Requiem for a Ginger.

At the end of August, the end of... I'll never replace the ones I first made. Jesus, does anyone?

I have flitted and floated through another muggy day. The rains returned for the first time in what seems like months, but the heat was present still. The words for this book are slowly etching themselves onto the page. They tumble from me in torrents, then dry up and I am drought stricken until the next linguistic-downpour. But progress is progress, after all. I can wear a weary smile tonight, much as I don't feel like doing so.

I made no mention of our National Day last week, because I was away in the Capital drinking absinthe and sleeping on the road. It seems like a pertinent topic now though. I read a column by notorious point-misser Bill Ralston today, in which he opined that Waitangi Day should be scrapped altogether because of the two dudes who had a go at the Prime Minister. What a wimp. Ralston is a soft-cock, out-of-touch rich man, who would rather his sensibilities weren't slightly offended while he sips his latte in a Ponsonby cafe. Well, tough shit, Bill. The whole point of our National Day is to celebrate our unity, but it is also so that we don't forget past injustices or allow a new regime to trample over any positive progress that has been made in race relations over recent years. Just because you don't think there is anything to protest doesn't mean that others can't. Whether attacking the Prime Minister is the right way to go about this is another story, though John Key getting a crack to the head seems like a pretty good thing to me. The smarmy prick.

All in all, I had a great Waitangi Day. I celebrated our cultural diversity with a bunch of open-minded dope fiends and acid-induced ragers, and generally felt the love of living in a country that has enjoyed the caring hand of a liberal government for the last nine years. I prayed, between my six and seventh shots of absinthe, for our new government not to ruin it all. We are young and we are ready to embrace the world in a manner befitting the beliefs of a progressive, inclusive society. Fuck your divisive schemes. Fuck your economic preferences. We are Democratic Socialists - we care about the people, not imaginary money. Open your eyes and look around: free-trade agreements with China and the US aren't the future. The youth are.

On top of my political unease and the fact that my moral compass is slightly askew, I am unable to shake another down-slide in my overall well being. I think when I start practicing more with the band I will feel better. I feel like being back on a stage, even if only in front of a handful of hardcore fans. Flick the switch, dim the lights, let's take the world apart - one song at a time. Until then, I will keep the words flowing, and I will try to keep my chin up. Tears come and go, but I will dry my eyes and keep on truckin'.

Who is your favourite underground band?