Momentary variation from the norm.

I want my own Dead Poet’s Society.  

I want a few friends to disappear with into the night.

I want a couple bottles of whiskey.

I want a cigar or two.

I want a beach clearing.

I want battered poetry books of old.

I want a Kindle filled with poets new.

I want paper and pens strewn across the picnic towel.

I want lifeless poems sacrificed to the drift wood fire.

I want unafraid voices carrying the survivors.

I want exhaustion.

I want self-consciousness dead.

I want myself alive.

The daily post prompt asked a question similar to ‘do groups of people inspire you?’ My answer is a resounding yes, and it made me miss the feelings I had at tertiary.

The late-night working sessions,

the coffee induced craziness,

the comfortable sigh of completing something magical.

It seems so out of reach now. 


Sorry New Zealand.

I grew up on the right side, politically speaking that is. My Dad was always the most vocal in our family, and my thinking would sync with his, cause I thought it was a well-known fact that ‘Dad is always right’. I am also privileged to come from a family who are financially better off than your average ‘Ma and Pa’. So the right side heavily influenced my thoughts about money and financial protection. I thought if you’re stupid enough to not work hard, or save hard, then it was your own damn fault for being poor.


The last New Zealand election, I voted National, the centre-right, and now dominant party in NZ Government.


I am sorry New Zealand that I did.


I have learnt, through watching some outrageous sufferings, that my family is in a tremendously lucky position (though my parents do deserve all the credit in the world for their hard work), and vast majorities of people worldwide are simply not afforded such opportunities.


I vow to vote with my own conscience now. No longer will I support –


Needless environmental destruction.

Needless child hunger.

Needless financial inequality.

Needless economic failures.

Needless Governmental restrictions.

Needless inequality amongst fellow beings.


No longer will I look at the colour of the flag, the smiles of the rats, the polished promise of change. I have seen flags burn, rats bite, and promises left in ruins.


I am angry at politics, but not angry enough to leave it up to others. Every vote counts, every voice counts. I have one year before the next elections to study up, before I will allow my voice heard again.


Next time, it will roar.






“It’s many hundred miles and it won’t be long”.

I wonder who/what took the first step.


Like, literally, the very first step.


That one singular motion which moved said ‘thing’ from one place, to another. Was it aware of movement, of space, of time, of anything? From that movement though, the travel bug was born. A wide spreading contagion lasting the millennia’s, it has lead to such diseases as civilization, human development, and travel agencies.


Why do I travel?


I was a very lucky kid; infected early at the age of ten my family and I went to the magical land of Australia for a holiday (thanks Nan). After that initial dose, I then scratched the bug, and nine other countries off my list, to now count (in travel order) –


New Zealand (North and South)







United States of America




Nowadays I travel because I grew up in a small area. Small cities had their benefits when I was growing up, they were clean, concentrated in friends and family, and you got to know your surroundings very intimately.


Now that I am 22, small areas don’t cut it for me. Small areas represent a lull in development. If I don’t see the landscape changing, then I don’t see myself changing either. So I itch for big places, big ideas, the ‘bigness’ in people. There is too much of the world to see for me to justify staying in one place. No job, no house, no possession, is worth missing these moments.


And it saddens me that I will never see everything. No matter how much effort I make, their will always be something I miss. Something I will never see. Something I will never taste. Someone I will never know. This fear grips me and drives me to insane things, like going out of my comfort zone a lot. And the bug knows this. The bug thrives off this. The bug will eat at my heartstrings, my sanity, until only death can cure me. So before I meet this decidedly unfortunate end, I will feed the bug until it cannot consume me anymore. A bittersweet cure, no?


I thank the bug though, without it I would never feel like I will someday contribute to history.  The bug has taught me how diverse the world is. The bug has taught me how diverse I am. The bug is responsible for a lot, but above all it is responsible for my world-view, a view that sees far beyond the horizon line.


Where do you want to go?








Title is from this song:

Dream Home.

I love being around people, which is strange as I’m very quiet when other humans surround me. It’s my default setting. But the noise and the bustle and the feeling of ‘aliveness’ has injected itself into my veins, and I cannot live in the ‘quiet’ with the ‘roar’ coursing through my heart.

I also don’t wish to own a lot. (Other than books, I will fill the walls with books). Large clunky items annoy me and become overbearing to look at. It is easier to visit art in galleries, visit people at café’s, visit life outside my house. For years I’ve considered the spaces I use as storage spaces, because my activities just don’t have enough room to move in them.

So my dream home will be an apartment. My vision is incomplete, but what I would love to have will consist of these ideas here –

Two bedrooms (one to accommodate drunkard guests who have one too many G&T’s) both over looking a lit cityscape at night. An ensuite off the master bedroom, because everyone loves that private space.
One main bathroom, predominantly white. A shower head the size of a dinner plate, and jets along one wall. Dark stone accents.
Kitchen with full touch activated technology in every stainless steel smear-proof appliance.
Living room with the baddest of all couches and the raddest of all sound systems. Maybe a beanbag or two.

A simple, modern, clean atmosphere, with luxurious items splashed across shelves decorating and enunciate what wealth I might/might not have, will complete the space.

What is your dream home? Is it a large country house, a Spanish villa, or an apartment like I? Does the home or the space around it influence you more?