main gareeb hoon.

if there was a market for unfinished short stories i would probably be able to pay my rent. other potential new jobs:

+ sell tshirts with pictures of new zealand on them to new zealanders.

+ let myself go and become one of those gross people malls pay to hang out at food courts to make people leave faster and free up more seats.

+ be a documentary film maker covering weird shit that happens in Japan.

+ rich people can pay me to hang around so they feel better about themselves when they are sad.

+ become, like, the Warehouse of christianity and undercut Brian Tamaki by offering salvation for like 2-3% less.

if you would like to pay me money to do something real easy that would be cool.

Infinite

I have been reading Infinite Jest lately. David Foster Wallace is (was? shit) a fucking genius. RIP. My second attempt at this book, I guess. This part struck me:

'Well, love, but you know the idiom “not yourself” - “He's not himself today”, for example' crooking and uncrooking fingers to form quotes on either side of what she says, which Mario adores. 'There are, apparently, persons who are deeply afraid of their own emotions, particularly the painful ones. Grief, regret, sadness. Sadness, especially, perhaps. Dolores describes these people as afraid of obliteration, emotional engulfment. As if something truly and thoroughly felt would have no end or bottom. Would become infinite and engulf them.

'Engulf means obliterate'

'My point here is that certain types of persons are terrified even to poke a big toe into genuinely felt regret or sadness, or to get angry. This means they are afraid to live. They are imprisoned in something, I think. Frozen inside, emotionally. Why is this. No one knows, love-o. It's sometimes called “suppression,” ' with the fingers out the the side again. 'Dolores believes it derives from childhood trauma, but I suspect not always. There may be persons who are born imprisoned. The irony, of course, being that the very imprisonment that prohibits sadness's expression must itself feel intensely sad and painful. For the hypothetical person in question.'

**

Kind of think I am afraid to live, maybe. Not really sure right now. Going on a tropical holiday, anyways. Back in 8 days - might write some shit and read a bunch and swim lots and drink from pieces of fruit. Hopefully!

honesty is another word for neurosis

Decided one day that I don't really like myself sober. Awkward and over-active-brain-hindered. Wanted an escape. Decided three days later that I don't really like myself drunk. Loud and liver-fucked in the mornings. Can't stop caring what other people think. I am a bad drunk. Or my conscience needs to quit. Or my memory needs to give up. Shit. I am floating. I am tragic and I will one day pitch a TV show where I interview everyday people about their lives. Just like the worst parts of game shows. “Gail is a hairdresser from Christchurch!”. It will have limited market appeal. It will get cancelled. I cannot concentrate on anything ever. Television and the internet stole my attention span, and every time I do lines of ritalin off the tops of rubbish bins down alleyways I secretly pray that rather than the chatterbox-energy-rush, I will feel calm and centred and ready to 'get myself together'. That way I would have some clear idea of what is actually going on. I'm not coming to terms with anything. Being older doesn't make sense. Should I own stocks? Maybe I should buy stocks. Or bonds. Whatever they are. Maybe I need both. Have been thinking about “becoming a capitalist”. Not quite sure what this involves but it might make me “a man” or something. I would feel happy and mature. If I lived in a systematised world I would know where I stand. Could just move to Japan, I think they have rules for everything there. What to think about at certain times of day, that sort of thing. Feel kind of racist now. Have been thinking about putting everything I write into 'scare quotes' maybe. Seems 'kind of popular' right now. I could pretend to 'be detatched' and just write about things ironically. I went to a 'totally cool' party last night. That kind of thing. I could just grow a beard instead. It would be easier but probably achieve the same results. Every time I walk through town I feel like I have been doing the same thing for the last six years and I start to choke. Every show I go to with the same faces and the same bands, I want to stab myself in the heart, or get out of this city. I feel like telling people I think their band sucks. That they should give up. Just for a change, something different to the same old local-music-circle-jerk-no-objective-opinion-because-you're-down-with-the-band fuckfest I dive headfirst into. Yeah, we get by. Yeah, 'the scene' is a joke. Yeah, honesty is looked down upon. People would rather drink in carparks than watch the bands. I would rather do this too. I want to throw hammers at the crowd, and use razor blades instead of stamps at the door. This should be ugly. This should be blood-on-guitar discomfort. Bad vibes, bad vibes, bad vibes – take me away. I will never act on my opinion. I am too scared. Fucking terrified of everything. Cars that go past in the dark. Groups of people outside houses waiting to fuck me up / stab me / bottle me / rob me. Life. Death. Almost everything in between. Feel like I'm floating 90% of the time and crushed the other 10%, and can't figure out which I prefer. The funniest thing I ever saw was a bible in the toilet at church. It made perfect sense at the time. Almost everything that “is true” makes me feel like shit. Objectively, I'm gonna have 2.2 kids and live until I'm 80. Objectively I am one of 6 billion of a specific class of mammals. Objectively, my life is pointless, meaningless and worthless. Good vibes, good vibes, good vibes. Bring on the escapism of blockbuster movies, Big Macs, internet porn and $16 dozens. Its all I've got left, anyway.

