Monthly Archives: May 2014

Tim Walker’s Tarnished Copper

It seems counterproductive that New Zealand’s authority figures are bound by law to treat offending dick-wads with a similar level of courtesy they’re expected to show their grandmothers at Sunday brunch.

Breach of human rights; police brutality; inhumane practices; mistreatment of suspect; excessive use of police dog; abuse of authority; abuse of power; abuse of weapons; abuse of douche-bag-who-thinks-it’s-his-God-given-right-to-desecrate-another-person’s-property-because-that’s-how-the-streets-raised-him-and-he-doesn’t-know-any-better…

These are terms that idiots who know they’re in the wrong but feel that with just the right amount of idiot self-righteousness they can still make it out on top, like to spout with idiot tones of undeserved entitlement and unwarranted grandiose in an idiot effort to mitigate the idiot consequences of their idiotic actions.

Truth is, if I were a police officer tasked with the apprehension of a pack of illiterate, ill-mannered reprobates with no greater desire in their feeble lives than to make nuisances of themselves by showing irreverence and belligerence towards anyone who tries to direct them down a path with even the slightest semblance of meaning, I would not hesitate to beat the shit out of them.

Yet NZ police officers don’t do that. NZ police officers exhibit restraint. NZ police officers show discipline. NZ police officers, beholden to act according to an ill-conceived, restricting and largely ridiculous list of regulations, do their very best to uphold our law.

Here’s the thing about that. The average law-breaking shit-head has no rules or regulations to hold them back, it’s only the poor sucker trying to reinstate order who does. Yet even after everything, even after the offender has done his darnedest to evade capture, even after he has lead a team of officers on a five kilometre jaunt across town, even after he has been finally dragged down, even after he has managed to break the nose of the apprehending officer, even after writhing and thrashing his way to freedom for a second time, even after requiring ten men to once more pin him down, even after scratching skin from every face within reach; even then, if the police so much as contuse this piece of shit, it is within the offender’s rights to complain to a higher authority, to have the situation reviewed, to cause a spectacular uproar within the media, also among the public and subsequently the entire bloody police force; then the real shit of it, it is totally within the rights of the accused, if they feel hard done by, if they feel as though their offending has resulted in anything less than their complete bloody gain, to do whatever they can do to precipitate the loss of rank or position of any one of these upstanding figures.

Hardly seems fair does it?

Take a West Auckland street party – that is, a party which began indoors but due to excess numbers on account of someone’s invitation contracting a virus, was unable to be contained by four walls. Obviously neighbours are unsettled. In fact to many, these are the two most unsettling words in the New Zealand vocabulary: alcohol, youths. Therefore police are called. Of course the aforementioned rapscallions maintain that everything was always under control; the police will maintain a decidedly different perspective. The rapscallions claim that everything was fine until the fuzz stepped in hoping to stem the torrent of vomit; the police will be proceeding with the understanding that if they don’t control the current level of revelry, it will soon become uncontrollable. The rapscallions reckon that in the process of controlling the situation police mistreated them and in doing so, stripped them of their basic human rights…

Police will have been doing their best to act according to law, or as much as one can do while being chastised, berated, castigated, excoriated, expectorated and fustigated – yet a week later their actions are under investigation.

Funny how no one ever feels the need to investigate the actions of a dick-headed rabble of drunken youths.

Like anyone I have had my problems with police. It could even be asserted that I don’t much care for their presence. That said, even I can appreciate the magnitude of shit these people endure – shit they endure for people like you and me.

Given all that, I reckon they do alright.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Clancy Wiggum

Photography by Eddie N Lew



Tim Walker’s Bucket List

Why wait until death is just around the corner before embarking on all the cool stuff you’ve always wanted to do?

Why not do it now?

I mean, why wouldn’t you carry out your so called ‘bucket list’ while you’re still able-bodied and healthy, while you can still appreciate the greatness of the feat for years to come; while the people you hope to include in this activity are still alive and able to appreciate the greatness of it also?

April 2007 I underwent the death of my dearest friend.

Although I was devastated by a gargantuan sense of loss – for me but especially for his family – that was almost mitigated by the fact that I knew he regretted nothing. This man had lived his life according to a resounding cliché – as if each day were his last. Similarly, I felt no regret on his behalf – him and I had shared countless great moments and never held anything back from one another – if it needed saying it was said, if it needed doing it was done and done properly.

The point here is that in the days following this great man’s death, there was one line which was uttered with such frequency that it reverberated inside my skull for weeks to come: “Oh, there was so much I wanted to tell him…”

On hearing this mawkishly hackneyed quote for what must have been the 32nd time in just a couple of days, honestly, I felt I was going to explode. It was all I could do to stop myself from confronting the speaker, gripping them by their quivering shoulders, shaking them by their forlorn bodies, slapping them across their woeful faces and screaming into their bloodshot eyes, “Well why the bloody hell did you wait?!”

Given that outbursts of this nature are not considered proper funeral decorum, I was forced to bite my tongue.

The point remains: why do we wait until it’s too late?



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Rip Deano

Photography by Dean Jared Carroll

Tim Walker’s Storm Warning

How many times in the last ten years have you heard weather forecasters predict wind/rain/hail/snow of a destructive nature, only to have the impending storm fizzle long before it even reaches the New Zealand coast?

