Monday, February 7, 2011

Golden Bay Boy -7/2/2011


Hello, is thing on?

Ok. Where are we?
If my calculations are correct by the time you read this I will have typed it sometime in the past, in a year before broadband was invented.
I've travelled back in time to tell you and warn myself where it all went wrong,
though I'm not actually sure,
because in the process of trying to warn I've killed myself before I could invent time travel.
Or my grandfather did.
Or before I could invent my grandfather.
But either way, I got here here late and so is he.
Damn it.

Anyway from temoral paradox to temperate paradise... I'm in Golden Bay, up to my neck in it, joined to it at the hip and stuck to it like adhesive Randall (that's brand-randall) or those weird hook things on cat's tongues.

Sleeping in a rental car by the beach and trying to convince Anne to give me a gig at the Mussell Inn, only problem is her name's not Anne but Jane ans while she was too polite to remind me of that, she wasn't too polite to point out that I am not actually a trio of good looking scandanavian girls who play killer strings.
I forgot that.
But my memory problems aside, she is gonna try and squeeze me in, I just have to stick around her a while. Tough break.

Never just turned up somewhere and asked for a gig before.
But there's nothing to it really, I just had to spend an hour having coffee with her to talk enough distance between myself and every other poet she'd ever met by ragging on most every poet I've ever met (nono y'see, I wasn't responsible for the entertainment massgraves left in poetry's wake, I was one of the good Nazis who never saw anything or asked questions, your honour)

Meanwhile, internet steals my time and money.

If I don't make it back, you call in the airstrike.
My name is Randall $tephens and I got here as soon as I could.


Ok, in other news, yeah yeah I have gigs coming up, Wanaka 14th, Lyttleton 15th, and maybe Dunedin 16/17th. Before my extended-revenge bout with Auckland begins. Will advise when I'm not paying by the nostril for net time.


What? Oh you still want a poem eh? Ok, you want a poem~


There. There's a poem. My favourite poem.



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