EASTGATE FASHION ROUND UP V1.0

Today I went to Eastgate mall. As is usually the case when you go anywhere in public, people were wearing clothes. Here is a re-creation of the best t-shirts that I saw on my ten minute lunch break:

I am not 100% sure what is going to happen later but I am almost certain that it will end in me taking a thirty minute shower fully clothed while tears flow freely from my bruised face. The connection between this t-shirt and the inevitable post rape shower scene that follows is almost as strong as the connection between it's wearer and motorcross, hair gel, DC shoes, 'twizted metal', Woodstocks and doing sick as fuck skids bro.

THE FAMILY COURT MADE JUDGEMENT AGAINST ME FOR $150 A FORTNIGHT CHILD SUPPORT FOR JAYDEN-TYLER AND SHANAE AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY TSHIRT.

This shirt is hella fucking cool, but kinda wrong. It is often noted that discovery of the fermentation process is often put down to an accident of nature – wild yeast blowing into the storage jars of grains and fruits, and starting the fermentation process. Further, it has been noted that if basing your whole identity around the fact that you smoke weed pretty much means you're one of those awesome guys who says ~buzzy~ and ~spinny~ and goes to three day courses in Literacy and Numeracy at the New Zealand Academy. A.K.A it means I want to hang out with you. Hi.

FRENCH PEOPLE = MEANINGFUL

Anomie is, I guess, a 'French' word, but it comes from the Greek a- nomos, or 'without law'. The word itself is somewhat ambiguous, and has had many meanings attached to it in modern history. Maybe originally the word was used to describe things or people which were literally 'outside' of the law. I don't know – I am not an etymologist, nor a particularly adept researcher. It is a particular modern idea that the term has been attached to, though, which is at point here. In 1897, famed French sociologist Emile Durkheim published Suicide – one of the first examinations of the personal and social factors contributing in the end result of, someone, well, 'eliminating their own map'. In this, Durkheim describes 'anomie' as a primary cause of suicide, and we can assume it follows from this that 'anomie' is also a factor or cause in other mental health issues. This is probably a bold assumption to make, and I'm sure some asshole will pull me up about it, but fuck it, I think I'm going somewhere with this. Okay. So – what is this 'anomie' that has people jumping off of bridges all the way back in 1897? It becomes, in Durkheim's writing, a stand-in word to describe the 'normless-ness' of society, and the associated feelings of alienation, and purposelessness. Basically – we don't get 'society' and 'life', and we don't relate to other people. We don't have religion or back breaking toil to bring us together. Nothing is fixed, and so we are left to construct our own meaning / values / whatever. Our own ways to interact and connect, socially or romantically or whatever the fuck kind of way you want to connect. Basically, I feel like this is fundamentally connected to the fact that pretty much everyone I know is a neurotic wreck at the best of times. Connected with 15% of people 'considering suicide'. 'Anomie' means we are lost, devoid of purpose and struggling. Maybe this is what 'depression' and anxiety are. I think this is what anxiety is, when I kick back and have panic attacks about things which don't really matter. About 'life'. We don't really 'know how to talk about stuff' with people, because there is no point of reference to let us know how to do it. This is really melodramatic. Just wanted to say something meaningful, like a French person in a black and white photograph. Most people are normal and well adjusted, actually. I forgot what I was trying to say. Just wanna ~have some theories~ and ~be deep~. Need to 'read more books', or something. Since it is 4.31pm now I get to stop pretending to work and go home. Thank you for reading this.

INTELLECTUALISM

Apparently this is the "new centre" for "intellectualism" in christchurch. We can get together and talk about "philosophy" and books 'n' shit. We're "sick of talking about who has slept with who and how many beers we have drunk". So instead lets gather in small exclusive groups talking about how everyone else talks about who has slept with who and how many beers they have drunk, and then maybe a little bit about how we are better than them if there is time.

We can look at people having fun and look down on them. They obviously "don't understand life as much as we do". They can enjoy the company of others and music we don't like, what losers they are. If only they understood what we did. Maybe then their lives would be better. They just don't "get" the same stuff we do, us intellegent people.

Intellectualism is actually the only true way to enjoy yourself, being able to discuss "alternative music" but as long as it isn't enjoyed by too many people (like Animal Collective, or Nirvana) and books that we read on a higher level than other people, maybe we can talk about philosophy or maths or economics because that is true fun.

You have probably realised by now that this whole post so far is sarcastic.

I am not an intellectual.

It took me 3 years to complete my last year of school

I don't understand jokes the first time around and I haven't actually read a book all the way through so far this year.

I don't know why some people tend to group me in with this group of people. Maybe it's because I am cynical and can sit at the back of a party with these "intellectuals" and talk about how stupid and inferior all the other people at the party are. I guess I am doing the exact same thing right now, as I am thinking I am better than these "intellectuals."

