What is so lacking in humanity among New Zealand families that we have groups of children running wild in city streets; terrorising, burglarising, traumatising and pulverising local business owners?

Is the above phenomenon still just an audacious ploy for teenagers seeking the rush of wrongdoing, along with maybe a few packs of cigarettes and a couple of extra dollars in their pockets?

Is it also a fact that the aforementioned criminal act bears ramifications so very miniscule that when caught, the punishment faced by these young perpetrators is still likely to be outweighed by the meagre gains from the undertaking of this offence?

So when did New Zealand parents decide that this generation of millennial child ought to be brought up as the most disrespectful, impudent, apathetic, insensitive, discourteous, impolite, unhappy, incorrigible, unethical, insolent, uncontrollable, impertinent, undisciplined, intolerable, essentially the most recalcitrant generation to date?

Oh I’m sorry, had you not decided that?

Then why have you allowed it to be so?

Why, as the parents of these reprobates, have you neglected your most basic of parenting duties, thereby enabling your offspring to become the most loathsome, the most vulgar, the most reviled and abhorrent of juvenile thugs?

Why have you allowed your beautiful progeny to mix with a grotesque clique of cretinous dropkicks, to engage in the most despicable of crimes and often to demonstrate a level of brutality that would cause even the soulless facade of a psychopath to cringe?

If your answer is along the lines of – ‘Oh but I had no idea raising kids would be so much work…’, ‘It’s not my fault, it’s society…’, ‘Yes but with outside influences today I just can’t control them anymore…’, ‘It’s not my fault, it’s the Internet’, or the classic, ‘Bringing up kids wasn’t supposed to be this hard…’ – then why the bloody hell did you have children at all?

Can you not see that there are so many parents in New Zealand today who, like you, are totally unequipped to deal with the rigours, the unspoken and unsigned but certainly the implied contracts into which two people enter on the mere conception of a child?

Does it not bother you that this generation of youthful thugs which you and others like you are breeding, is leaving a permanent smirch, an immovable tarnish on the once peaceful, also progressively multicultural, landscape that is New Zealand?

Do you not find this inhumane treatment of – particularly Indian – dairy owners, at the hands of your children, unforgivable?

Do you not agree that to beat and to break a man beyond recognition then to leave him to die on the floor of his own shop – often after he has migrated to New Zealand seeking a better life for his family and where he has then been working long, arduous hours just to turn sufficient profit so that his children can experience the bountiful liberties offered by a first-world education system – is utterly reprehensible, unconscionable, and just a little ironic?

Do you agree furthermore that the sentences passed down by courtroom judges to minors in these cases, are so Goddamned feeble that they border on laughable?

Can’t you see that when your children attack a hardworking Indian dairy owner and leave him incapacitated, how he then – probably for the first time since bringing his family to New Zealand – must apply for workers’ compensation thus go from playing a vital role in our workforce, where his business will have been paying the taxes from which – either through DPB or basic dole payments – after an adolescence spent avoiding school your children likely plan to benefit, to being Government funded himself meaning that the actions of your children now become damaging to the dairy owner, to New Zealand society, and to themselves?

Do you understand though that because there is such little deterrent – in fact there is almost encouragement – for minors to commit this variety of crime, it’s your children who are being convinced to do it given that the repercussions, upon these minors’ inevitable indictment, are so very inconsequential?

Do you think that we, as New Zealand citizens, should be forced to endure your children’s continued spate of deplorable behaviour just because you, as parents, are so abjectly failing in your duties?

Do you think that’s fair?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ria Kelsey Trunt

Photography by Joo V Nihal

 

 

 

 

I am jolted awake. This has been happening a lot of late.

I lie there in bed. My eyes are squeezed shut. I am contemplating; I am anticipating.

My body has tensed. Every limb, each muscle has become leaden. I daren’t move for fear of missing the next shake.

A film of perspiration has formed on my skin. The sheets are clinging to my body; it feels disgusting yet I refuse to move. I think I can feel a continuous rumble coursing through my body. I’m not sure.

Is it my imagination or is the bed quivering slightly?

Still with eyes closed I listen. I listen for the telltale audio of wall-hangings vibrating against plasterboard.

There is no sound.

Tentatively I shift my head on the pillow. The sound in my ear is deafening; smooth linen against two days’ of stubble.

