared, replaced by a swathe of grey and black, heralded by heavy falling rain. I upturned my face and let it take the beating; liberated. The rain here, at what felt the beginning of the Earth, washed away all else.

Lightning cracked a dead and broken tree some way off, answered by the rolling of sullen thunder. I watched the arc strike downwards at unreal pace, awed by its power; I wondered how long that tree might have stood there, and how many times it had endured this judgement. The storm rose and rose and the rain beat harder, the sky grew darker and the mighty flashes of lightning seemed brighter than before. I held my ground and watched, along with a thousand others, for every animal in sight seemed fixated by such savage power.

As fast as it had come the storm was gone. What had been minutes felt to me to be hours; the blackened sky was soon diluted back into its ethereal blue shade. No evidence remained to attest for this exhibition of unbridled, natural fury that seems at time so stolen from the Earth; nothing except for my memories, and the dead and broken tree.

I wrote this a while ago, when I was a whole year younger than I am now; that might sound arbitrary, but it feels both a lifetime and an age ago. Thought I’d post it here just because. Just because I’m lying in bed missing Africa, basically. The other day, I went to the beach in the middle of a storm and felt intense emotion; reading this again, it was a similar feeling here, I just wasn’t old enough, or in any head space that allowed me, to refine what thoughts it was that were actually being invoked.

That was last year. Last year was a bad year.