New Zealand #2

and poems

I’m back.

Sorry for the interruption of service, I was adjusting to the time difference and acquainting myself with the local customs.

Here is a brief account of experiences so far.

-Bought a camera
-Met some new friends
-Went to a lake
-Drank soju and got a tattoo
-Howled at the moon from the highest point in Auckland.
-Started a new painting

“I have genuine connections, they just aren’t very long.” I hear myself mumble under the moon.

and it’s true, my life being the way that it is, and being, I think, a full hearted and open person. I experience life as a sort of floating mutable thing, but intensely. I don’t have the luxury of extended periods of time for the slow and beautiful ascension to friendship. I must experience people as they come to me, and drink in deeply whoever they wish to show me, before the wind carries me off somewhere else.

This isn’t to say I don’t have dear friends. I do. The dearest of friends. People whose heart I treasure and whose trust I keep. These people are usually cut very similarly to me in their lifestyle. Dancing around from port to port. I’m reminded of the troubadour and think maybe it’s an ancient thing, the reason we must walk alone is some sort of law of the land. Who fucking knows.

When I meet with these dear friends, it is as if we start again exactly where we left off. Months apart at times, other times years. But there is a glint of recognition when we are parting, me and my dear friends, an understanding that we don’t know when we will be together again. It makes things special. It makes things harder. It makes moments more valuable.

An interruption of service. Of patterns and routines. Those are two things I have never been able to apply to my life. I haven’t lived in a home I can call mine in 2 years. Recently I’ve been trying to sort out a routine when I come to a new city. Something I can rely on every time to bring me some balance. First, I move around all the furniture in the place I’m staying. Then I replace all the lightbulbs. This is essential. The lighting that people put in Air Bnb’s are the sort of depressing blue lights that can really tip the scales during a mental health crisis. I buy candles. Like a fuck ton of candles. Again lighting. I rent equipment to record music. I don’t haul around pianos and guitars and things, and most places have a music rental store. Auckland does not. I get painting supplies. I set up a place to paint so I can continue practicing. I am trying to get good with oils which obviously is a lengthy process and if it isn’t out in front of me I won’t do it.

A new thing I am trying to factor in this is writing to you all.

Anyway, I’m here and settled. I should be posting more.
Below are some newish poems.

-A

---

160
Society for seniors living in dignity
Suburban girls out front the sandwich shop.
Sirens on the rocks calling sailors.
The sick.
The serpents and the servants.
The sentiment of loss in the age of forgetfulness
Semen
Sacred burial rights
Safe crackers and master criminals
The Syracuse University Sex scandal
Sleepy Hallow
Same day delivery
Saints
Scenic paintings by David Hockney
Significant Others
Sex in the age of too much selection
Safety measures in effect
The Single life
Slippery when wet
(Poem not yet finished)
-A

168
even the dead feed the flowers.
why won’t us who are living?
what miracles come
when you begin to spare the spider and not crush her with your fear.
-A