Archive for wellington
Polynesian men line the early morning wharf. A perfect photo opportunity. Intense winters sun highlighting the silver sheen of their lines. A school of kahawai has entered the harbour and are being pulled out for their stupidity. A few wise old souls have bled them, to remove the toughness.
I wander further along the waterfront and find the left over trail of blood from an early morning stabbing. To add toughness.
He sits at the rear of the public toilets. Tall, thin and bearded he is probably three-quarters Maori. His clothes and grooming alerts you that he is a man of the street. He sucks on his can of Lion Red, at 10.45 am. He carries out a three way conversation which sometimes spills over into four or five-way as new hallucination manifest themselves. They, the hallucinations, must be vivid as each character has distinct mannerisms. Overt sweeping hands suddenly jerk into the clasped hands of the introvert. Next he is an effeminate man, then the Maori elder. His visions push and pull each other; one strikes him on the head. His finger goes to his lip in an elaborate shush.
In another time or place he might be seen as a gifted artisan. Here, he is a harmless madman.