As it comes
I don't know what to write.
I'm sitting in galatos, waiting for Nz's best hip-hop to perform.
There is noone here.
is hip-hop dead?
I came early so I walked up and down queen street.
It started to rain.
Now I'm fucking soaked.
The candle I'm writing this to will dry me out in time.
There is a DJ busting some laid back beats.
The kind that I like.
I am writing this to the rhythm.
(or trying too)
The DJ isn't dead.
I can see him.
He is pretty physical.
But to those not here, he isn't.
And therefore not alive.
He is dead in their eyes.
Then everyone else not here must be dead to me.
---
After I wrote that last dot,
Tom Scott, boogied past.
Tony Tz was on the door.
And I bumped into Haz when I was trying to find the toilet.
It's me, them, the DJ and about ten others, plus two bouncers, who are alive.
The only ones left.
I self indulge in a moa that I paid $8 for.
It is one of the best beers of my life.
After the walk in the rain.
I didn't really tell anyone I was coming.
I was worried I would get too anxious and leave them hanging.
I have killed my friendships tonight.
Maybe there will be a rebirth, with these beats as a platform.
Why is hip-hop dead to all?
I know the rain killed it for some.
But the rain can be overcome.
I've never really thought hip-hop sounded good live.
But surely not everyone has my standards.
---
Some wasted bitch just walked on stage and picked up a guitar.
The DJ noticed ten seconds later.
He left the tables to sort her out.
Now she is dancing and I don't think anyone else saw it.
A black gir
---
A while ago a black girl came and sat opposite me.
I looked up and she was looking at my writing, so I stopped.
I couldn't hear what she was saying but I think her name was S-H-I-K-R-A.
She was a dancer, and I could hear "The kind that doesn't get naked."
Her friend, Sarah, was a tattoo artist.
She reminded me a lot of a girl I used to be fond of.
I asked Sarah, "Who are you?"
She replied "Batman."
What is that supposed to mean?
Sarah left.
I think I scared her.
Now I think SHIKRA is in the toilet.
She knows someone here and got in for free.
Everyone reminds me of someone.
It's like I can't escape the dead world.
The dead world is reaching out to me.
I don't know if I want it.
The first artist is playing.
I don't know him.
He is really good but talks like an American.
He even uses miles.
I can see ghosts of ex-lovers and current (maybe) ones.
The crowd is larger now, about fifty, or more, with births every second.
----
Someone asked me what I was writing.
I said "random shit"
What else should I have said?
I don't know what these words are, I just started writing.
These words are me.
The Lead vocals probably could do with some compression.
The peaks are massive.
The girls are back.
I can barely see what I'm writing, so I don't think they can.
There is a third girl with the other two.
She just dropped her glass.
Some of it splashed on my pants.
I feel bad because it probably cost her $8.
But it was nobody else's fault but hers.
I haven't moved since I got here.
This is all happening to/around me.
Now I need to piss.
The first artist has finished, and I doubt I will retain my seat in the interlude of vacancy.
---
---
I am back in the seat of familiarity.
Some girl just slipped and hit the deck.
I went to the toilet as planned.
It was packed.
I got my dick out and it took a while to start pissing.
Mid stream the dude who needed compression came in, and stood next to me.
He apologised because it was 'a bit awkward.'
He was right because we were almost touching.
I exited the toilet and the red-headed ghost of an ex-lover had taken my seat.
Sarah was about my height with wide hips.
This made her a bit bigger than me.
Perhaps I am intimidated by this?
Matty is an MC from christchurch.
I gave him the last page of my book with my soundcloud written on it.
Third3ye just played.
Front row was a good view.
I realized the guy from the toilets was not the first artist.
I was mistaken because he had the same hat.
It was awkward because I told him well done.
Irony.
The girls have gone.
The seat is in my possession.
Team Dynamite are on soon.
I went to the toilet to take another piss and someone had vomited in and around the urinal.
It looked like they had tomatoes with their dinner.
There are two drinks that have been here since I sat down.
I am strongly considering taking one if they aren't claimed.
One is fizzy in a plastic up.
- someone just fell into me, all goods -
The other is a full, opened carona.
Which do I take?
---
I took the plastic one and relocated.
It is gin and tonic.
My heart beats fast.
Earlier there was a larger brown couple kissing on this side of the room.
The girl had a stupid straw hat.
Now there is a guy standing at the same table as me.
He looks like one of the dudes from Fat Freddy's Drop.
I think he is probably just a ghost.
---
---
The music I came for is done now.
For the last few hours this has been my home.
I am reluctant to leave, because when I do, my company shall become ghosts.
I went back, to see if the carona was still there.
It was gone.
I sat back in my chair with a half empty heineken I lifted on the way.
The crowds are dispersing and there is laughter in the jostle.
A guy sat down in the same seat a the black girl.
He asked me what I was writing.
He showed me his shitty rap lyrics, and told me he was 'only here to see Tom Scott,' and that TD wont make it.
I left him talking to himself.
My third and final piss of the night.
I looked up and was GASP written on the ceiling.
Gasp wasn't here at galatos.
Gasp was dead.
But gasp had left a trace of a life behind.
I'm sitting in galatos, waiting for Nz's best hip-hop to perform.
There is noone here.
is hip-hop dead?