My bedroom is deathly quiet, although I swear the bed is trembling beneath me.

I remember the first shake. I think about the jolt that so abruptly tore me from my sleep. I go back, recollecting step by step. From the recovery-position on my left side, still tensed, motionless as I have been for what is ostensibly the last two hours but is probably more like twenty or thirty seconds, I think back.

I remember.

I recall seeing the explosion of white light in my subconscious as the fragile bliss of slumber was shattered. I recall my top leg being jerked upwards and outwards by the sudden tremor. I then recall the barely discernible rustle as my bedclothes resettled over me. I clearly remember the shock of the event; similar to the 9000 volts of a cattle fence, I recall the momentary terror of my heart being gripped, clamped then squeezed as if inside a vice. I recall the heat too, like ducking into a hot car on an icy morning I recall the rapid shift in body temperature, the way the uncomfortable heat seemed to engulf me, the way my flesh seared from the panic that is total confusion.

I think then about the movement; I recall the way the bed seemed to be vibrating under my left shoulder, but how it never came to anything more than that. Had there been other tremors, I wondered, other movement that I hadn’t felt? I recall lying there in wait, vigilant, almost in expectation of another, even more sizeable jolt. I recall the foreboding, the fear, the dread that had gripped me; the initial jolt had been so large, so how big would the subsequent tremors be? I recall, moments later, thinking it odd that there had still been only the one, but then, perhaps there had been others. Maybe there had been earlier rumbles but I had simply slept through them..? No, surely not. For a sleeper as light as me that was an unnerving thought.

I remember then how as I became less tense the movement appeared to stop. Or was it the other way around? I remember further my mother’s recently imparted wisdom on restless leg syndrome and how it is due largely to a magnesium deficiency. I remember her additional homily on mineral supplements and how, given my high level of physical exertion, I should be particularly careful to never run out.

Unmoving once more and now from the central comfort afforded by a king-sized bed, I think about my empty magnesium bottle; through a sleep-addled mind I curse my absentmindedness in forgetting to buy more last time I was in town.

Last thing I remember contemplating is the decision to wash my sheets in the morning.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Minnie Rahl

Photography by D Fisher-Ancy

 

It’s a polarising query: is New Zealand’s fresh water resource genuinely depleted, or is it still as abundant as many believe it to be?

One need only to be present on the West of the South to witness the monumental waste of water that takes place there during a Canterbury Plains nor’ wester; millions of litres of clean, fresh, drinkable rainwater drench the Coast and its nearby hillsides, only to then succumb to gravity’s compelling dictatorship, resulting in the overfilling of rivers and the swelling of streams, the swamping, breaching, the inundation of otherwise subdued waterways, before those millions of litres of fresh, clean and very drinkable water, in a race largely uncontested, are lost to the ocean, never again to be seen in desalinated form…

Auckland Super City’s most recent crisis (all other Auckland crises notwithstanding) is regarding a shortage of clean water, after the largest rainfall in decades overwhelmed the city’s filtration system, overflowing and blocking it with mud and silt deposits, thus precluding Auckland’s ability to generate the usual quantity of potable water for its many humble residents.

…Surrounding the nation’s fresh water issues it is typically our farmers who end up wearing the ‘villain’ tag; either their livestock are polluting existing waterways or, in an effort to keep the land productive to ensure those stock continue to thrive thereby upholding a large part of the New Zealand economy, they are depleting the water table through excess irrigation…

This Auckland predicament has (among other things) raised the question: Is the country losing its valued fresh water resource? Going hand in hand with that query, as one might expect, is renewed speculation regarding the concept of yesteryear, of ‘Kiwi water export’; unsurprisingly, given protesters’ supposed detestation of anything that is beneficial to either progress or finances, and given further that somebody stands to profit from the aforementioned prospective deal, the ‘Kiwi water export’ notion is again being feverishly condemned by lobbyists.

