October 31, 2005

A pirate, the help, and a mermaid

i had quite a sociable weekend. Unfortunately the birthday girl, due to a flying umbrella, had concussion and perhaps didn't enjoy the house full of people so much. With characteristic philanthropy I turned the music off at around 12 and screamed at everyone to get out when she shrunk off to bed, and then trying to salvage my rep feigned wanting to drag everyone in to town as the rationale for the unhospitable treatment. Was out till three and didn't enjoy it that much, too many skanky beautiful people in their halloween costumes grinding up against me in an oxygen starved ear-splitting bar. I need to be drunk enough to be able to abuse the bouncers to enjoy that kind of setting. Got out of clean up the next day though........

I have had a very productive day. I think in large part I was trying to escape thinking about Sharon at work too much. she is having her boob cut off tomorrow at 12:30. I stood with the rest of my team today as my manager broke the news and said they thought it was in her lymph nodes and thyroids, and with some kind of sick sense of superiority i looked around the room and wondered if any of them had had the same experience as me, to the extent I knew this meant she was pretty much fucked. She's not that old, and reminds me a tad of my stepmum.

Yes Kel, I rang the accommodation service and they have received your application, including the reference from Otumoetai. Fingers crossed.......

October 28, 2005


AND Ii'm completely cut to be honest. don't even know why i'm writing.

points of note:
watched jimmy and patch chat up anika moa and co tonight. quite funny

hate my job and decided i am too easily resigned to my fate as a general rule of my life.

laurie might be concussed so i just did a fully clothed version of Marilyn's happy birthday with a lei as a prop.

the boy has been in a pool with dean barker.

played pool and sharked lissa and a cleanly shaven russell.

that's all actually.

i'm going to take photos of this cruise ship party tomorrow night.

kakite ano.

October 26, 2005


I think I learnt rather late in the piece the integrity of the maxim - don't screw the crew. But I don't really regret the affair itself so much, as I do how glaringly obvious I was about how much I really liked him when it all fell apart, when we had 'mutually' agreed from outset that it wasn't going to lead anywhere. This was all sometime ago, and we don't keep in touch, but we have recently been bumping into each other regularly in town. (Rue that tiny Wellington CBD) The most recent crossing of paths I'd been all set to pretend i hadn't seen him and he, he crossed the road to talk to me, so feeling all benevolent and secure in the bliss of being newly attached, I suggested lunch. Mostly I think because it was awkward us both hovering there smiling sheepishly with precious little to say. But as I've already stated, I did quite like him. There was this euphoric connection between us for awhile that effectively severed the clammy cobwebs stringing me back to a train wrecked six year relationship. I guess I have that to thank him for.

So anyway, the lunch was today. Mid-morning I was thinking why the fuck. Even drafted the text saying I couldn't make it. And then thought - what the hell. I did feel like sushi and it was such a glorious day to break out of the office. And I'd had dinner the previous eve and breakfast with the boy (sorry James I mean, "the man").... So I got there a bit late and he's sitting all curly mopped and casual and I'm in black pants and jacket and the top I realised in retrospect that I'd worn the last night we were together. And after the initial greeting I go up to find the dish I get everytime I have California sushi, teriyaki chicken and cream cheese and cranberry, and out of the corner of my eye I see he's talking to another chick. And i think brilliant, he's brought his girlfriend. I'm trying to figure out how i'm going to casually drop the fact I have a boyfriend as I bowl on up to her and throw out my hand and introduce myself. She's all meek and mousy and flower childish, but cute. Anyway a wee way into the conversation it becomes clear they're at acupuncture school together but they don't know enough about each other to be an item. But i'm paranoid and convinced he's brought her along in the delusional belief that I'm going to throw myself at him and that pisses me off. Or amuses me. So through lunch i'm manically upbeat, dominating the conversation with a fluid stream of what this person is doing now and self-deprecating humour and my own unique blend of cutesy cynicism. He sits there spine bolt upright in his meditative, vegetative, I've been playing with too much Moxa kindof way. And I momentarily float back in time and think, why, why have I never ever been able to play hard to get. The clincher comes when I start to wind things up and he invites me to watch his band play at Bodega this weekend. Ugghh. I might have been a potential groupie recruit at one point young man (he actually is a few years younger, what can I say, I was rebounding), but not now.

