The Checks - Candyman Shimmer (official music video)

have been obsessed with this Checks tune for a good while now!! Love love love it.

An Empty Room

Ramblings from last year ....
I am home again, again. It feels different every time. Outside tonight it is darkening. I have in front of me a glass of red wine, some blood red tulips sit on my desk. An old painting of some quietly pink orchids sits behind them. In the living room plays Dadawa, world music at it's best, at it's most soul opening. Sadly, it makes me want to take acid.

Here I am, sitting in another room, in another house, on another part of the earth. It doesn't really matter where the room is, I always feel as equally at home and not at home, as familiar and as alien.

My friend Mike wrote a poem about a lone person standing in a room which is empty. I imagine that the room is made of wood, wooden floors and walls painted white, without any decorations at all. Like Jackson Pollock's house on Long Island. But this one, the one in Mike's poem as imagined by me, looks over the ocean. Sits up on a hill and I imagine the lone person, whose face I never see because their back is always turned to me, looks out an open window to the ocean. And I imagine this person, this way, forever, in this empty room.

I think it says something about me, about the way I think. I can feel the wind coming into the house off of the ocean far below, a cold wind that channels in and touches all the empty places of the house. Moves the hair of the person standing at the window, who never moves. It's probably me, but it looks like Mike from where I am standing. I told Mike about this, and he said something which I hadn't pictured in my version of the poem. He said something about the room being furnished over time, with the things that you bring into your own life. I had imagined it coming from more of a zen point of view, as in not needing anything and in the essential truth of aloneness.

What he said gave me faith, because I think that the way I pictured his room, is the way that I picture myself. Alone. Eternally unmoving, unchanging, the wind making sure of it.

So, now that I am home again, I struggle to furnish the room of my life. I think about what I could possibly decorate it with, and nothing seems to feel right.

Masters of Creative Writing

I received the best possible news I could've hoped for late November just been. I've been writing, mainly poetry, since I was about 8 years old. It's always been something I've just kind of 'done', it's always come naturally for me and has been a great emotional aid in my life, especially during tumultuous times.

At the age of about 17 I became aware that one of New Zealand's most eminent poets, Bill Manhire (at that time his profile was still building toward the colossal form it takes on the New Zealand literary landscape presently) had created and was running a creative writing program at Victoria University in Wellington. Since then the mana of the course has grown and grown.

It's been something that I have often dreamed of as a kind of ultimate goal. It was a dream that sat somewhere on the outskirts of what I really thought I was capable of achieving, somewhere on a shelf along with traveling to the moon to look back at the earth and owning my own home in New Zealand, i.e; totally unattainable.

But what do you know, isn't life funny? I applied, and I got in! Dumbstruck, flabbergasted, discombobulated and rapturous don't even begin to describe what I felt when I opened my gmail account and saw the subject line from the IIML, "We are pleased to offer you a place in our program....". Talk about dreams do come true.

I think one of the biggest lessons I've learned from the whole experience, which is maybe not so much a lesson as an insight, is that I really do doubt myself and my talents. I am not saying I am superbly talented, but I do tend to undervalue myself. As soon as I had overcome the fully body shakes and desire to vomit upon reading my acceptance e-mail, I got to thinking and here's what I thought, "Well, If I got in, it can't be that hard to get into after all." My inner critic coming out in full force just to remind me that no matter what happens, I'm not that great. Thanks me.

So anyway, me, myself and I had a bit of a korero and I put ol' critic back in her place, which is outside in the swamp at night with all the outside lights off. I'm really proud to have gotten in, and I feel extremely lucky and thankful that I am someone who has a life where such a luxury is even possible. To spend so much on a year of post-grad study, to be able to afford it, to have a whole year to focus on nothing but something creative. I realise that not many have such an opportunity.

Thanks life.

One of the coolest things about the MACREW is the the IIML (International Institute of Modern Letters) is located in Glen Schaeffer House, a building which hangs on the edge of Mt. Victoria like an eagle's nest on a rocky outcrop of the Grand Canyon. The room in which we will hold our sessions is a huge glass cube looking out over the whole of Wellington Central and the harbour. Oh the bliss!!

In love with Choi Jeong Hwa

Watching the Auckland Art Gallery come into being has been a magical thing. As the months passed those who work in Central City were witness to the birth of this truly superb space which will surely become and remain a true part of the evolving heart of Auckland.

Not only is it visually stunning, it's also a feat of architecture; a space that offers scintillating newness, a space which is alive as it's various structures and levels interact with one another and a courageous design which seems to fly in the face of speculation that New Zealanders tend to doubt themselves in those crucial moments when bravery matters the most. It's a building which to me reflects how modern Aucklanders feel about themselves and their rapidly changing physical, social, cultural and emotional landscape. And if we take the gallery as a symbol of those things, the feelings must be good.

But the true Pièce de résistance of Toi o Tāmaki are Korean artist Choi Jeong Hwa's two works; Flower Chandelier and Red. To have chosen two such playful and joyous sculptures says something of the team working at the gallery. They blow me away each and every day as I stroll my way to work, red especially. Complete adoration and thanks to the amazing team who've created such an incredible gallery, and to Mr. Hwa whose work inspires me to keep creating.

Korea fighting!

