a friend commented a few days ago that when you travel enough all places begin to seem the same and that money doesn’t feel like real money anymore.
with this sense of global village and the dimisinshed value of material goods the closet of personal relationships become increasingly important.
into saint kevins arcade down the stairs and into the…whammy!
the perfect dark and sleazy venue for the auckland band scene. through the door that seperates this from the wine cellar, you could hear the ghostly echo of the class-a fueled dance music left over from when both were part of nefarious club calibre.
on this my first venture into the unknown i was treated to the low slung hard rocking torch songs of mr slackjaw,a dose honest to goodness garage rock from los hories, and last but by no means least the good time theatrics of teen wolf.
note to self: must return.
it is in the spaces betweeen words that poetry happens.
the rhythm of the writer’s whole being is there for you to hear if you have the ears to listen, for a student of human behavior to be lucky enough to hear a reading from people who have earnt every word that they write, is akin to being a peeping tom happening across some open curtains of the house of an exhibitionist.