I don't know why this was even worthy the entry to be honest. I think it concerns me, the imprint that these "relationships" can actually have on your emotional and sexual psyche. For instance, I am still struggling not to think of the current boy as 'Mark' (the six yearer). I have to consciously form the present boy's name sometimes, and it can sound forced and unnatural, no unnatural is too strong. It's like rolling a completely new flavour around in your mouth for the first time and it's too early to know how much you appreciate it. I suppose it's hardly surprising when i think that other than Mark, I haven't had a 'proper' boyfriend since I was 16, almost 10 years ago. I still dream about him sometimes. I think about him pretty regularly. Not with any angst or regret or wistfulness. But he's just there in the cerebral repositories, floating around in god knows how many memories tied up with a lot of significant events in my life. Jacob was a month old when we met. He came with mum and frank and jake to drop me off at Weir House. He was at my 21st. He moved me up to Auckland. He was at my admission to the Bar, though it was basically over then. He was at mum's funeral, good god I think he was a pall bearer. I've spent a quarter of my life with him.

But here I am now, in the present. And feeling myself sinking in a delicious kind of way in to a pit ripe and rich with the makings of even more dysfunction. I'm smiling as I write that.......

October 24, 2005

Oh no, not work tomorrow

It has been a long weekend here, and I have done precious little and it has been rather blissful in that sense. I like the boy a lot. A lot. But I think we ODed on each other a little over the weekend. We bbqued, slept in late, ate cooked breakfasts, watched dvds, finally dragged our lazy asses out for a walk along the eastern walkway yesterday where i got my first sunburn for the summer, strolled around the shops (finalised the glasses order). And it was nice. Really nice. But I was in his truck last night and like a weighty woollen blanket the realisation settled on me that we'd kindof flown solo the entire weekend, no socialising, no real new encounters or experiences, and the domesticity of it choked me up in an anaconda round my throat way. And then to cap it off, I met his 90 year old gran today. She's just gorgeous. She is all the stuff that little old gran's should be made of. Tiny with a cane and wispy white hair and adorable sneezes and a bandage on her forehead where she fell over and a way of talking that conveys a sense of a life at sunset. She was so sweet, and kept telling the boy how lucky he was. Unfortunately she has a touch of dementia, and the boy emphasised that I got lucky today with her mood.

I never wrote anything about the snow. We stole away from work early Friday and had lunch in the sun in Seatoun, and then meandered leisurely northwards. Stopped in Taihape at this cute little restaurant for tea, sat in 'the booth' which had an old wooden phone affixed to the wall above us. Arrived at Rimu Park Lodge in Ohakune at about 9, just in time to jump into the spa. Was me and 4 boys on the trip, and i was the only novice, but i got looked after very well. Had a private lesson for the first hour in the snow with him dragging me back up the hill by my poles, and that got me moving enough to join a class, and then I was off. And I mean off in the sense that I took a little girl out when I got the speed wobbles, and my signature breaking move involved a lot of snow up the back of my jacket, but I surprised myself with how much fun I had. Came down off the mountain in a euphoric state, suspended in the chairlift high above the mountain, which was just breathtakingly beautiful, the snow losing the battle to the changing seasons leaving the earth chocolatey barren and rocky below. It was bitterly cold, but I was warmly conscious of this figure sitting next to me that had really been incredibly sweet and patient and protective the entire day.

That night I sat around a table with five boys and we polished off a bottle of tequila. Then they carried on with the whiskey, but I had one and just couldn't cope. I vaguely remember dancing off in to the night arm in arm to this pub called the Powderkeg, having shots of something that cost 20 bucks for two of them, eating pizza (actually I can't really remember that but the boy assures me I did) drinking something else I don't know how to spell, Yeigermaster and red bull or something, having a dance, then later back at the lodge playing a game of chess with a Burmese boy that actually involved the other guys telling me what to do with my pieces, and one of them who I had only met that night calling me Punkin, so by the time the conversation drifted around to the subject of the women in our country who are in powerful roles not being real women, I was tequila-fired up enough to let loose some feminist tirade that probably wasn't all that coherent but was loud and solitary enough to get the boy a bit concerned and for some reason pissed off that his mates weren't behaving better. I woke up the next morning convinced I was going to hurl, but felt much better after a big breakfast. And by the time we went for a walk up to that waterfall that I posted pics of a bit further back I was feeling a box of birds and he was starting to drag his feet. He professes no great love for the outdoors much but it was his bloody idea to go on the walk.

