I (the unfortunate) stepped and slid, slipped out like a cocktail dress into the congealed sickness of the city night. Like many other extremely arid desert environments, Christchurch still contains some small few pockets of precarious life, but you have to look quite hard to find it, and in some quite unlikely places.

We cling to this world like rocks to a barnacle. I don't want to pretend I did something, I want to love everyone—but I am swept away, tides and currents, and you are blown in odd directions by invisible winds. If, in the wash and the wave of it, our hands can touch, well, that's rare. That's rare kid, and to be valued.

What I really want to do is find some smart chick to take E with and talk. Just talk. Talk and talk and pour out the ocean of ourselves into little boats and set them sail on the sea. A little flash of humanity on the horizon, the tiniest teeny spark of pure honest-to-god real genuine human connection and warm soft skin.. Much of this shit we do strikes me with the cold and hollow chime of empty pencil cases, there's not much writing to be done with an inkless fountain pen.. You can't really buy beauty, you can pay to see it but you can't pay to make it, happens incidental, a happy accident aimed at other things.

I wish I was beautiful. But I am an ugly motherfucker full of mean spirits and the desire to do you harm. Much of this shit we do strikes me: like a match, like a backhanded slap across the face, the screeching wail of a warning siren. The only proper response is mischief, live wires and electro-convulsive theory, cold water to shock me out of sleep. Through the creation of deliberate personal disaster and mindless self-sabotage the senses become as sharp as glares and sunshine, there is no one is so acutely aware of distance as the man one malfunctioning parachute away from total free-fall.

Take E with me, we'll talk. I'm kind of lonely and I'm tired of falling into the usual shallow graves of conversation and I've exhausted the probabilities that throwing dice and flipping coins have to offer. I bet, I bet big, you got something to say that you generally can't, and don't, that perhaps your throat chokes on.

We'll talk.