Iris Murdoch

“Writing is like getting married.
One should never commit oneself
until one is amazed at one's luck.”
—Iris Murdoch

Life: never what you expect

I think that part of growing up must be coming to terms with the fact that life never really turns out the way you think it will.

I can look back to so many different periods of my life, and see that my perceptions of my own future at those times were so.....unrealistic, so unlife-like. I think it`s that so many people externalise their future goals; `I`ll be living HERE, doing THIS kind of job and being THIS popular`, when in fact the things that really evolve and hold meaning in our lives are internal situations. The way we deal with ourselves, the way we treat others, the amount of effort we put into the people and situations around us. That`s where the value is.

It`s something I am still learning. Actually, I am seriously not very good at it. I think because my mother died when I was 16, that I`ve felt completely anchorless and have just drifted from one experience to another for the last 13 years. I have never really invested in anything, emotionally or otherwise. And, while it`s a perfectly fine thing to do when you are young, it doesn`t offer much return in the long run.

Styx

underground
the boat
takes yet another load
of hibernations
babies to the far side
of the slow water;
waving....goodbye!
Upstairs, the
jonquil bulb
is breathing hard,
little coffins open.

Te Paatu

i have just learned that the area i come from is called Te Paatu, thanks to Janice Clarke, a memeber of a long time far north family. I think i am going to write a collection of poems about the valleys of Te Paatu; Honeymoon Valley, Fern Flat, Kaiaka, Oruru, Victoria. I dont want to fall into the trap of writing about maori things as if i myself am maori. but i do want to explore the history of where i come from and then write from that basis.

i feel i dont know enough about my own home, and how can i write about something i know nothing about? Id love, for example to find out why the valleys are named as they are and id like to learn the stories of the people who populated the area over the past 300 - 400 years. My primary school was established in 1873! well over 200 years old and i know that the school alone holds a lot of history, such as the banning of maori language. a project in the making. exciting.

It's Just Different Here .... in Japan that is

I had a sudden memory today of something I saw a few weeks back now. I was waiting for my morning train at my local train station, Unga, and noticed on the other side, a woman with her elderly mother who was in a wheelchair. They were waiting at the far end of the platform, just opposite me, at the wheelchair access ramp.

Waiting with them was one of the oshiya, or station workers. i love these guys. they're always dressed impeccably; crisp blue shirts, police style hats, often white gloved and always looking as if their job is the most important thing in the world. It seems that people really respect all kind of worker here; train station workers, bus drivers etc.

I don't know in which way, but it kind of feels like people who work in these positions in Japan are more involved in the beauracratic and regulatory / safety aspect of what they do, than say, in New Zealand where bus drivers have a slightly disinherited manner.

Anyway, this oshiya stood with the elderly woman and her daughter, waiting to assist them onto the train. as they waited he talked to them both, but I feel mainly with a focus on the older of the two - although it didnt seem that he felt obliged, or that the conversation was forced. It just seemed that he would never ever consider NOT talking to her. he was holding one of those orange safety batton things and with it he was pointing to various places around the station and on the tracks, possibly explaining the finer art of train conductoring (i know i made that word up) or maybe even some recent and exciting train station event. who knows.

The two women were thoroughly engrossed, especially the older woman. What struck me was how gently, respectfully and easily he spoke to her, obviously seeing the value in her presence. I love this about Japan. People are so so kind to one another. I see this in my class everyday, and in my mixed level english chat sessions. More fluent students are kind and patient with those whose level is lower or those who struggle. And in my main class students are so respectfully interested in one another. Its so lovely. Japan is a kind and gentle country.

about life

Lately life has been interesting. its not that its been fast paced, overwhelming or tokyo-ish, thats not why. i live out in a totally different prefecture from tokyo, which is the chiba prefecture. it is still the greater tokyo metro area, but not tokyo central with all its amazing nagameguro, shimokita, shibuya, shinjuku, harajuku, rippongi, ueno and so on. what has been interesting is the way that i am dealing with being here. or rather, what is happening internally while here.

i feel like i am growing somewhat. possibly a cliche for someone from new zealand (or anywhere) who has traveled to other, distant places. but i am not 20 or even 25 and i have been there and done that with the whole o.e. thing. so that is not what it is about. its more like some kind of relief work, a cutting away of the small things that need not be there anymore, where i feel the effects of what happens around me acutally shape the physical reality of who i am. i guess they could be called light-bulb moments, or epiphanies, realisations. but they are not just realisations because i actually feel changed afterwards. physically, but in an internal way.

often, in my life when i experience these things, i have been reading some great book. i think that it is to do with timing and my frame of mind as much as what i am reading, and of course, sometimes i need not read anything and still i experience change. but often a great work of literature; the words of a woman or man who has thought beyond the realm of what i am capable of thinking, opens up a new way of looking at myself, and thinking about the world. surely not a new thing for anyone who reads? so yeah. but ... its different this time and i dont know why. i guess.... i just feel .....i dont know.

so often i feel the intimacy and warmth of my private thoughts, resounding, reverberating against the massive feeling of cold insignificance that seems to be in the world. and insignificance isnt even the right word .... i dont know if there IS a word in english for it. it is that i know we are not insignificant, but when you look yourself in the eye and truely let your heart feel what it feels about who you are, why you are, where you are, that there is no answer! that no matter what you feel, there is no resolution, there is no object, human or otherwise that can solve the deep longing i feel.