Every place has it’s colours, no place is more “colourful” than another. Every place has existed through time, every place has history, no place is stuck in the past. Just because I see God’s I don’t believe in and you see clouds doesn’t mean they are real.

I moved north. I moved from the city of my raising and heart , the city I love with a one-eyed passion to the village of my grandparents . I moved for opportunities, and for love and because I held it in affection.

A small move in the grand scheme of things. I could jump on a train and then a bus and in an hour and a half be sat on the wild south coast gazing out at Tapu Te Ranga , I could walk up to the marae , I could drink in the pub that sits half way between the fortified pad of The Satan’s Slaves and the Catholic edifice of the Sisters of Our Lady of Compassion. I could visit mum. But culturally it’s further than 90 minutes.

I call it a village, Kiwi’s don’t do villages. They reject them as being part of the old country. They call it a town. Neither word probably does the place justice. One that does to my mind is suburb.  A suburb without a defined urbanity for it to orbit. There is something a little perverse that this village is more suburban than the city suburb I grew up in.

What is suburban ? Well it’s murders of SUV’s , it’s berms mowed and argued over, it’s TV’s the size of walls, it’s flagpoles in gardens, it’s All Black number plates , it’s true blue and worse, it’s dark impulses shrouded in lily white net curtains , it’s single bright white light bulbs dangling in the center of rooms, it’s a cacophony of lawn related machinery on a Saturday morning, its staring through you like you don’t exist when you say good morning on the street, it’s arguments heard through semi detached walls, it’s different to where I am from. It’s different.

As I walk around the streets I find myself looking into people’s living rooms, not in a peeping tom way you understand , just a casual glance. So often the most striking thing is a TV that dwarfs anything else in the house beneath what my father would have called ‘suicide lighting’. These screens are part 1984 mind control , part religious totem. To my eye they are all ugly.

Too Small for TV
It was as big as a wall but it was still too small
His need was to be dwarfed in high definition
He will have to move when the next size arrives
In a just world the house would slide over the TV
A prophylactic against the real world outside
Just him and his bloody enormous screen.

I don’t drive so we walk, or ride on the trike. This is an oddity up here. This is the land of Ford Rangers , and cashed up Gen X Bogans driving muscle cars. This probably means the recycling bins have a greater impact on me than others as I walk through them on a Monday morning.

Gone to the Dogs

When the time comes to feed

we howl

we bark

and we wail to the ancestors,

Ruby and me

Where the wild things are?

Well they are right here ,

Wearing wolf suits without fear ,

Ruby and me

Weasels in the wild wood

We are what we are,

A nightmare to the choreographed

recycling bin dream ,

Ruby and me

Man and dog shuffling under foot

beside a murder of SUVs ,

what ,a bloody, oddity

Ruby and me

Demon Cleaner
He hides our liquid sins
Scoops them up,
Smashes them down
Empties go another round
He cleans our demons
We are the angels
Till next fortnight
When we will bare the glass
And again
He will hide our liquid sins.

And I keep an eye on the community Facebook pages. If the facelessness of the internet wasn’t already enough of a liberation from social constraint by the norms of decency now Facebook allows anonymous posts on these groups. Suburban psychosis given full wings to fly and pollute modern life.

Community Rage

My dog is gone , has anyone seen him out loose on the run?

And

I love my grandson, I need a lawyer  to take action against his mum

And

The flowers on East Street really are so very very lovely

And

The United Nations are coming , I need ammunition and water

And

This photo from last century , who remembers Doug the shopkeeper ?

And

The mayor is in a pact with Satan, only the gallows can fix this

And

Admin please delete if not allowed , but the truth must get out there

And

The drains are blocked on Terrance Terrace it’s a bloody disgrace

And

Answer these questions , and help my niece’s internal assessment

And

Click here for the cheapest ray-bans you will never ever find

And

Food trucks on Fridays , bring all the fuckin family

And

There is a race war coming , they will burn it all down

And

The state of the berms , its like the fourth world round here

And

My dog is gone , has anyone seen him out loose on the run?

Every place has it’s colours.