…Alas when it comes to this topic I am aware I am guilty of repetition, but for some reason it just annoys me to the point of exasperation, and I therefore feel it must be (again) said: in New Zealand we have a number of self-appointed, self-righteous ecologists who despite spending a lifetime as Auckland citizens hence having never actually experienced rural life thus with no actual knowledge of what goes on in the real world let alone knowledge of how a farm is operated or indeed what exactly is required to run said farm, feel it is within the self-appointed-ecologist-skill-set to then claim to know exactly what farmers are doing wrong and certainly what they must immediately do to rectify that wrongdoing…

Originally this ‘water export’ initiative was an Ashburton dream where, as documented in the first ‘Bottled’, a fully operational water bottling plant could have employed hundreds of Ashburton locals and injected potentially millions of dollars into the economy of this Mid Canterbury township yet, again as documented, it came down to more of an ownership issue; officially, at least according to what the nation’s protesters were ranting, essentially it was townsfolk water and the townsfolk didn’t want someone else having it.

…I think the reason this particular water issue exasperates me so is largely because I cannot abide wastefulness of any variety; the fact that these (all too often) Northern eco-warriors (usually) acting on behalf of the South and (invariably) by implication the entire nation, would rather stand by as billions of cubic metres of clean, fresh, very much drinkable water – that’s a Rangitata, a Waimakariri, and a Hurunui summer combined – flows its moist and merry journey eastward to reach the coast and cascade out its respective river mouth where it will then ever-so-minutely dilute the vast body of water that is the world’s salt-infused ocean, than to see southern farmers, often stricken by summer drought, tap into that bountiful water table, to harness its valuable wetness and to distribute it over the land – or, as in this case, to bottle that water for export – sending it over instead of into the ocean, to perhaps make some money from its world-renowned crystal-clarity rather than sitting idly by in your self-righteous-self-appointed-self-important-ecologist chair and watching it dissipate amid trillions more cubic metres of unequivocally undrinkable water because the instant that fresh water reaches the ocean, it’s no good to any person…

On the matter of bottling water for distribution, also profit, Prime Minister Bill English was heard to say, “Well, of course, it would come down to a matter of ownership, wouldn’t it – who owns the water?” (Regarding which, if recent Treaty negotiations are anything to go by, he should know the answer to that one, but if not, here’s a clue for you Billy-boy – it is not the Government but nor is it strictly the Opposition.) Therefore if bottling for distribution does take place, these ‘owners’ of New Zealand water will assuredly expect recompense for their efforts; meantime Fiji locals have had no problem bottling and distributing their water – they don’t even expect a profit and while Kiwi water might be ‘pristine’, theirs is ‘miracle water’.

…I chuckled when I read the closing line of the original ‘Bottled’; of course it was in reference to all that pristine Kiwi water that farmers are frequently being vilified for spraying over the land, despite its apparent excess and which, despite also New Zealand’s apparent abhorrence of intolerance, is still too good for the stomachs of foreigners.

‘Best let it go back in the ocean where it belongs, eh.’

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Owen T Waters

Photography by Sal D Waters

 

Auckland city’s continued expansion could soon mean the end of New Zealand’s bountiful horticultural industry, leading to the importation of our fresh produce.

With each housing development around Auckland, a little more of the nation’s most valued agricultural land is being lost…

To urban folk looking to become a part of the Super City of Auckland this might seem a trivial issue; to the nation’s market gardeners whose life is the land, and who just happen to be situated on some of the most productive land in the country, this is everything.

…In Pukekohe, home to an abundant variety of soil found across just five percent of the country, growers have for years been witnessing these fertile lands being encroached upon by the sprawl of Auckland housing development…

The fact that more houses need to be built in and around Auckland is not up for dispute, nor is the fact that building more houses would go some way to reducing the ever-climbing cost of those houses; what is bound to be up for dispute however is the question of whether Kiwis are willing to essentially exchange astronomical house prices for a similarly ridiculous rise in the cost of living – which is the likelihood if New Zealand is no longer able to maintain its self-sufficiency thus has to import the bulk of its fresh produce at a much greater expense.

…Housing minister Nick Smith believes that existing landowners are ‘quite capable of making the decision’ of whether to sell their blocks to the farmers, or to make way for additional housing development by subdividing their land; although when the vendor’s financial gain for subdividing is threefold what the growers would be expecting to pay, in this money-driven world it doesn’t really seem to be much of a decision at all…

It is easy in the current economical climate for one to become fixated on Auckland’s so-called housing crisis, while overlooking the fact that this ‘housing crisis’ is in no way the only issue in New Zealand; farmers – who before tourism took off were the backbone of this nation and who continue to play a vital role in upholding the economy – still have a livelihood to maintain.