I would say instead of liking intellegent conversation, I like interesting conversations. You can have interesting conversations with people of all levels of intellegence as long as you dont talk down to them. Don't exclude people from your lives because you think they are unintellegent, exclude them from your lives because they are boring. If you don't want to talk about who has drunk more beers, then dont fucking talk about it with them. Move the conversation onto something you find interesting. They might have an interesting perspective on it, something you haven't thought of before.

But then again maybe I am just too dumb to "get it".

God this sounds fucking preachy.

SUNDAY POEMS #3

This is not a pipe

Ceci n’est pas une pipe,
Though its darkened brown and
Burnished wood reveals a
Chocolate complexion
In which is smoky, black,
Sooty, tar-filled chimney –
Well-rounded and smooth – dips
Gently into my hand.

Ceci n’est pas une pipe,
Though its gently glowing
Grail, is filled with earthy
Smelling, dry tobacco
That burns like red hot-coals
And sounds like crunching leaves
To my accustomed ear.

Well-worn spout, meet my lips!
An inward breath I take.
Alas! My chest does not
Fill with smoke, for I know
Ceci n’est pas une pipe.


- J. A. Meanwell (Graham)

SUNDAY POEMS #2

what does it mean when it's easier to pretend that furniture is falling out of office windows?

universally, we picture a French man smoking
“life, eh?”
he says to us.
and people start to give up.
we tell friends, spouses, workmates,
anyone who will listen:
“i feel so alone”.
we cut each other off but yeah,
we keep breathing,
striving for six-days-broke
because life costs too much
“everyone is the same,
i am so alone.
i am so alone, and
everyone is the same”
we shout,
before diving off tall buildings.
“i have never felt so free”
we shout,
and we get scored 8.7 by the judges.
“excellent technique. total commitment.
a shame about the landing”.

- d. richardson

SUNDAY POEMS #1

John, I'm Only Drinking

I thought i was dreaming of reality
One that could exist and did in memory
But i can't put my finger on why or when

Yes we have been drinking
and i may have mistaken something as profound in this pop song
reminiscing of the time i don't remember

But that's the feeling i strive for
Scraping up what's left on the plate. What's left of a memory?
Rehashing the best times in life,
Working and waiting patiently for paradise
To arrive, sober and unforgettable

Then you stop me
Without thinking say you don't understand
"This talk is crazy man"

It could be more than a dream

It could be the alcohol

- A. Gosney

PHILOSOPHY DOESN'T ALWAYS DO IT FOR ME

I looked up from the book wondering what I had just read. An intimidating paragraph about a supposedly important thinker called Wittgenstein; he wrote some books and was a class-mate of Hitler’s or something. It didn’t matter anyway, the assignment wasn’t due in for another week and my fluid prose and superlative essay technique would get me an A even if I had nothing of great import to write.

My concentration was broken momentarily as the tranquil segues of one Godspeed you! track into another were interrupted by the initial assault of Genghis Tron. I’d forgotten I was plugged in to my brand new technologically friendly aural transference device. Somewhat stunned, my gaze had drifted from the page only to gravitate (thanks Newton) towards the celestial bodies before me. Their exteriors glistened in the dull library’s select committee-approved lighting, only to be engulfed in fleshy, horizontally oriented curtains.

She blinked. I blinked. She smiled. I turned away. Attractive girls don’t dig philosophy majors. They want men who can bench press one-twenty and build a house. Well, design one anyway. Or at least tell you how it’s meant to stand up (this is why engineers aren’t as attractive as they might at first seem: they only appear to be able to do these things). I suppressed the thought and glanced at the clock, or at least would have had my roving eyes not strayed again. Several milliseconds too late I realised the pull of two larger objects had lured the gaze of my telescope. More embarrassed to have caught myself than to have been caught by another I flung myself back into Philosophical Investigations.

Attractive girls don’t appreciate staring. But why do they clothe themselves in such a way to encourage it? Maybe, under their disapproving moral scowl, they like the attention. I don’t think such issues are meant to be understood by mortal men. Or, at least, not by philosophers anyway. All of the best thinkers died alone, were gay, or at least suspect. Perhaps my heterosexuality explains my inability to produce striking original thought. Well, at least I can argue cogently, if not interestingly. Yet, maybe this explains my attraction to but successive failures with women: I am a philosopher at heart, but an engineer at loin.

The girl opposite coughed as she slid a thick book surreptitiously across the table between us. A paper tongue hung out of the pages of Foundations of Structural Engineering: A Beginner’s Guide. In handwriting that must have been an early prototype of Comic Sans was written “Your (sic) cute lol I think youd (sic) lyk (sic) my friend Preston lol”. Indignantly, I slammed my tome shut and left in what I consider to be my best “I’m a man’s man (but not that kind of man’s man)” walk.

Seriously, FML.