Thursday, 9 March 2017

The Hand of God

Thursday, 2 March 2017

The Perils and Joys of being a Pedestrian in Auckland



It’s almost frowned upon to use ones legs in Auckland to get from a to b.
Menacing socialites barely able to see over a steering wheel drive with their
foot to the floor rushing to pick up their trim milk late while the peasants of the
path graciously hobble along forgotten. We who march upon the ash felt deem
ourselves lucky beyond all measure if we have the good fortune to even tread
upon a footpath. Many times I have witnessed tradies in their working vans
glued to a standstill at a busy traffic intersections. On my two feet like Achilles 
merciless I outstrip them galloping around the corner. It’s sad to realize how
our main roads, back streets, byways, dead end streets you name it are
peopled with less and less honest walkers. Ironically one does tend to see
a rise in exercising lunatics clad in leather jogging pants doing their very best to
suck in as many exhaust fumes as humanely possible. It almost makes me
sad as I think about their pristine athletic lungs slowly being riddled with carbon
monoxide and pollution.

Despite the gloom, something funny happened yesterday as I was trooping down
the road to a Socialist meeting on the edge of Morningside. While I was minding
my own business a heavy set leering woman of pakeha descent leaned out of
her passenger window and said hi. I said hi back while keeping a steady pace
toward my destination while feeling rather hungry. She asked me abruptly
“do you want some tits!”. I was rather surprised and taken aback then quickly  
realized this woman was trying to level me for which I pitied her. Politely I
declined her insincere and venomous offer as I being no fool saw that her
boyfriend or pimp was driving her about and didn’t want a part in any tomfoolery
. I then said to the woman in a low tone “I’m good thanks”.
She countered my genuine rejection of her advance by stating that the current
standing market rate to enjoy the sight of her bumbling breasts was a pittance
at “30 dollars” although she made her sum sound like a vast aristocratic fortune.
I dis-regard her quote entirely as I had absolutely no interest in playing into her
poisoned hand.

The next thing I know the woman’s four wheeled slug of a car zoomed off into
the sunset leaving me in peace. I silently hoped the cars smoky exhaust
propelled it’s occupants as far from me as humanely possible.

 It’s true that the undisputed kings of inner city transportation are cars.
This fact doesn’t stop me from laughing, howling even when I hear cheesy
generic car horns sing out with rage and anger, as if they owned the roads out
right. Like little lords and lasses with their hereditary authority unchecked
cars speed down the pot-holed roads with flagrant dis-regard for the safety of
young children walking home from school. Currently pedestrian’s maybe
overpowered by the might of the combustion engine. But sooner or later the
change will come and the smirk on their smug drivers faces will be lost for
good. The tables will do more than turn they will 360 flip. Then with the wink of
an eye the champions of society the glorious driver will become powerless
and unhinged as computers and algorithms direct humanities future movements
and the best route to ones desired destination. I would gladly pay far more than
$30 to strip despotic wayward drivers and their despicable passengers of the
cruel pride only afforded to them by the power that comes with having the

ability to direct the four wheels of a car.