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2017

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2008-01-15

Fear and Loathing in Te Atatu Peninsula

My name is Christopher Allan Kirk but I like to be known as Chris Kirk. One day I hope to be the most famous Chris Kirk in New Zealand.  I am 23 years old and in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet. And in a way, I'm dead already.

Look at me, cowering in the corner of my living room, between the dining table and the bookshelf, both of which are furniture I have had my entire life, typing on a laptop – gibberish – feverish gibberish from a drug-fuelled mind that contains not a single drug. I haven't even had any caffeine today. Not that much sugar, though I have eaten chocolate and I am allergic to lactose, which is evident in milk which is evident in chocolate. Perhaps that's what's causing this feverish typing, though I am typing slower than I normally type when I am in my right state of mind. My life is so full of empty vacuous space that I am writing in detail about the fact that I am sitting writing about nothing but the fact that I am writing in detail about the fact that I am sitting writing about nothing but the fact that I am writing – oh my god I almost got sucked into a vortex of endless repetition that could have lasted the remainder of my life in this body. I am lucky that my consciousness observed my behaviour and sucked me out while I still had the braincells and the awareness to view myself viewing myself viewing myself viewing myself viewing myself viewing myself – oh god stop it's sucking at me again and all I can do is stand outside of it again and again.  All I can do is observe my behaviour and stop any behaviour that resembles the insanity around me. I am not a drug addict. I do not waste my life with fruitless employment. I do not suck the government dry to fund my lazy lifestyle. I may have been born a homosexual but I do not have sex with any males of the same gender as myself. I have not been cured and I rarely feel the need to penetrate a vagina and yet here I want a baby and yet I have a baby right through this bookshelf and the wall behind it.

My life is a large ball of nothing that keeps rolling down the hill and despite the laws of gravity, which cannot be broken, I am not picking up speed as I roll down this hill. I turn to my left and right and see other balls gaining speed. Some are picking up money and speeding up, others are gaining power and speeding up, others are gaining family members and speeding up, others are producing works of art and sharing them with the world and speeding up others are taking drugs others are expanding their consciousnesses others are reading books about taking control of your life and using The Secret to win money and convince people to love you. The secret is that there is no secret at all. You know it all you are just waiting for someone else to mention it first so you are certain you are not insane but guess what you are not insane you are just acting insane and desperately trying to appear insane to all the other insane people who think that they are secretly sane but don't want to tell anyone. But then they meet someone special and they can trust this special person and this special person understands them and they feel like this special person will not judge them if they tell this special person that they are sane, and the special person says oh my god, I'm sane too and they kiss and hug and make love night after night and then they get bored and go do something else and when they realise that this other person knows something about them they don't want anyone else to know that is how someone you love becomes someone you hate.

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