Anyway, he zoned out on the trip back and I drove his truck most of the way, which is very similar to my stepdads except it's petrol run and a lot gruntier. We stopped at the beach at Raumati on the way home which was just gorgeous, and then had dinner back at my flat. Two weekends in a row in each others pockets. No wonder I'm a bit yikesy. Still, he's off to Fiji for 8 days this week, so that'll be downtime. And I'll probably end up missing him like mad stupid gurl...

October 21, 2005

You are Snoopy!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla
I thought I was being very brave and tried to post a photo of me, but i'm a stupid head and couldn't figure out how to download a photo the boy sent to me, so just copied and pasted from my gmail, and a very nice IT Security Manager notified me that I had in fact stuffed up. Guess it wasn't meant to be.

Anyway I got glasses today. I think I may have been slightly blind for a wee while. Actually I have six frames at home to choose from. I have asked Nisha at work, the Bears and I will ask the boy later. Wish I could get more opinions, but I'm a big girl, should start acting like one. A big NERDY girl.

I will only need them for driving and looking at things that are more than three metres away.

In other news I have another cold. I made another one of those apricot and coconut and choc chip cakes and gave a big chunk of it to the boy's mum. (what a slimeball). Went to his old school late last night and got totally freaked by how ostentatious it is. All brick work and ivy and paving and bling. We come from very very different backgrounds. Which is fine. He can have his travel and private education and family money, and I will have my street cred and independence and empathy for others.

Sometimes he says stuff that pisses me off.

I had a little cry tonight. Not much. But tears. Thinking about adult men and their relationship with their mums. Just guts me to think about what my mum and brother missed out on. And so while I was dabbling with the idea of not going home at Xmas, because we are having a delayed one for when chile sis gets back, I am now going to go book a flight. And I will spend the day walking around in the shadow of someone much smaller than me.

Peace out.

October 19, 2005

October 18, 2005

Crappy old bbq

I have cold beers in the fridge and a belly full of pan fried steak. And it has put me in a sorry mood. I think the problem is in the regulator, and I can't help but feel the cold lashings of remorse seeing how rusty it has got, it has shivered and quivered through the winter, and perhaps, perhaps I have left it to die. My poor, poor barbeque......
Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing the thinking,
or the thinking is doing me,

I feel breathless, weightless, without consequence
propelled forward upon a compelling stave
my pink feet glide beneath the dusky sky
full of carniverous cumuli
I am naked on an overpass
a concrete ribbon laced with cars
my world is driven senseless
with constructs of iron, steel and glass
there are murky recesses beneath the green
that switch and ripple and shy
I project my fears as a vomiting sheen
where hope and fire reside
the white robed moon in its ashphalt bower
dips in and out with pressing rhythm
and i watch the twilight blink cruelly out
a hurried word from him
I am seamless, timeless, relentless
propelled forward upon a compelling stave

Sometimes I tread a luxurious carpet of thoughts
with eyes anchored aloft

October 16, 2005

Kissing Winter goodbye

I've went skiing at Turoa the weekend gone. Well the boy skiied (how the devil do you spell that) and I slid around on my butt some. No, I was actually surprised how much I got into it under some very indulgent tutelage (I'd been a couple of times as a kid). Anyway, I intend to provide a more comprehensive synopsis, and maybe some more pics, but I'm so tired I've been seeing shadows and movements out of the corner of my eyes all evening, which is indicative of an over-tired, overactive imagination.

I like this photo. Makes me feel all marshmallowey inside....

October 09, 2005

The Count

Poet, polemicist, pagan, pretender to the throne of Poland and one of the great eccentrics of the 20th century. The book is Unquiet World. The recipient of this glittering intro and the subject of the memoir, is Count Geoffrey Potocki de Montalk – who is also my great grandfather.

Potocki was a controversial figure in New Zealand and English literature throughout his life. He was a poet of real, if minor talent and moved in the same circle as more renowned New Zealand poets R A K Mason and A R D Fairburn. Potocki himself earned notoriety in the 1930s when he was imprisoned for six months in an English gaol for publishing obscene works. The ensuing trial makes a compelling read, and I hope in recounting events to convey a sense of who Potocki was, and hopefully have a bit of a giggle in the process.

Potocki was born in Remuera in 1903. He had a rather tragic childhood, his mother died when he was 5 and when his father remarried Potocki inherited your classical wicked stepmother. But he was incredibly bright, excelled at school and as a young man dabbled in the professions of law, teaching and theology.