…To some – less informed, more ignorant – city-dwellers the term ‘farmer’ is synonymous with ‘wealth’, ‘greed’, or ‘lifestyle’; when realistically, as I have seen firsthand, ‘farmer’ is more akin to terms such as ‘little expendable cash’, ‘hard work’, ‘long hours’ and particularly, ‘no weekends’. The further misguided belief that farmers have little regard for ecology and that they exploit the land for their gain is simply preposterous…

Farmer’s are the caretakers of the land and, unlike housing production where ‘the land’ will be largely forgotten in place of the dwellings under which it rests, so long as it’s under the care of a horticulturalist that land will only ever be improved.

…Without doubt this area of unusually fecund land around Pukekohe would be infinitely better suited to be growing New Zealand’s future in agriculture than it would be growing lawn grass yet, when a significant portion of our population is crying foul over Auckland house prices, foresight and indeed rationality is easily overlooked.

Ultimately, in order to make room for new residents and the houses they will require, Auckland Super City does need to continue to expand; ideally though it would do so over less productive land than it is currently attempting to sprawl.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Val U Abel

Photography by Patch O Lund

Having lived all my life on the arid plains of Mid Canterbury I have yet to find a river, a stream, a lake, a pond or even an especially large puddle, in which I could not swim.

That said how exactly does one define the term, ‘swimmable’?

Water quality is obviously a significant factor, but then who decides which body of water is to be considered ‘acceptable’ and which should be deemed ‘contaminated’?

The Opposition are bemoaning the Government’s promise to ‘make 90 percent of New Zealand lakes and rivers swimmable by 2040’, maintaining that rather than cleaning up supposedly polluted waterways they plan to simply lower the ‘swimmable’ standard…

This strategy sounds hilariously reminiscent of a certain Helen Clark led Labour Government where she was able to essentially wipe out New Zealand’s unemployment with her questionable concept of paying the nation’s bums benefits thereby altering their status from ‘unemployed’ to ‘invalid’ while in the meantime practically bankrupting the country before passing the reins to John Key and his National party where they then did their best to steer the gig clear of the 2008 Global Financial Crisis.

…The problem is here, an Auckland, Wellington, or Christchurch local’s evaluation of ‘tainted’ water – the aforementioned groups no doubt having become accustomed to a city water supply which is actually less clean water than it is dead water and is about as far from their beloved pristine water as water can be – is probably any clear liquid that doesn’t stink of chlorine. This is considerably different to my own evaluation of the same watery liquid; having grown up drinking water-race water – the same water-race in fact that ran through countless farms across the Canterbury Plains before reaching our house/taps/stomachs – I am not particularly fussed about so-called ‘water quality’. Providing it’s free-running and doesn’t smell rancid I’ve never had any issue drinking New Zealand water…

As for water swimmability however, well, that’s a different topic altogether; I mean, if it’s not chlorinated to the point of making our supple eyes burn and blonde hair turn green, how do we know it’s safe to immerse our tender little torsos amid it’s wonderfully moist depths?

…Mind you I’m not a soft-cock either. I’m not the kind of guy who peels or even washes very well his vegetables before consumption, or indeed the kind of person who has had their lives so heavily influenced by the insidious nature of media scare-tactics that I simply must go out and buy every cleaning product on the market with the intention of eradicating from my house every germ or micro-organism in sight – sorry, not in sight…

I recently spent time surrounded by some of New Zealand’s most beautiful landscapes and beside some of our most – genuinely – pristine waterways. On this North Canterbury farm, bordered on one side by the almighty Hurunui River (which, sadly, on reflection I would deem not swimmable, given the way the millions of tons of crystal–clear water pulsating their way down that gorge would undoubtedly pulverise my mortal body on the rocks) in conjunction with a few thousand sheep scattered over the hillside, on the lowlands they in fact graze several hundred head of cattle.

…The Opposition, joined by an idiot band of eco-warriors, maintain the Government, as well as lowering ‘swimmable’ standards in order to meet their goal, in their impending quest to ‘clean up rivers and streams’ they supposedly plan to ‘overlook’ many of New Zealand’s ‘fundamental’ waterways…

It wasn’t unusual during a dry morning on the farm, out shifting irrigation on the quad bike, after crossing a stream to then dismount before heading back to this picturesque bubbling brook, dropping to the press-up position, and to slurp mouthful after mouthful of the purist water I have ever tasted.

