Friday

Drank some beers

Played Half Life 2

Walked to Iggy's

Drank some brews

Everyone left

Webb St we roamed

NZ comedy

It definitely blows

Onwards and upwards

Dropped into the Cross

Goodbyes and hellos

Escape without loss

Head of snakes

Medusa we come

To see some metal

And bang our heads some

A surveyor of birds

Wearing gimmick masks

Slipknot with computers

No appeal, I passed

Talked in the alley

Of bullshit and dirt

Next band is starting

Back to the pit

Equine terrifier

Memories of Jakob and Isis

Building the noise

From harmony to crisis

Eh Bee Eye arrived

Introduced to my friends

I explained my new life

From beginning to end

Fluorescent fuckwits

Loud angry band

The drummers a cool cunt

Most definitely the man

The name band set up

We moved to the front

Got a good posi

Just back from the munt

Douchey McBackwardsHat

Clown for the night

Fucking everyone off

Out with his lights

Alphabethead

Live dry sex show

Grabs one of the munts

Are you ready to go?

Shouty McShouty

Yahoos and stares

Are you ready Wellington?

Nobody cares

Sideways belts

And wrong shoes

No alternatives here

Just nothing to lose

Regardless of looks

The last band kills it

The ocean starts swaying

All drinks, they spill it

Shows over, it's done

Time to move off

Although just enough money

To feed at the trough

A dirty kebab

Wrapped tight in foil

Shits on Welcome

And their greasy toil

Home time, take flight

Return, lets go

A fucking good night

And a fucking good show

The show referred to is this: http://i56.photobucket.com/albums/g161/amih666/AKAnztourwebdemo.jpg

Commerce

Trade winds and sky merchants

Deal in droplets of water

Herding clouds along well worn routes

Peddling life

A caravan of zephyrs

Across the atmospheric desert

They trade to old customers and new

But they are a discerning seller

The old mountains are their best customers

As they take care of their brethren

However, strange times are afoot

The caravans are following new courses

The old ways are being forgotten

The trees don't have time to follow

So they thirst to death

And drown in sorrow

Deserts creep upon well worn roots

And we watch in despair

It was our intelligence that got us here

Pray our wisdom gets us out

Old

I tried to speak to you

Of minds

Even though we were in the same room

I lost the address

To your thoughts

All I got was a blank stare

And something resembling solitude, but not quite

If you're still there, living in your abode

Of flesh and blood

Please contact me when you get the chance

I'm still in the same place

Although the hinges seem to creak so much more

These days

The windows are permanently smoky

And the outside paint is pale and wrinkling

But I am still me

And I feel as if I will be

For some time yet, at least

So get back to me

And we'll talk about the past

Reminisce and remember

It seems about all I can manage

In these long lonely days

As evening turns to night

And the sun never rises

All Hail Adam Smith

We will all be millionaires one day

We will look at each other

With wide eyes

And stupid grins

And know that we have made it

Our secret is simple

Not Lotto

Not Gambling

Hell, not even hard work

The secret

Is to sit on that bony bum of yours

And wait

For Inflation

A rise in the general price of goods and services

An erosion in the purchasing power of money

This is the plan

Born out of Adam Smith's acolytes

Upon the altar of Mainstream Economics

It's a good plan

If you have your head in the sand

Or up your own arse

Moronic in its simplicity

But simple things always are

In 1967

The year New Zealand decimalised it's currency

A $30 crate of beer

Would have cost $1.92

A 93.6% erosion of purchasing power

Thanks to our friend Inflation

But

Think of how much closer we are today

To that elusive million

An increase in the price

Of the only legal drug we have left

Is a small price to pay

On our journey to the Country Club

In another forty-three years

I will be 67

And that $30 crate of beer

Will only cost $440

Assuming a constant rate of inflation

That's almost as much money

As I make every week now

But don't forget

In the year 2053

I will be earning

$8500 dollars every week

If I start saving now

I'll have a million

In the bank

In no time

The future is bright my friends

The economy will provide us

With happiness and joy

We will revel

In our six figure bank accounts

More than just numbers

A score sheet

Of national satisfaction

We will bathe

In bathtubs of gold

Scrubbing ourselves

With $100 bills

All we have to do

Is sit

And wait

For the second coming

All hail

Our Lord and saviour

The prophet Adam Smith

An Ode To Cleanliness

The grouting is caked in grime

The pipes are full of slime

And rust

Which bubbles up

From bottom to top

Steam heated

The terror splits hydrogen from oxygen

Like skin from flesh

Cracking, an elemental whip

But this is no place to swing a cat

Nor a space to bring a pussy

This is where I wash myself

In the Korean Bath-house

(This was written while working on a Korean Squid Trawler in Sub-Antarctic New Zealand)