At age 21 Potocki married a nice girl Lillian, and soon after they had a daughter, Wanda, who is my paternal grandmother. Potocki’s unconventional leanings and his calling as a poet meant he had difficulty holding down a regular job and providing for his family. When my grandmother was 2 Potocki rather callously divorced Lillian, left the two of them unsupported and on the platform of his burgeoning literary career in New Zealand set sail for the Old World.

Potocki said of New Zealand at the time: page 95

“Poets are as badly treated in this land of white savages and All Blacks as they are feted and laurelled and crowned in Merrie England”

He would not return to New Zealand for over 50 years.

Potocki arrived in London in 1928 and split his time over the next few years between France and England, gaining recognition for his writing until he was being published widely. Perhaps if had not come to the attention of the English judicial system he would have achieved even greater success. But Potocki was a wee bit of a ladies man, and some of his more private writings on the themes of love and beauty and sex were – risqué for the time.

In 1931 he comprised a collection of what he termed “sexually frank verses” and approached a printer with the purpose of getting the poems set in linotype so Potocki could print copies for a select group of friends in the privacy of his own home. Unfortunately, the printer took a disliking to Potocki and turned the poems over to the police. Potocki was arrested and charged with uttering and publishing an obscene libel.

Here Lies John Penis

Here lies John Penis
Buried in the Mount of Venus
He died in tranquil faith
That having vanquished death
HE SHALL RISE up again
And in Joy’s Kingdom reign

Here lies a poet
Who never had a fuck:
Let’s hope in heaven
He’ll have much better luck!
N.B – He has since – Ed.

For…and his girl, on leaving them the key of my room.

Herewith the key to the heaven between her thighs –
Take it, and in its use be stern and wise.
May Eros leave his fiercest dart in her
And fill her cunt with burning oil and myrrh;
And, not to leave so sweet a thing forlorn,
Apollo give you a stiff splendid horn.
The place is lucky, since the poet’s bed
Is hallowed with a bleeding maidenhead.

Potocki’s characteristic flamboyance, stalwart contempt for authority and undying conviction in his own principles made for a compelling trial.

As a devout worshipper of the Sun God, Apollo, Potocki would pray twice daily to Apollo and other heathen gods at a small alter, chanting in Latin, burning incense and ringing a small brass bell. He also sunbathed nude throughout his life. Finding himself in Court, Potocki refused to swear an oath on the Bible, instead lifting his arm in a Roman salute he intoned a pagan oath. This immediately alienated the judge, a man who was as ‘ordinary, respectable and unimaginative as the Count was extraordinary, unconventional and poetic’.

Potocki had elected trial by jury, expecting the case to be thrown out without too much ado. But the judge intimidated the jury, belittled the defense counsel and on the literary value of Potocki’s poems remarked,

What was good enough for the time of Shakespeare is not good enough for us as we live on a higher moral plane.

With legal impropriety, the judge bullied the jury into a finding of guilty.

Potocki was unphased. When questioned as to what he considered an appropriate punishment, he responded, “to be sentenced to several years in Buckingham Palace”.

Instead he got 6 months in Wormwood Scrubs, one of Europe’s largest penal institutions.

There was outrage in the literary world regarding this unbridled censorship and attack on freedom of expression. An appeal was brought with support from literary giants of the time including W B Yeats, T S Eliot, H G Wells and Virginia Woolf.

However, counsel for Potocki did not bring the issue of the trial judge’s impropriety as a ground of the appeal and Potocki was forced to serve his entire sentence.

His time in prison cemented and radicalized Potocki’s views. He developed a deep hatred of the English, and was so incensed that for many years he would not speak, write or think in English. By the time of his death, in addition to French and Provencal, Potocki spoke, wrote and/or read Latin, Greek, Polish, Hungarian, Italian, German and Sanskrit.

Potocki sympathized with the Germans during the War, and became intolerant of Jews, Communists and Christians. After he emerged from prison Potocki began expressing claims to the throne of Poland. He developed an obsession with genealogy and published vociferously on the subject.

He was quoted as saying – page 31 “To try to pretend that heredity does not matter…is just plain ridiculous and hypocritical. It is so utterly ridiculous that it does not improve one’s opinion of the Human Race that such an idea can be raised at all. Nor is there the slightest truth in the two-faced assertion that man is in this respect different from the animals. You positively cannot get a great man out of sixty four quarterlings of dolts, nor a beautiful woman out of thirty hideous families”.