…Presumably these people doing the complaining have never been to the South Island, let alone drunk from a Rangitata, Waimakariri, or a Hurunui rivulet because – cesspools like Lake Ellesmere and Forsyth aside, which on account of a lack of flow and an excess of birdlife all pooping about the place is admittedly disgusting – the majority of Canterbury’s waterways are in good condition and certainly, they are swimmable…

Of course there was often a herd of cattle languishing upstream in the neighbouring paddock but, like me, they didn’t make a habit of discharging waste in the same place they drank.

…I heard the other night on the News one of these idiot eco-warriors ranting about how the Government’s clean-up plan would ‘neglect the rivers and streams of Banks Peninsula’, which ‘desperately need cleaning up’; I almost choked on my scotch – I’d always thought that if I was ever asked to give an example of one place in New Zealand where the water is ‘pristine’ (obviously this thought had originated prior to tasting Hurunui’s water), I would have recommended Banks Peninsula’s rivers and streams…

Maybe the Government should lower the standard of ‘swimmable’ water because if people up top are asserting that the majority of Southern waterways are polluted to the point of earning the label ’not swimmable’, well, there must be something giving a false-positive.

…My guess is that, typical of all things eco-warrior, half a story is all they require to cause a fuss on subjects about which they otherwise have no clue, therefore this speculation that Banks Peninsula water is unclean is likely based on a trip the idiot took to Duvauchelle where he probably sat by the ocean and breathed, and yes, the smell of rotting seaweed coupled with bird faeces in that place is egregious thus the belief that no clean fluid could possibly exist amid a stench so foul/fowl is quite understandable.

Ultimately the Government can do, or not do as is the predicted belief, as it likes; I will continue to drink New Zealand water straight from the source regardless.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Du Cuddle Poop

Photography by N Karleen Waters

 

 

Wasn’t all that long ago that a man’s life would be invariably destroyed by one woman’s accusation of rape.

In recent times however the lines seem to have become blurred, smudged beneath a concoction of low-priced wine and even lower-valued self respect.

Scott Kuggleijn was one man who recently avoided the aforementioned lifetime sentence, in likelihood, thanks largely to his national/social standing as a Northern Districts cricketer.

Perhaps also working in Mr Kuggleijn’s favour is the fact that, where ten years ago being implicated in a case of sexual misconduct was unequivocally damning to a man’s reputation and indeed ruinous to his life, these days rape charges – both young and old, of both young and old – are thrown around with such frequency and even sometimes flippancy, that the number of those accusations which (perhaps arguably) turn out to have come from purely attention/fame-hungry or simply gold-digging women – the names Jackson, Cosby, Harris, Penn, Tyson, Depp, Pitt and Travolta spring to mind – are undermining, even belittling to the seriousness of the situations of those women who genuinely have experienced sexually assault.

In this recent case Kuggleijn’s alleged victim – the young woman who allowed a renowned sportsman to accompany her home after meeting him for the first time in a bar that night – claimed that although they had shed most of their clothes and gone to bed together, regarding intercourse she had in fact said ‘no’ multiple times…

I do wonder how many loving relationships exist in New Zealand today, which only blossomed into fruition after a drunken night on the town where a hitherto unknown boy had made himself known to a hitherto unattainable girl whom he then succeeded in accompanying home and furthermore into her bed but where she had then experienced second thoughts prompting her to confusedly utter, “No, no…” while of course he still had his first thoughts which clearly stated, “Yes, yes…” thus the rest is history..?

…Kuggleijn’s alleged victim claimed that she was so drunk at the time she really had no way of controlling the situation anyway meaning technically, she was legally past the point of being able to give consent…

Taking into account reports of ‘kissing, touching, fondling’, ‘groping’, and ‘very flirtatious behaviour’, witnessed by like-minded revellers at the bar on the night in question, seemingly she was ‘controlling the situation’ reasonably well up until that moment therefore the concession of ‘implied consent’ was probably in play.

…Kuggleijn’s alleged victim claimed she struggled and writhed beneath him during the act of sex, and tried to fend him off numerous times…

From my rudimentary understanding of all things carnal, that’s just sex and by the sound of it, not even particularly rough sex.