So did you ever wonder why they’re so cautious? Did it ever bother you to find yourself preparing for the worst when that elusive negative so rarely seemed to befall you?

What do you reckon about the alternative though? If you’d been warned, sure, you might be prepared; if you hadn’t, this so called destructive weather would catch you unaware. Then what would you do?

You’d likely complain your entitled little arse off, wouldn’t you? You deserve to know about severe weather in advance, don’t you? You work hard, you pay your taxes; it is therefore the duty of television meteorologists to inform you of considerably bad weather at least three days before it occurs.

Here’s the reality guys. Earth’s weather is fickle. Much as we like to think we can predict its cycles, patterns and so forth, ultimately it does as it pleases. Honestly, I wouldn’t trust an ‘extended weather forecast’ past day two – hell, even that’s pushing it. Yet for some reason the public expect to have knowledge of significant changes in weather days, even weeks before they eventuate. In fact, it seems that most people expect warning of just about every undesirable event occurring in their day to day lives: weather; terrorism; earthquakes…

Poor old Ken Ring. He was only trying to help out with his predictions of when and where earthquakes were most likely to take place, and his reasoning was sound – on the full moon tides are higher; higher water volume exerts extra weight; extra weight on tectonic plates can cause them to shift; therefore shifting; thus moving; so shaking and hence, quaking.

The poor bugger was accused of ‘scaremongering’. He offered the people likelihood, yet was heard to be saying: “The next earthquake will almost certainly strike on…”

Here’s the issue with Ring’s ‘helpful’ projections. The majority of us don’t like to deal in ‘maybes’, ‘perhapses’ or ‘possiblies’. Oh no. Our current batch of highly strung, self-righteous and generally pompous 21st centurions will be satisfied with nothing less than ‘definitelies’, ‘certainlies’ and to a lesser extent, ‘probablies’.

On that note, here’s the issue with establishing a life of absolution: Life is Uncertain.  Ostensible authority figures can spend all day promising you all manner of reassurance but at the end of that day, it’s all largely shit.

Shit happens. Get used to it.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Kharma Stacey

Photography by Quay King

Tim Walker’s Sporting Racism

Now I look at it, that heading is a little misleading.

Let’s be clear. I do not, nor have I ever, sported any amount of racism. That said, the issue of racism within sport is currently and has always been a big one. Appears to be biggest at the moment in the US; specifically, with redneck basketball team owners being overheard uttering things that nobody should ever hear.

Take a look at the UK though. Racism has always been a feature within FIFA, they’re just so inured to it that nobody bothers feeling aggrieved anymore – although if one is seeking true racism in sport, one must go southward.

South Africa is considered by many to be the home of sporting racism. Idealists like to talk about ‘pre and post apartheid South Africa’ as if such an agreement makes any bloody difference to the bigots and xenophobes of the nation…

Perhaps someone should ask a few Maoris about the sanctity of agreements with White men.

Realistically, while sporting racism is and for a long time has been all around us, given that it usually takes the less damaging verbal form, most level headed sportspeople don’t find it too difficult to ignore. Of course when these aforementioned slurs take place in the public arena, seemingly, it becomes that much more damaging.

It’s not even that the public is more sensitive to racism than the world’s sports stars, it’s just the instant the public become involved in such a potentially uproarious situation of which details are globally disseminated in a matter of mouse clicks, those people in high places seem to think less about the actuality of words spoken – about how words are only words and how they hurt significantly less than a stiff jab in the ribs – and are now thinking about ‘how this purported string of words might be construed possibly in a worst case scenario maybe by someone who just happens to give a damn..?’.

Honestly, people, are we so bloody precious that we allow our lives to be thrown into veritable disarray by a collection of nouns and adjectives?

On that note, what about the recent brouhaha caused by Top Gear big man, Jeremy Clarkson? What an absolute bloody crock. The man mumbled a famous rhyme which just happened to include that detestable N word – not that anyone could hear it, they just knew it was there because they knew the rhyme. Honestly, I can’t see it being any worse than thinking the word. The N word. The same one you’re all thinking right now. That same word that Black folk use freely and even affectionately but which they can, because they’re Black folk, so other Black folk know there’s no malice behind it…

That right there, that’s the point. Surely, in order to exhibit racism per se, one must actually feel prejudice; yet as a result of mindlessly quoting a renowned rhyme, Mr Clarkson has been dubbed King of Bigotry.

I think he was later seen chewing up and spitting out some Black Boy peaches, too.

I have to wonder though, are these ‘Black Communities’ genuinely offended, or have they merely taken the opportunity to play their race card by capitalising on an ignoramus’s gaffe?

To reiterate, I am not a racist person. People who commit so called race crimes by harassing minority groups primarily because they are minorities, in my opinion, deserve to be hung by their balls from a streetlamp in K Road.

Even so, words are words. If sticks and stones are still breaking your bones, you should probably harden up and eat more calcium. Besides, racism goes both ways. I have been the subject of Black riling on account of my inherent Whiteness – I bit my tongue and walked away.

It’s not that bloody hard.



Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ray Schism

Photography by Trav S Tay