Friday, July 21, 2017

Is she really going out with him?


Dogs and Cats, some philosophy and handy hints.


Dogs exist because for thousands of years humans, recognising individually they are incapable of giving unconditional love, and less capable of digesting it, settled for second best.


Cats have been Gods for humans much longer than Jesus has.


Handy Hint;

Your Dog is a pack animal. that sideways glance it gives you while shitting isn't some existential anal catholic residue. If you could face the opposite way and literally, watch its back, then that would be great and that's what it's checking on.


Handy Hint.

If wishing to properly introduce yourself to a cat take scent from under your arm on your fingers and present it. It saves time. Also Cats love earwax.

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Ta Wit a Woo


 Copenhagen   

I had performed 8 shows in a day, I felt hard working and rewarded myself by catching a taxi to my good friend Chris's place.
He was having a housewarming and I decided I would go in a moderating
capacity, knowing full well that everyone else there was going to get
shitfaced.
There were about ten people there when I arrived, there was a table stacked with delicious home made food, everyone else had eaten.
They were sitting in a roundish arrangement talking in groups of 3 or 4.
There were two cases of beer, a litre of 20 year old rum, a large bottle of
blue label vodka, couple of bottles of wine, a tiny bottle of orange juice
and five grams of assorted hash and buds.

I was tired, I was going to take it easy, just a beer and listen to the
chat. I felt together.

Messy old mescal followed by vodka, in dispersed with joints strong enough to simulate a direct meteor hit.
I started to  loosen up, my earlier tiredness and resolve dissolved. 
I opened my mouth and 40 minutes of verbiage emerged.
Storys of nighttime mescal raids, of snowstorms striking tree bound, speed
storys, love storys, philosophic musings, enthusiastic sports quotes.

There was English Chris whose new flat it was, there was American Chris who cooked and prepared the food, salads,curried chicken,lots of guacamole--mashed avocado stuff and beans of sorts. 
Skipper Dave and his Danish main squeeze, a Welsh guy whose name escapes me and his reluctant brooding girlfriend, Nathan, Rick and a carpenter called Danny who had a swollen face from a tooth and his girlfriend and two English friends who no-one else knew who had arrived that day and were staying.

Nathan spearheaded the latter evening. In energy, stamina and in total intake Nathan took the party fearlessly into his own uncharted waters. His curiosity, his capacity to overindulge while remaining conscious, his going where few others would want to, standing, lashed to the wheel of a storm dashed large sailboat  mid ocean, enjoying every moment. That was Nathans condition.

Multiple repetitions "yeah pass it here--you know tequila’s my very favorite drink."
Reaching for the bottle and the thimble like plastic cup.
At one point he talked for an hour, his arms waving, his hands flicking.
Hyper manic happiness and you knew it was real.

Taking time out he rolled everyone a large joint then stood on the spot waving his arms about slowly.
This enthralled us until he fell bumfirst into a green plastic beer crate.
He tried so hard and for so long to extract himself from that crate that we feared for his and our sanity. 
In despair he fell sideways and found that in that position he could simply push the crate away from him.
To us all this was a great victory.
Nathan spent the next  hour standing up, falling the length of the room then getting up  again.

Two am. Half of us remain ,English Chris wisely decides to make coffee,
Nathan with difficulty could hold his cup, but bringing it up  anywhere near his head or specifically near his mouth was impossible.
Chris took his cup and placed it on top of the fridge.
Nathan devised his own dilemma- he could steady himself by hugging the fridge and tilt his mouth towards the cup on the edge. But to tip the cup with the same arm needed to hug the fridge proved after many attempts to be futile, the dramatic ending being an incomphending Nathan lying in a pile of bottles covered in coffee front and back- waving an empty coffee cup.

There were five people hanging off furniture or lying on the wooden floor in the morning.
After waking and coffee and mild investigation it was worked out that the latter part of the party must have taken place in a collective blackout.
Some lost their memories earlier and others could fill them in but no-one could remember going to sleep or anyone else going to sleep.
What did we say to each other, who were we?
 A room full of celebrating people who had literally forgotten who they were.
Three cheers for the brainstem.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

Friday, May 19, 2017

Facebook musings

 Facebooks gift/curse is it fluffs by algorhythms everyones self identity
 and makes them unauthentic
 which is a minute to minute choice for an existentialist,
 but gives a constant intermittant reward by virtue of considered commercial walled gardens as represented cynically and digitally, and falsely, as their 'friends'. As such we in some ways are straying from the enlightenment and being driven into a world more Plato's shadows in the cave.


Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The Ansac Attitude.

Here's a funny and true story that illustrates the laconic nature of NZ'rs as told to me by my parents last weekend.
After WW2 in 1947 Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery who was at that time Commander-in-Chief of the British Forces visited NZ to inspect the troops and reunite with the former Commander of the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force Lieutenant General Sir Bernard Freyberg .
He mentioned to General Freyberg that he'd noticed that NZ troops rarely saluted when passing higher ranking officers.
General Freyberg agreed that this was indeed the case but did add that in his experience if you smiled at lesser ranking NZ soldiers they would often wave at you.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Mandatory background attitude for certain stilt clowns.

He actually suffered this Lenney Bruce moment when the American media lambasted him for their own blindness to irony..


The saddest circus song ever sung


Comedy as team leading pioneer.