As mentioned Kuggleijn was successful in defending his case, extricating himself from the unpleasantness while ensuring that his reputation was kept free from any considerable damage; what is considerably damaging though is the affect of ongoing desensitisation the above incident, and others like it, is likely having on future witnesses to claims of rape.

‘The Boy who Cried Wolf’ is at risk of becoming ‘The Girl who Cried Rape’, in that stories of young women – often intoxicated and sometimes with limited recollection of events – coming forward to claim they have been the targets of sexual assault are so very commonplace in the 21^st century, and so often later shown to have been false or baseless accusations, that many people’s first instinct nowadays is to simply dismiss the charge as farce.

So what about those women who genuinely have been violated – how is a jury supposed to distinguish ‘a drunken mistake that she can’t believe she made so cries rape if only to save face in the eyes of her friends’, from, ‘the deplorable crime that is sexual assault’?

Similarities are so few there should be no need for distinction.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ash Howey Drinking

Photography by Dick T Tsar

 

 

For whatever monetary value the Christchurch Cathedral was insured, over six years of litigating, procrastinating, decision-making; ultimately time and cost wasting, the church collection plate will surely struggle to cover this shortfall.

Yet – having gradually transitioned from ‘destroyed’ to ‘repairable’, then back to ‘a waste of resources’, before again becoming ‘salvageable’, then being forgotten once more – it seems lobbyists are again pushing for ‘restoration’…

As clearly documented in ‘Tim Walker’s Cathedral II’ – which judging by the frequent use of italics is a rather hotly written piece of scripture – Creationists and bureaucrats have been engaged in discussions/debates/dilatory behaviour regarding the Christchurch Cathedral’s future since its partial, then essential ruination on the mornings of September 4^th 2010, then February 22^nd 2011 respectively.

…Therefore, lest I repeat myself: simply type in ‘cathedral’ to the Search Box on the right of your screen, click ‘Search’ (or hit ‘Enter’, it really makes no difference), click on the heading ‘Tim Walker’s Cathedral II’, and prepare to have your mind blown by The Idiocy of Man.

Everything written in that – approximately two-year-old – article is still very much pertinent to this most recent Cathedral debate – indicating the issue’s stagnancy – and in fact it touches on some brilliantly valid points – just in case you’d forgotten how insanely farcical this situation had – long ago – become.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Dearie Lacked

Photography by Ed E Fuss

 

New Zealand’s Government seems to be conforming more than ever before, meaning our team of resident malcontents are running out of things to protest.

It was surely a grim day for protesters around the country when President Trump rose to power, subsequently calling an end to the TPPA – that was after all their main source of noise-making…

So instead of New Zealand protesters focusing on all things New Zealand, they appear to have since taken on the weight of international issues, and are now protesting on behalf of other nations.

…Someone must also have stopped excavating ancient kauri in New Zealand’s wetlands, or perhaps someone else realised that digging up and exporting half-rotten wood actually wasn’t such an outrage after all, because that source of protest dwindled too…

New Zealand’s protesters have again demonstrated a lack of understanding regarding words and their associated definitions (one might recall a while back how the TPPA was somehow ‘taking our sovereignty’..?), and have for some time been condemning the US election result, claiming of all things (yet again exhibiting their fine free-thinking ability by maintaining exactly the same stance as US protesters), that ‘there was no democracy’ in the outcome.

…They must also have realised that dairy farming wasn’t so much ‘the Devil’s work’ as it was ‘a vital part of the New Zealand economy’; then of course ‘poverty’ and ‘housing crisis’ are some of these protesters’ favourite words to put into chant too, but now that John Key’s gone those marvellous words just don’t seem to have the same nagging quality anymore…

The process of public election practically defines the term ‘democracy’, and in fact the only time I recall a public election being not democratic was way back in the ‘90s, when Sideshow Bob rigged the Springfield mayoral election.

…So after bitching, moaning, and ultimately scare-mongering, armed with the fear that President Trump ‘will destroy the free world’ – when in fact Trump’s initial statements were no more outlandish or inflammatory than those heard by Bush, Clinton, or even Obama during their respective inaugurations – New Zealand’s protesters are now back to pushing the classics: ‘poverty’ (too much), ‘immigration’ (not enough), and ‘the housing crisis’ (too much cost, not enough construction, also too much foreign ownership and such), clearly without realising the gross contradiction they’re unveiling…

These protesting New Zealand citizens have already shown the audacity to complain about the result of one of the US’s proudest democratic institutions, seemingly overlooking the fact that Trump’s rise to power would mean the demise of one of their longest-protested institutions – the TPPA.

