HOWLTEAROA...
Last night I went down to the Southern Cross for the last Howltearoa of '06. Despite having spent all day writhing about feeling wicked sick from overdoing it at the Poetry Studio the day before I managed to drag myself out of the house and actually ended up having a pretty good time. Apart from myself and the usual crowd of poets and spoken word performers, a duo calling themselves The Nuisance played some very rough, trippy and punkish acoustic blues. I dug their lyrics. I can't remember the name exactly, it was something like "Dr. Colcroft Is Always Right", but anyways, it was about the perils of the psychiatric industry and it was both true and extremely funny. Especially funny if you've ever been subjected to brain shrinkage or hopped up to the eyeballs on happy pills yourself.
The special guests of the night were the Karaoke Poets, who performed a multimedia show consisting of bits of popular songs interspersed with spoken word ranting on the subjects of fame, culture, commercialism and the spectacle of it all. The best bit had to be the video footage of some bloke in a dirty singlet waving a beer bottle about and shouting "All these bloody woofter poets writing about fuckin' flowers and being all clever. REAL POETRY IS A MAN'S ART!"
I suppose you had to be there.
Afterwards my mate Sam decided that we needed to get boozed 'cos he was heading down south the next day. And boozed we got in a succession of places. Then eventually I had to leave because I realised I hadn't eaten all day and was feeling somewhat worse for wear. So I topped off my night by being violently sick behind the fish shop. I had a really good time though, knocking back beers and discussing literature and the nature of various kinds of drunks commonly found in bars. Haven't known Sam for that long but he's a good bloke and I hope he does well for him self down Queenstown.
As of today I've started my silly season shopping. As usual I've got no idea and am beginning to fly into a panic like I do every year. But I'll get it sorted in time.
The special guests of the night were the Karaoke Poets, who performed a multimedia show consisting of bits of popular songs interspersed with spoken word ranting on the subjects of fame, culture, commercialism and the spectacle of it all. The best bit had to be the video footage of some bloke in a dirty singlet waving a beer bottle about and shouting "All these bloody woofter poets writing about fuckin' flowers and being all clever. REAL POETRY IS A MAN'S ART!"
I suppose you had to be there.
Afterwards my mate Sam decided that we needed to get boozed 'cos he was heading down south the next day. And boozed we got in a succession of places. Then eventually I had to leave because I realised I hadn't eaten all day and was feeling somewhat worse for wear. So I topped off my night by being violently sick behind the fish shop. I had a really good time though, knocking back beers and discussing literature and the nature of various kinds of drunks commonly found in bars. Haven't known Sam for that long but he's a good bloke and I hope he does well for him self down Queenstown.
As of today I've started my silly season shopping. As usual I've got no idea and am beginning to fly into a panic like I do every year. But I'll get it sorted in time.