Some background.
NZ used to have a stable population of 3 million while I was growing up, now it's 4+, very small in the scheme of things and we knew it. We work so hard to keep up we often excel once we hit the international market.
That said however NZ Rugby is the most successful international sporting franchise on the planet. There are home grounds in some of our cities where no international visiting teams have beaten us in over 50 years We have won 426 of our 552 test matches – 77.17%, and have lost at home only 37 times in 114 years.Since our international debut in 1903, we have lost to only six of the 19 nations we have played in test matches.
We are the accepted world standard in a cheerfully violent game that celebrates respect, for officials and the opposition [afterwards].and between themselves, fans. ....[after Japan, a rugby minnow bet South Africa, a rugby titan in an upset world cup qualifier the South African fans formed lines of honour at the tube stations and let the Japanese fans in first]
I use 'we' and 'our' deliberately. I played rugby from 6 to about 13 which was bog standard in my time but that still made you part of it and rather than discovering nuclear bombs and blowing shit up our little country picked one battle and won it comprehensively over a century which is more than anyone else has done. I gather its less fashionable now but there's an ethos that"s part of NZ's profound identity. We play at war and we're inarguably the best at it. We beat Russian and American rugby teams like red headed step children who owe us money and given our collective levelheadedness it's only a matter of time before the world concedes us the right to run the planet. But that;s just the fan in me.

This is the most NZ conversation between an interviewer and the down to earth coach who's team have won the world cup an unprecedented 2 times in a row. Again for context more people watch this final than the Superbowl.
This is what a leader of men sounds like. Wry and self effacing while his team has a 92% win rate. And with a seemingly instinctive comic knowledge of the call back, Or maybe too much credit, maybe editing.


Wednesday, April 19, 2017

My Home Town.. Lyttelton....A secret weapon for true disaster resilience

All my street shows were attempts to get to, initially, a theoretical transcendental state.

All my street shows were attempts to get to, initially, a theoretical transcendental state. 

Because, again initially, when looking at life choices I decided rather than being a policeman or fireman or glassblower that I would most like to be in a group of people laughing.
 As often as possible. I wouldn't 9 to 5 that gift of a job.

 I had been depressed since I was 4 or 5 and went to Clown school because modern medicine felt very parental to me and I was happier self medicating.
Any solo improvising comic will tell you you sell your bubble
[The you laugh-I'm funny bubble]
then reward the trust with a journey,
over decades it's a mutual journey
that only you remember.


The Dead South - In Hell I'll Be In Good Company Bluegrass ditty...

Tuesday, April 18, 2017

Prayer, experiment two.

Ok prayed again for the second time today and it's not good news.
Apparently this whole thing's a minor experiment, you give something consciousness and abundance and the ability to love, and wait.
 If it starts to curdle God throws a big rock into the mix as a reset.
 Sooner or later Gods going to have a species worthy of divine domestication.

 At present we're not house-trainable. You can't train something not to shit inside when it's tendency is to shit on its fellows.


Prayer, experiment one

I saw a bumper sticker on a raised truck today that said " Be Humble....Pray." 
So I thought I'd give it a shot .
 
I internally manifest an entity that created our entire universe and is aware of every thought and action within conservatively a 13.7 billion light year radius and then I talked to that dude personally.
 I would have thought it more humble if I didn't bother god with my internal diary but I gave it a shot. God replied and told me the truck owner was a bit of an overcompensating dick. Or that might have been me.

Monday, March 27, 2017

Quentin Crisp

Quentin Crisp was a very early conceptual street performer whose 'act' was the definition of an anti-act in that he was entirely himself, the first British publicly effeminate gay man. His 'show' was trying to live a normal life walking from place to place and public transport etc while being constantly mobbed and abused. His 'character' was the truest politeness during more than a decade of public abuse. I think he qualifies as a street performer who made the big time.

Monday, March 20, 2017

one sixth of a three act play...

...Curtains open, the stage is bare except for a secured pole with a chair propped against it facing the audience, the lighting tone is dim.

Two Clowns enter from stage right with Lurk prone on a plank between them.
[this is a sneaky Antony Livingspace homage]

These two Clowns are minions and have a vague corporate whiff about their costume.

Their transport of Lurk is measured, sardonically dignified however as the front Clown gets to the pole the back Clown stumbles and Lurks legs fall and his body follows mitigated by the front Clown who deposits  the body gently at his end next to the pole and at a 45 degree angle to it.

The back Clown runs in circles hysterically as head Clown chills and calms him/her down.
Shimmiesd up the pole, takes the top off a test tube and blows a cloud of powder into a spot-lit space above Lurk before sliding down quickly and both Clowns leaving as the focus is left on the descending powder that eventually arrives and awakens the Clown..

Lurk stirs, pulls himself up onto the chair, then casually crosses legs, then elevates and investigates the pole playfully.audience unacknowledged, everything internal….

word up

Keep your eye on the bread because the circuses have now been taken out of the equation.

Sunday, March 19, 2017

You can't kill clown

So the largest superpower on the planet who spends 3 times as much as the nex 7t highest on weapons of war is so scared of 'the other' that it guts it's national arts funding because killing people and stealing their shit is the only performance art that's ever mattered.

Dean Butler-Opening Line

Dean Butler was a young NZ comedian many years ago and he was a demented prop comic pre carrot top, pre Livingspace [who is far far more than a prop comic but there are elements and this was about 85.
He had the best opening line.
He had a suitcase which he dumped on a table and opened and starting grabbing stuff, looking at it and throwing it back in, rubber chicken, alarm clock, slinky,
then he pulled out a dagger in one hand and a teddy bear in the other and shrugged and stabbed the teddy bear in the stomach.
Blood gushed out and with a look of amazement he delivered his opening line.
"They DO bleed."

bus-stop Question

If the byproduct of your civilization is reducing the planet to a bruised and bleeding and possibly terminally injured domestic servant like some sort of mindless virus or delusionally inbred 19th century colonionalist living in 2017 ( ha, the definition of Israel). Then what is art but a useful excretion and deflection and distraction?

mmmmmm?