…A rise in immigration would obviously require a ‘rise in taxes’ to fund the immediate establishment of these immigrants’ lives, then there is the further ‘housing shortage’ this would subsequently cause as these foreign families were allocated basic dwellings; also let’s not forget the number of ‘jobs they would steal from hardworking Kiwis’, thus the additional ‘poverty’ this would invariably create.

Life must be so simple being a protester – hearing a concept, finding a flaw and outright condemning the notion; running with your opinion, halting progression, disrupting lives, forcing yourself on people who don’t care, preaching your ‘knowledge’ to people who don’t want to hear, all without ever truly understanding the concept’s processes, or its prospective and often even its immediate consequences.

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by O Blevy-Hiss

Photography by Mel Con-Tense

For as long as there have been projects requiring leadership there have been power-hungry jackasses happy to step up to the task.

New Zealand has a fine history of producing the aforementioned bumptious idiot and, necessary as their overly assertive natures may indeed be to ensuring efficient production, the likelihood is that it is these kinds of leaders-cum-dictators who are responsible for much of the conflict seen in the world today.

At this point I am confident the entity on the tip of everyone’s hypothetical tongue proudly wears the monogram DJT, and that his name in full probably sounds a little something like Ronald Ray Rump…

Evidence of this power-hungry/crazed/drunk behaviour is prominent among political leaders (including the aspiring jackasses who stand for such positions); it’s also among the Police Force (not just in the US either), as well as in an (alarmingly dense) smattering of regular, just plain arrogant, citizens.

…But that’s hardly the point. I fear the point is much more sinister than that, and in fact it might just begin with the issue of parents handing down girls’ names to their baby boys…

Xi Jinping calmly presides over the largest (commie) population in the world. Vladimir Putin is nearby presiding over petty squabbles with neighbouring Ukraine (Petro Poroshenko), between whom the only area of agreement seems to be firing off errant missiles and bringing down other nations’ passenger jets. Tomislav Nikolic is in charge of running Serbia who, together with Bulgaria (Rosen Plevneliev) and Macedonia (Gjorge Ivanov), cannot seem to stop bickering about who holds the more powerful position thus who should decide whose country’s borders ought to go where. Faud Masum and Ali Khamenei take leadership of Iraq and Iran respectively, of whom both are in constant conniptions with the variety of audacious leadership displayed by the US.

…Now while I certainly can’t vouch for the masculinity of Vladimir I do think Putin is a little queer, but what about young Kim? Why only a few years back Mr Dotcom (yeah, wrong one) almost caused the New Zealand election to crash, and much like the computing contraptions that he so adores, I think we can all appreciate in retrospect that that result would have been a classic Control-Alt-Delete moment…

North Korea’s Kim Jong-un, currently just 33 years old and whom, incidentally, was only voted in to his country’s top job – at the age of 30 no less – because his elder sibling was considered ‘not mean enough’ by North Korean election committee elders, thus he was exalted into the position of youngest ever dictator of his country and he therefore, potentially, will be the youngest ever leader to precipitate the annihilation of our largely free world.

…The Right Honourable (and I think downright bloody venerable too) John Key has no doubt cemented himself a place in history as the intrepid Prime Minister who led New Zealand through some of the darkest financial times since the Great Depression (of 1929-39, lifted reportedly, in the US at least – where the whole fracas supposedly began after the 1929 Wall Street collapse – by the commencement of the Second World War where the number of unemployed suddenly reduced by over 7 million, yet their armed forces grew by over 8 and a half)…

US President, Donald J Trump, is surely leaving a decidedly grotesque mark in history also, as he seemingly attempts to make bigotry fashionable once more. At a time where refugees of the modern world are more plentiful than ever this particular leader is making moves to lock them out of his country; also passing eviction orders on existing US-based expatriates while apparently staying true to his word, setting aside national funds to raise his much talked about, hugely infamous erection along the Mexican border.