EVERYTHING I DO IN LIFE I DO TO AVOID ONE DAY HAVING TO HAVE SEX WITH SOMETHING IN THE LIKENESS OF A PERSON MADE OUT OF PLASTIC BECAUSE I AM ALONE.

gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.
gotta get a job.

crucial unit

here are some more exciting lyrics, to provide a counterpoint to the stark and serious tone of the previous offering. we are working with opposites here in an attempt to stumble upon bold new flavours. crucial unit:

zines killing trees, littering our scene, nothing is unique so they better be free! let's wig out at kinkos! GO! photos of the cool bands for this season. political advice on how to commmit treason. regurgitated bullshit xeroxed for the masses. these rags would be better for wiping asses. do something new and make it real funny. otherwise, don't ask me for my money.

**

i'm throwing a sleepover this next friday night. just like any sleepover i'm going to invite one kid that we all hate just so we can fuck with him. i'm going to invite that lousy snot nose God. sure he'll eat all the munchies. sure he'll talk through the movie. sure he'll fuck up truth or dare. but it will be worth it once he falls fast alseep. SO WE CAN teabag God!

**

don't burn down the churches. because they are still useful buildings. that could be used for show spaces or skateparks.

**

riding my bike and i saw such a mess. hundreds of white people in protest. i rode a bit closer to see why they were pissed. thought they were buying barry manilow tickets. they weren't coming from playing tennis, but they had a picture of a giant fetus. i knew it was time to round up the kids so we could lock arms and fucking resist. wall of death the chain of fucking life.

**

tape goes in, kids go nuts. we're not here for kickin butts. we don't need a band with an amp. just don't break the goddamn lamp. moshing with the d-boiz - won them on the air, stage dive off of steev's reclineable chair. living room mosh pit! coffee table GO!

**

thrashin' is our business...and business is mediocre at best. go!

RIP.

dystopia

i spent an hour after coming home listening to dystopia and shuffling paper in my room. this is not a metaphor. the most gut wrenching / fucked up / make you want to get back on the fluoxitine you stopped taking / h8 u life / oh duuuude lyrics ever.

i dont have no one
i dont want no one
and i show no love
to anyone on the other side of the gun
what have i become
a threat to me and the ones i love
stare at the mirror and spit on my reflection
tears stain my bed
i write a letter to my mom and dad
telling them their son has failed them once again
gun in my mouth
i pull he trigger
the same story
a dead son
a fathers gun

-------------

lying bastards
decieving fuckers
you are a curse
violation
kicked in the head
when i hurt the worse
my body boils with
both anger and confusion
thorazine is such
a bitch to endure
i wanna rip your
fucking head off
you desecrate
all that is pure
stab me in the back
enemy
and to think
i fucking trusted you
you never cared
like a fucking doormat
you wiped your feet
on my dignity
so what
you caught me
when i was down
i must have been blind
to think your actions
constituted any love
liar
apologise till your
throat is sore
youre not sorry
cover your tracks
like you did before
no not any more
the drugs im taking
dont calm me anymore
i sit in angry depression
im worse off
than i was before
you fucking pig
i dont forgive
i dont forget
my minds set
i hope youre proud of
what youve done to me
you never fucking cared
backstabber
are to me in many forms
my best friend
hitler. jesus
christ. the law
fuck all you cunts
you shat on me
i hope it happens to you
maybe youll understand
how fucked it
really feels.

Feeling posi about life though. Everything is relative.

sometimes

sometimes when i'm typing stuff on the internet i make typos and spell 'yeah' like 'yeha',
and then i pretend like what i actually meant to say was 'YEHAW'.
just so i can start talking about something that i am more interested in.

Dan says:

yeha

Dan says:

**yeehaw! just saw some lions and some crocodiles fighting over a wounded antelope.

But, by god that Lift would have been refreshing!

