June 3, Journal

Because I was banished from the Mormon’s campsite, we decided to remain together by travelling. I’ve grown used to paying for the Mormon’s gas, so it was natural for me to pay for our accommodation as well. Finding suitable places for us to stay that I could afford was incredibly time-consuming, and I began our journey with a sense of exhaustion.

It was the Mormon’s pattern to rise mid-morning, and I’d already been up for several hours before he was even awake. His mind had wound itself in tight circles the previous evening, and he’d set it on starting a whole new life with me in the northern part of the South Island. To that end, he packed not only clothes and toiletries, but his favorite carpentry tools as well. I didn’t know what to make of this bold start that he envisioned, so I just made room for his new life in the trunk of my rented SUV (Robert). His vehicle needed maintenance, so he removed some of the tools and dirty laundry from the back, we dropped it off at a local repair shop. I never saw it again.

There were many delays to the commencement of our journey. I’d committed to not smoking weed until we were at our destination, and as a result, my agitation with the Mormon’s slowness and indecisiveness was palpable. Our first stop was at the local convenience store for more of his favorite powdered milk. It was nearly noon. I decided to use a local public restroom before we got on the road, delaying us further. I drove to the restroom with my irritation in full evidence; slamming Robert’s gears into place vindictively, and pounding the brakes and accelerator with as much violence as I could muster (silently) over half a kilometer.

It was best that I allowed the Mormon to drive Robert. I took a long, shuddering hit from the bong that I’d given to the Mormon last week, after my first departure. We hit the road.

We’d decided to go north, towards a town called Motueka, for two reasons. I wanted to celebrate Pup’s Death-day in a sacred, watery spot, and the nearby Te Waikoropupu Springs seemed appropriate. The Mormon wanted to visit his friend, Carl, to get some good weed.

We took the western route up the South Island, retracing our old route up towards Franz Josef Glacier, and going a little beyond it to a cute town called Hokitika. Hokitika is the best place for Pounamu (jade) purchases on the South Island (maybe the world, who knows?). I’m a little obsessed with precious stones; so, before lockdown, I’d spent a few days there. There was a little workshop¹ on a wide side street that allowed over-eager artists like myself to carve and polish their own pieces of Pounamu.

Back in early March (in those lonely, carefree, pre-Coronavirus days), I spent several hours wandering around the nearby River Styx. It was listed on the internet as an excellent place to find Pounamu, and I couldn’t resist the romance that the name promised. I did find four small pieces of low-quality Pounamu in the wide, pebbly banks of the River Styx as well as dozens of other random stones that had no value whatsoever.

Two sessions at the little workshop provided me with four simple pendants and far too much pride in myself. I’d been attracted to the huge Maori fellow that taught me how to use his tools. His wild, high-pitched laugh was surprising and joyous, and his Pounamu carvings were elegant and well-polished. He let me stroke the hardness of a specially-commissioned jade ax, but the moment never seemed right for me to make a move.

Upon my to Hokitika, I wanted to show the Mormon how delightful that little town was. We arrived at our private cabin in a sketchy holiday park near the ocean around 8pm. After eating a vegetarian casserole that I’d made the night before, we lay on the hard, thin mattress that had probably seen more than its share of activity over the past two decades. I burrowed my head into his shoulder, searching desperately for the love and peace that my aching body denied me.

The Mormon was kind and even-tempered, and more importantly, always horny. I don’t think he noticed my discomfort. Our tongues found their way around our bodies, and he fucked me carefully in Missionary. As his cum seeped into my cells, I began to feel alive again.

Night had fallen. We only had one night in Hokitika, and we were within walking distance of a colony of glowworms. I persuaded the Mormon to get dressed and accompany me on a little visit to the uncanny creatures.

They lived in a dell just outside of town; a circular spot of ferny western forest protected by tall cliffs on three sides. The glowworms inhabited the rocky sides of the cliff in hopes of capturing delicious insects in their sticky webs. The webs glued them in place, and the frontiers of their colony rose mightily upwards for 25 or 30 feet.

Each tiny worm glimmered like a star. As we stood below, our eyes adjusting to the cave-like darkness, more and more lights emerged from the cliffs. The night above us was thickly starred as well. I felt as though invisible words were written on the black forest canopy between earth and sky: “As above, so below.”

The blue-white pinpricks of light that the glowworms emitted was magical to me, and I settled my mind into the same meditative state as I’d experienced the first time I’d visited them. Holding the Mormon’s hand in the cold night, I listened for their wisdom. I heard their twinkling song of need, and remembered that the hungrier they were, the brighter they shone. Insects were attracted to the brighter worms, and in this way, they evenly distributed resources between them without moving an inch.

I also heard an overriding restlessness from the Mormon. He was bored, so we left the Glowworm Dell for our shabby private cabin and more love-making.

The next morning, I wandered to the nearby beach while the Mormon slept to watch the dawn paint the sky and sea in a wash of pink and gold. I was too hungry to wait for him to wake up, so I huddled over the narrow table in our room, and stacked peanut butter and sliced apples on Ryvita for a noisy breakfast. This roused him around 8:30am, and we miraculously made it out of the holiday park 5 minutes before the 10am checkout time.

I wanted to share the cool softness of the beach with the Mormon, and he agreed to walk down to the shore with me before we left for the second leg of our journey north.

The beaches of the West Coast are often covered with piles of driftwood in all shapes and colors, and this one was no exception. The Mormon’s first thought was firewood. I laughed at him and kissed him. My first impulse was equally silly: I wanted to make beach art.

The first time I was in Hokitika, I’d enjoyed the wealth of driftwood sculptures on the wide expanse of sand where the Hokitika River met the sea. Local artists and travelers had rearranged the driftwood into lions, landscapes, and wondrously abstract structures. I’d spent a happy afternoon on that beach, dragging the twisted remains of tree roots into place to create a colorful sculpture that resembled a sea creature surfacing and offering itself to the sun.

That morning, I commenced upon a similar project, pulling prize pieces from the wreckage of wood around me. My sculpture followed the lines of the driftwood that I’d chosen: grounded and curvy. The Mormon watched me from a wooden bench, smoking and sipping his second cup of tea to get his bearings for the day.

Eventually, he joined me, because he often copied what I did. His sculpture was leggy and tall, and he had trouble balancing the slim trunks that he chose so that they would find stability in each other. I’d used some large pebbles in my sculpture, and he thought to place some of those same round rocks in the junction of his trunks, 5 feet above the ground.

That gave him the stability that he needed, and he grew brave enough to balance a long stick at the top that reached precariously towards the tallest post in my sculpture. I was delighted to see how close the two sticks were: they were both perfectly stable on their own foundations, their tips only millimeters apart. I found a salty vine that formed a tight ring, and we carefully placed it in such a way that both of our sculptures pierced the ring. I made art with the Mormon!

¹https://www.carveyourown.co.nz/