…Now former New Zealand Prime Minister John Key, after abdicating his role before the world heat truly came on, or more to the point, before his national acceptance truly wore off, in my opinion was as truthful as is prudent for a country’s leader to be, and regarding the maintaining of election promises (which all seasoned politicians understand are merely bribes to improve one’s image throughout the election process meaning that once elected into power a leader is under no realistic obligation to see them through, a message President Trump appears to have missed), it is fair to say that (former) NZ PM John Key did in fact see through his share…

A US High Judge has since passed rulings contradicting several of his President’s orders, putting an immediate block on Trump’s travel bans – deeming them patently unlawful – also maintaining that no person can be forced to leave a country in which they are legally residing, solely on the basis of race.

…After which John unexpectedly bailed, sliding the Key over to his English deputy, before an unbalanced Trump tipped the boat.

So if the world was once wary of Kim Jong-un’s trigger-finger on the nuclear button, how are we supposed to feel now?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Ronald Ray Rump

Photography by Nu Claire Boom

 

So what do you plan to do then?

Plan to do with regard to what?

Ah, what exactly are you asking?

How do you mean?

Well what do you mean?

What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?

I mean, do you mean what do I mean about what I first said, or what I last said?

What did you last say that was worth repeating?

What do you mean?

Now do you mean ‘what do you mean’ was what you first said, ‘what do you mean’ was what you last said or are you genuinely inquiring, what do you mean?

Is there actually going to be any point to this?

Now what do you mean?

Well, didn’t you say you had no idea what you were going to write this week?

Didn’t I tell you to never admit to such shortcomings?

Yeah but didn’t you also say it was important to never tell lies?

Since when do you consider withholding information the same as ‘telling lies’?

Are you not always going on about total forthrightness being the best thing?

When did you start paying attention to what I say anyway?

But isn’t it also important to listen to your elders?

Seriously, how old do you think I am?

Well you’re older than me aren’t you?

Not sure, when were you born again?

Don’t you remember?

Should I?

How could you not?

Would you really consider it a memorable milestone?

You actually don’t remember, do you?

Honestly, how could I be expected to recall such a trivial date with so much other pointless information fluttering around my head?

Are you saying the date of my birth is ‘trivial’?

Did I actually say that?

Do you want to hear the transcript?

Who taught you about transcripts?

Who taught you?

Regardless do you truly think of your ‘occurrence’ or, ‘happening’ or, at the very most your ‘incarnation’, as a birth?

Well what would you call it?

What did I just call it?

Did I not just hear you label me an ‘incarnation’?

Yeah but what does that mean?

It’s a flower, isn’t it?

Are you being serious right now?

Doesn’t it really mean I’m like the thing that is inside or has come out of the other thing, but it’s not the actual thing?

Is that honestly the best you can do?

Well can you do better?

What about ‘living embodiment’?

What about it?

Would that not be a good way to describe something said to be an ‘incarnation’?

What’s wrong with my way?

Did I never teach you how to use a dictionary?

Do you honestly think people still use dictionaries?

How else would they learn about words?

Are you still living in the dark ages?

Is that how I appear to a young gun like you?

Dude, how old are you?

Have we not already been here?

And did you answer my question the first time?

Well how about browsing back through these pages and finding out for yourself?

Do you actually expect me to read my way through all this crap?

Would you not say reading is one of life’s more rudimentary skills?

Have you not been introduced to a ‘rudimentary’ television screen?

Do you honestly expect your beloved TV or computer screen to slap you about the face with sufficient information to permit you to propagate for yourself a pleasurable and prosperous life?

What do you mean by that?

 

Do you recall asking me if there was going to be any point to this?

Was that before or after you started insulting my heritage?

Do you even understand the meaning of the word ‘heritage’?

Isn’t it where you came from?

Alright so, from where do you originate?

Do you even know?

How should I know?

Isn’t it important?

Well do you know?

How am I supposed to know?

Dude, how short is your memory?

Is it somewhere back there?

You mean the reason, your origin, or your memory?

Aren’t all three important?

What do you think?

Should I go back then?

Back to the beginning, or just through these pages?

Isn’t that pretty much the same thing?

Do you want to find out?

How would I?

Are you serious?

Would I ask if I wasn’t?

Haven’t you heard it’s impertinent to answer a question with a question?

 

 

Article by Tim Walker

Edited by Wattie Crocker-Chit

Photography by Suns Nirah-Tech