Just want to tell people that I need to look extra hot tonight, because my personality's gonna suck.

And then text them in the morning saying that I don't remember anything but I'm an asshole so probably said something horrible and i'm sorry.

Then I want to walk to the dairy and buy a can of Lift.

And try to remember what I did last night.

Then I want to get declined buying Lift because I have no money,

further adding to the mystery and making me think I probably had more fun than I actually did.

THINGS I LEARNT WAITING FOR THE BUS AT EASTGATE

• That Sonny is going to smash that cunt for talking shit man

• That he said he was gonna fight him but then dropped nuts

• That a real obese woman is going out with a real lanky guy with ape-arms

• That his favourite sub is Teriyaki Chicken, and hers is Meatball.

• That they like kissing.

• That one of them smells bad.

• That it is probably the woman.

• That some girl only wears trackpants when she is around kids

• That when she saw some other girl wearing trackpants she was like what the fuck

• That the other girl wore glassses half the size of her face and it was like oh my god, I know!

• That the answer to every question is 42

• That it's off that movie, y'know?

• That if a teacher asks you something you don't know in class you should just say 42

• That most teachers have seen that movie

• That all teachers in Germany have seen that movie

• That they will laugh if you say 42 is the answer.

• That you should never wait for the Orbiter at Eastgate.

I wish Michael Jackson's auction wasn't cancelled because...

stayin' rad

dropping outta law school, just gonna ride my bike all day, "take art pictures on a holga camera and try mythologize myself". direct community action.

i have nothing else to say YET so here is a conversation i had with Ian today on "the facebook":

-----

10:29pmIan

only a few hours left at gay work

hour and a half, actually

then back to my house with 8 foreigners

10:29pmDan

FUCKPILE

10:31pmIan

well, theres 1 guy from Canada, 0.5 girls from Norway, 1.5 girls from Sweden (one of the girls is half-Swedish, half Norwegian), 3 girls from Germany, a girl from Holland and a girl from Switzerland

so it's not inconceivable

10:32pmDan

just get your dick out

----

I was in a weird mood.

Getting punched in the face: REVIEW

I saw you while I was walking down Manchester Street that one night. I guess we made eye contact on the almost deserted pavement, the scene illuminated by the display lights that shops like leave on so people can I guess go window shopping in 3am insomniawesome dream states or something? Anyway yeah I guess we made eye contact because you asked me what I was looking at and I didn't know so I just said “nothing man, just walking” and I think you didn't like being called man or something because you sure didn't waste time after that. Just straight in with a punch in the face. Your fist a rough circle between my lip, nose and cheek. It was over soon enough but still kinda awkward because you were still there and I didn't really know what to do because well I just wasn't like ever instructed on how to deal with the situation. Would it have been a faux pas to run? Kind of like the first time I had sex with a girl I didn't really know in this respect, confused about the required conduct et cetera, worried. This is not to say I associate the idea of sex and you, dude who punched me. To be honest you strike me as the type who'd make for an overly selfish lover. My lip starting bleeding, like actually pissing blood is probably a good word for it, and you kept staring. Then you ran off and the way you ran stuck me as unnatural – not enough arm movement I think. Kinda just started walking again after that, but seriously, way to do something real weird, punching guy. While I was walking all I could think about was how it would have been totally awesome to know hardout as martial arts and just flipped out and done some like kick to throat sort of thing and just ruined you. Ruined your shit. Or how I could silently follow you and find out where you live and get my friend's Mongrel Mob uncle to go round and scare you with his arms that are bigger than like two normal people's fucking bodies and make you say sorry like a total little bitch. Before you punched me I had just been walking home but also thinking about getting dumped and how I should just take a dive off some crappy bridge or put pencils up my nose and headbutt a wall, and so in this respect you kinda punched me out of myself, onto another track of thought.

So all in all pretty grateful/10, hope the rest of your random punching career goes well but I also kinda hope your dog dies because it really did fucking hurt and I still have a scab / scar type lame thing which looks like a cold sore and is kind of gross.