Although he pursued the throne in a light hearted way, obtaining a small silver crown, devising ceremonies in Latin and bestowing knighthoods, the basis of the claim was a serious matter for Potocki. While living in Poland he intricately traced his descent from the House of Piast, one of the great ruling dynasties of Poland. This was in stark denial of the fact that an elective system had been in place in Poland since the 1600s, which according to the Count had contributed to the destruction of the Polish State.

Potocki, who demanded to be addressed by his title, returned to New Zealand in the 1980s, by this time an old man. I don’t remember, but he visited the kiwifruit orchard where I grew up, with the long flowing hair he had had his whole life and wearing the medieval robes he took to wearing after his release from prison. My parents were referred to as ‘peasants tilling the land’, Potocki no doubt taking umbrage that this was what his descendants had been reduced to.

I admit, should I be introduced to the Count today (he died in 1997) I would object to much of his politics, find his garb strange and undoubtedly classify him as eccentric. But there was something so alluring in how completely him he was, his wit, his colour, his talent and downright audacity inspired me and won my admiration. And while writing this, I admit to picking up pen and paper and writing for another purpose. And perhaps that…..is genealogy.

In that narrow space beyond which
Superficiality resides,
Rouged lips and burnished eyes
Unstill hands and hearts aside

On a moon spilt beach Winter's icy breath is hushed
(How strange the elements themselves conspired)
To enflame and invigor
An imagination shrunk tired

Though perfection is a transient dream
It is awakening reality that inspires
Hope in the shape of an eyelashed freckle
And an impish gleam so long before denied

What does it mean? Where will it lead?
The deep thinker dramatically sighed
Bemused and bewitched by each sunrise for its own worth
Carpe diem, he winkedly replied.

October 06, 2005


If a man does not keep pace with his companions perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music which he hears, however measured or far away.

October 05, 2005

Don't work too hard

I should be writing about my infamous great grandfather instead of being distracted by bloggery. Daylight savings was last weekend, and for some reason it's tired me out a tad. Or perhaps it was the mad scramble to get my papers finished today. Or perhaps it is having a foreign entity in my space the last few nights. Apparently I snore. I find it hard to believe that suddenly at the age of 25 I have taken on the habit of snoring.

Louby is always sending me email forwards at work, and notwithstanding the fact I love her to bits, I am indiscriminate in my instant deletion of forwards. Usually because they say some bullshit like if you don't forward this on to 37 different people in the next 60 seconds you will be struck down by lightning before your next birthday. But the reference to NY city caught my eye (I'm completely enamoured with the idea of being there. There and Southern Italy and Vietnam and Japan.) So I read this and was suitably repulsed. Ugghhh.

The gym instructor with the bandanas and the six pack came and adjusted me while we were doing abs tonight (that one where you are parallel to the floor balancing on your clenched fists and feet like a bridge). I got a flirtatious little twin tweak on the ass at the end of the adjustment which makes me suspect my standing right up at the front staring at her in awe has been rewarded. Oh, i'm just fucking around. It's my blog, I can if I want.

Tiny hint of trouble in paradise the other night, as a result of aforesaid foreign entity imposed in my space for a sustained period I think between certain hours that were just not etiquette. Unfortunately me throwing my toys ever so gently resulted in flowers and chocolate, and him making an effort to bond with the flatmates. One of the flatmates suggested this was not a good learning experience for me.....

October 02, 2005

Freak a deek it's October

Maybe i've got the spelling wrong Mark?

I worked my last Saturday yesterday. The weather is getting too nice. Daylight savings kicked in last night and I plan on celebrating by breaking open the barbie tomorrow night and seeing if it's rusted away over the Winter. Mmmm, bbq.

What a deliciously lazy ass Sunday. Woke up in a very satisfying position, had breakfast cooked for me which we ate al fresco while gazing out over Wellington Harbour. Went to the vege market just in time for the stalls to be packing up and to buy some of the least limpy looking produce. Read some Austen and woke up an hour later to my cell ringing and a pool of drool on my pillow. Baked a cake which in true pixie baking styles failed to rise but still tasted delicious.

I've decided I want to do my next speech on the suicide bombers. Another bali bombing. Why bali? I hope the essay I did in my Religious Studies paper is still on the disk I have.

Nana nap in the afternoon and I'm still pooped. And bizarrely, I'm looking forward to work tomorrow....