I came early so I walked up and down queen street.
It started to rain.
Now I'm fucking soaked.
The candle I'm writing this to will dry me out in time.
There is a DJ busting some laid back beats.
The kind that I like.
I am writing this to the rhythm.
(or trying too)
The DJ isn't dead.
I can see him.
He is pretty physical.
But to those not here, he isn't.
And therefore not alive.
He is dead in their eyes.
Then everyone else not here must be dead to me.
---
After I wrote that last dot,
Tom Scott, boogied past.
Tony Tz was on the door.
And I bumped into Haz when I was trying to find the toilet.
It's me, them, the DJ and about ten others, plus two bouncers, who are alive.
The only ones left.
I self indulge in a moa that I paid $8 for.
It is one of the best beers of my life.
After the walk in the rain.
I didn't really tell anyone I was coming.
I was worried I would get too anxious and leave them hanging.
I have killed my friendships tonight.
Maybe there will be a rebirth, with these beats as a platform.
Why is hip-hop dead to all?
I know the rain killed it for some.
But the rain can be overcome.
I've never really thought hip-hop sounded good live.
But surely not everyone has my standards.
---
Some wasted bitch just walked on stage and picked up a guitar.
The DJ noticed ten seconds later.
He left the tables to sort her out.
Now she is dancing and I don't think anyone else saw it.
A black gir
---
A while ago a black girl came and sat opposite me.
I looked up and she was looking at my writing, so I stopped.
I couldn't hear what she was saying but I think her name was S-H-I-K-R-A.
She was a dancer, and I could hear "The kind that doesn't get naked."
Her friend, Sarah, was a tattoo artist.
She reminded me a lot of a girl I used to be fond of.
I asked Sarah, "Who are you?"
She replied "Batman."
What is that supposed to mean?
Sarah left.
I think I scared her.
Now I think SHIKRA is in the toilet.
She knows someone here and got in for free.
Everyone reminds me of someone.
It's like I can't escape the dead world.
The dead world is reaching out to me.
I don't know if I want it.
The first artist is playing.
I don't know him.
He is really good but talks like an American.
He even uses miles.
I can see ghosts of ex-lovers and current (maybe) ones.
The crowd is larger now, about fifty, or more, with births every second.
----
Someone asked me what I was writing.
I said "random shit"
What else should I have said?
I don't know what these words are, I just started writing.
These words are me.
The Lead vocals probably could do with some compression.
The peaks are massive.
The girls are back.
I can barely see what I'm writing, so I don't think they can.
There is a third girl with the other two.
She just dropped her glass.
Some of it splashed on my pants.
I feel bad because it probably cost her $8.
But it was nobody else's fault but hers.
I haven't moved since I got here.
This is all happening to/around me.
Now I need to piss.
The first artist has finished, and I doubt I will retain my seat in the interlude of vacancy.
---
---
I am back in the seat of familiarity.
Some girl just slipped and hit the deck.
I went to the toilet as planned.
It was packed.
I got my dick out and it took a while to start pissing.
Mid stream the dude who needed compression came in, and stood next to me.
He apologised because it was 'a bit awkward.'
He was right because we were almost touching.
I exited the toilet and the red-headed ghost of an ex-lover had taken my seat.
Sarah was about my height with wide hips.
This made her a bit bigger than me.
Perhaps I am intimidated by this?
Matty is an MC from christchurch.
I gave him the last page of my book with my soundcloud written on it.
Third3ye just played.
Front row was a good view.
I realized the guy from the toilets was not the first artist.
I was mistaken because he had the same hat.
It was awkward because I told him well done.
Irony.
The girls have gone.
The seat is in my possession.
Team Dynamite are on soon.
I went to the toilet to take another piss and someone had vomited in and around the urinal.
It looked like they had tomatoes with their dinner.
There are two drinks that have been here since I sat down.
I am strongly considering taking one if they aren't claimed.
One is fizzy in a plastic up.
- someone just fell into me, all goods -
The other is a full, opened carona.
Which do I take?
---
I took the plastic one and relocated.
It is gin and tonic.
My heart beats fast.
Earlier there was a larger brown couple kissing on this side of the room.
The girl had a stupid straw hat.
Now there is a guy standing at the same table as me.
He looks like one of the dudes from Fat Freddy's Drop.
I think he is probably just a ghost.
---
---
The music I came for is done now.
For the last few hours this has been my home.
I am reluctant to leave, because when I do, my company shall become ghosts.
I went back, to see if the carona was still there.
It was gone.
I sat back in my chair with a half empty heineken I lifted on the way.
The crowds are dispersing and there is laughter in the jostle.
A guy sat down in the same seat a the black girl.
He asked me what I was writing.
He showed me his shitty rap lyrics, and told me he was 'only here to see Tom Scott,' and that TD wont make it.
I left him talking to himself.
My third and final piss of the night.
I looked up and was GASP written on the ceiling.
Gasp wasn't here at galatos.
Gasp was dead.
But gasp had left a trace of a life behind.
Unfinished.
I was going to leave
the house today
I got ready
then stayed put.
I was going to make
some music today
I got started
then stopped.
I was going to write
a poem today
I g
the house today
I got ready
then stayed put.
I was going to make
some music today
I got started
then stopped.
I was going to write
a poem today
I g
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