Counterfeitz

For some reason I've been thinking about counterfeit goods lately. In the art world, it seems pretty much universally accepted that forgeries are inferior to original works of art. While debate continues as to whether the fact of a forgery causes a work of art to be actually aesthetically inferior, or inferior on a range of other grounds including the importance of originality, art history and economics, this would seem beside the point – in any event, a number of well reasoned arguments are given for the fact that counterfeit or forged artworks are inferior. Forgery is also a problem in the fashion world – almost everyone has seen counterfeit Louis Vuitton bags sold in back alleys the world over. This forgery is decried universally by the fashion industry. However, the arguments to this effect seem weak. Cynthia Nellis provides some reasons why counterfeit 'high-fashion' items should not be supported:

1.Counterfeiting robs the U.S. alone of more than $200 billion a year. It's a cash, tax-free business; legitimate citizens like yourself will still get stuck paying taxes, while counterfeiters line their pockets at your expense.

2. Terrorists, gangs and organized crime syndicates all profit from selling counterfeit merchandise. Sometimes designer handbag knockoffs are lined with drugs and used for smuggling things like heroin, too. There is also evidence that the bombing of the World Trade Center in '93 was funded by the sale of counterfeit apparel.

3. You might realize that things like knockoff toys or electronics are an unsafe idea, but did you know that even items such as fake sunglasses can hurt you. According to IACC counterfeit sunglasses can shatter easily; they may fail to provide UV protection as advertised.

In summary: We should support counterfeit goods because they're tax free, support terrorism and will hurt you. This sounds like scare-mongering – terrorists and cut eyes! Bin Laden's money comes from construction, and anyone believing that the UV protection quality of a $5 pair of sunglasses would always be equal to that of a $500 pair would seem to deserve retinal damage, if only to advance natural selection. As for the tax thing – this would seem to rely on the idea that there is something morally wrong or reprehensible about tax evasion, which is a far wider issue than the one in question here.

Nellis goes on to say that “now, fakes are so good that you simply can't tell the difference”. If so, why should it matter who makes them, if the end product is essentially the same? The only difference in this transaction would seem to be that money is going to Chinese enterprises, rather than Western shareholders.

This is not to say that there is nothing wrong with counterfeitting, but rather that some arguments advanced for this idea seem rather weak. A better explanation for the problem with counterfeit fashion would include reference to the originality of a design, and this forming the basis of value in expensive fashion items. Also, it cannot be ignored that much of the appeal of such items comes from the fact that their price elevates them to the standard of “luxury goods”, inaccessible to a majority of people. You could even say this is the basis of these brand's appeal – status symbols. With counterfeits, this value is eroded. Such arguments probably do already exist in a fully reasoned form, but if so I can't find the articles. Sorry, Google, for I have failed you.

Tapes - even more obscure points than flexi 7"s?

When the tape slows down, that means the battery's run out. But, I listened to these tapes on a deck which thankfully has the wonderful addition of an AC power cord, and so the danger of slowdown was avoided. Thank fuck for that – fast music slowed down generally sounds like funeral doom made by spastic three year olds. Unlike slow music sped up, which either sounds like a) Alvin and the fuckin' Chipmunks or b) 9 Shocks Terror (all their riffs are stolen from Boulder records played at 78rpm) but fuck whatever, this is a pointless fucking divergence that I never should have started down. Anyway, I got a couple of tapes lately and decided to review them. They're probably old as hell too, but fuck it:

Shortlived: Turns out this tape is actually just the CD-r demo (but, obviously, on tape). Still, it fucking slays – 8 tracks of ripping Fastcore ala What Happens Next or R.A.M.B.O before they added all the melodic shit.

Walrora: KhrvstP0nx from Australia, am digging these guys at the moment. Tape is pretty short (only four tracks) but somehow manages to pack in a bunch of influences – from the stoner-rockish (I swear that's a legitimate fucken term) first riff in Toothwalkers to blast beats, d-beats and a few generic crust riffs. Female vocals work well – am reminded of Detestation or the heavier Garmonbozia parts in this regard. The artwork is rad as hell too – only now do I realise how bad ass walruses are.

Of the Standard of Taste in People

I don't know if this is a common or universal thing, but I often hear people all like "man that person is shit at life" etc. It has got me thinking... how possible would it be to create an objective standard of being "GOOD AT LIFE". You'd need some sort of judge, at least, to set some criteria. Now, I'm in no position to take on such a demanding metaphysical position - I have no idea what the criteria would be. All I know is that this guy:



Wouldn't be the judge. Because he fails hard at life. Any judgment would be subject to endless discussion as to whether it's worse to a) have be in koRn, b) be Christian, or c) have played on THE WORST LIMP BIZKIT ALBUM. When the answer is ALL OF THE ABOVE, everything becomes invalid.

SPECIAL BONUS!!!: Holy shit. Godtube.