There’s a weird energy in Dunedin tonight. It’s all halloween and occupy dunedin and random people swearing at each other.
I’m in livingspace apartments and trying to write somethign that was meant to be whimsical and fun but gets increasingly more violent and perverse the further I go. I think the swears floating up from the street may have something to do with that.
Or the copious amounts of jagermeister.
I leave to go live in Auckland tomorrow. I got a gig or three lined up. Maybe it’ll be ok.
If you wanted to always get great reviews for a show or a movie or something that you wrote you should write it about a reviewer of that kind of media who is awesome.
You should make sure it is accurate to that world. Then the reviewer would be like “HOLY SHIT I AM IMPORTANT!” and then they would give a great review so more people could see them up to their work.
Local train. Middlesbrough to Darlington. Noise cancelling headphones on, working like earmuffs, this train sounds like a bag of rivets thrown into a cheap washing machine. In front of me scruffy youth, whispy beard, greasy hair. Greaser nerd rather than greaser thug, headphones and laptop rather than headcase with lager.
Finger up nose, first knuckle deep. Look out the window. It’s not a crime, who doesn’t love a good dig now and then? In fact, thinking about it, my nose is itchy, maybe I should join in? Make a carriage feature of it. Resist.
Turn back. Hands conspicuously hidden. Suspect evidence disposal in progress. Some typing. Recall fact about keyboards containing inordinate amounts of germs. Shudder.
Can’t stop watching though. Subject has healing wounds all over knuckles of right hand. Perhaps he punched a guy? Fingernails are chewed and bitten, swollen at the ends. Idly rubs knuckle scabs. Sure. Check ‘em out. Make sure they are still attached, not infected, doing their job. Tendons in fingers tense creating a pincer - NO NO!
Furiously look out window. Crop circles of broken bricks. Scrub. Train lines. Don’t look back, don’t — glance back, exposed white meat, red leaking circle. MY EYES!
Back out the window. Must not look. Must not look.
Must. Not. Look.
I look. Fingers in mouth. Fingers out of mouth. Chewing.
He ate the scab.
I tell a lie at the end of my show (it’s scripted, I didn’t write it) which is “if you’d like to come up and say Hi i’d be really pleased to meet you.”
I think people can tell I’m lying when I say this as mostly they don’t. I prefer this. The show is the show, I’m not the person that was in the show, I’m way more boring and anti-social, let’s just leave it at that.
I have a sneaky suspicion, and I may be way off on this, but that socially aware people pick up on my non-verbal cues which are actually screaming “DO NOT COME AND TALK TO ME” and so concequently I tend to get a bias towards odd folk.
Best opening lines by people who do come up:
"You should’ve hurt yourself more."
“Where did you get the straightjacket?’
“So, socially I think I have the biggest problem with the ladies.”
“When you were talking about people with maps I just started crying… coz that’s what I’m like”
“I can’t believe you are actually a doctor!”
“say fish and chips”
“Do you want to come to the mac store?”
If I know New zealand primary school educators there’s going to be a rash of All Black acrostic poem assignments being handed out. Kids! Cheat! Just copy one of your Unky Dan’s poems here and watch as you get extra attention from your teacher, guidance counsellor and police community liaison officer!
You’re welcome NZ, you’re welcome.
I got back to the guesthouse where I am staying after a long walk and an even longer session of drinking with buskers. I washed my feet in cold cold water and then fell on the bed and passed out.
My jetlag woke me up, and I stumbled back to the bathroom, pissed and glugged down several glasses of water.
There was a knock on my door.
Why is housekeeping here I wonder. Surely it’s not 10am. What the hell is the time? How long have I been asleep for? Where are my pants? Maybe I imagined it.
"hello?" knock knock.
What the fuck? I pull on pants and open the door. Standing there are two eastern european beauties in their pyjamas. It is 2am. I am still drunk and 70% still asleep. I’ve seen adult movies, I know how they start. What the hell is going on?
“we hef locked ourselves out of room.”
“Do you have phone?”
“Oh. Right. Yeah, here you go.”
“Can you call? My english is so bad.”
So at 2am I take out the NZ sim card on my phone, put in the UK one i just bought. Activate the sim card by calling the top up menu, then find the after hours emergency number in the room info. Call, wake a guy up, explain the situation to him. hang up. Explain slowly several times to the pyjama-ed ukranians that he will be there in 20 minutes and they have to wait quietly downstairs.
Waiting quietly must’ve been lost in translation. I lie in my bed and listen to them chat back and forth.
I fall asleep and have seriously twisted dreams.