Pukeke

You are rock
I am water

You are solid
I am fluid

You stay the same
And yet I am always changing

You are dogma
And I am truth

I will wear you down

It may take a long time

But I will break you down

And then
You will be nothing
But a memory

And I will still be changing
I will still be fluid
I will still be water

The Good Years

I'm walking into town

To get drunk

I look in a window

There stands a middle aged man

Middle aged, middle life, middle class, middle everything

Exceptional nothing

He sands the window frames in the spare bedroom

Just worked a forty-five hour week

At a job he pretends not to hate

And this is how he spends his Friday night

But you know

As they say

He's 'living the dream'

'Good job', 'good kids', 'good wife', 'good life'

It's all shit

And that's where I'm expected to be

In fifteen years

When I 'make it'

No one tells you at high school

That this is what it feels like to be twenty-four

Is this really it?

Is this really why I spent four years at university?

Am I supposed to feel like this?

Like shit

Prozac nation

Addicted to everything that dulls existence

The futility is crushing

As are their fucking lies

I want my money back

Because dollars and cents

Are the only worthy thing I've invested in this world

Apparently

We were told things were meant to be good

It's a fucking rort

The bullies don't grow up

They just get older

And if they get rich

We can't line up quick enough

To get shat on

Keep up with Mr and Mrs Jones

Or die a miserable death

Surrounded by last years appliances

I'm standing at the lights

By the highway now

Cuba and Karo

Three cars pass

Every second

The thought crosses my mind

To just step out

Into the light

Just to feel something

Some kind of emotion

Like hope

It's all shit

I have become

Uncomfortably numb

Working Bee

I am in the garden

On a mission of death and destruction

The trees scream as I cut them

But I pretend not to hear

It is easier to kill

When your victims are silent

They shriek and moan

As their limbs crack and groan

Until they let go

And fall

To the ground that once gave them life

They are no match

For my high-grade steel blade

Expertly notched

To sever as I push forward

And remove the flesh as I pull it back

Perhaps

They will forgive me one day

Or perhaps

They will never forgive the day

I cut them down

Like objects

The Seagull Tavern

There once was a pub

Down by the port

Full of sailors and drunkards

That kind of sort

There was gambling and brawling

And drinking and stories

The old fishermans tale

In all its glory

And late in the the night

When no one could talk

They would start singing

Until throats were coarse

Yargh hah the sea!

And Yo ho the ocean!

Wherever I should be

Id rather be out boatin'

As soon as we get

Our boots on the land

We'll go straight to the pub

Nurse a pint in our hands

We'll fuck and we'll fight

Till the day that we die

With wind in our sails

And a glint in our eyes

We'll yarn and we'll boast

Till the hours of morn

Till our eyes start to droop

And our voices are worn

An hour of sleep

That's all we need

Then back on the boat

Headin to sea

That is the life

Of sea going men

The pub and the sea

Again and again!

The Lonely Sea

Just another day
On the blue
When a storm whips up
And runs me through

The waves they crash
The wind it tears
The banshees howl
And draw my fear

My mast it snaps
Gone are the sails
I bail water
The rudder fails

I hold on
For dear life
Rain stings my face
A thousand knives

Through the night
Don't sleep a bit
Think to myself
This could be it

I scream at the gulls
They scream back at me
Not quite all alone
On the lonely sea

Headcase

Head case

Head space

The space between my ears

Is empty

And bursting

Try not to think

Just to exist

Is an effort

Sleep is refuge

But refuge is hard to find

When you're battling

Questioning

Why I do this to myself

Drinking

Drinking

Drinking

Last night was meant to be 'quiet'

But I woke up this morning in a park

Drunk

And stoned

And delirious

I got up

And ran

From the demons in the park

But they're hard to escape

When you carry them in your mind

I saw Pan

And his ilk

I would have stopped

And conversed

But I had to get away

From the chasers

So I ran

And I looked over my shoulder

And I could see them coming

So I ran faster

I ran home

To my bed

To sleep

To refuge

I slept

Until I woke up

And I looked out the window

And they were still coming

They are coming

They are coming

They are coming for me