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July 26, 2020, Journal

I entangled myself in the exposed roots of a tree that lay bleached and heavy on Carter’s Beach. It was an easy walk along its trunk to get there; head to toe. I felt light and peaceful, so I meditated a little.

Along came a fellow (don’t they all?) to puncture my peace. He was gray and leathery with small yellow eyes and several missing teeth. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t take his eyes off my face, and he approached steadily.

“Hiya!” His speech was an uncomfortable grumble, as though multi-syllable words had dislodged from his mouth along with his peg-like teeth. “Where ya from?”

He thought I said Canada, and I thought he asked if it was warm in Canada.

“Yes,” I replied, “It’s summer in Canada now.”

“Nah, nah, is thare wimmen in Canada?” He clarified. “Cuz I’m gonna go get me one.”

I didn’t know what else to do but laugh. He was so eager to explain his maleness! Is this inarticulate mess also the Divine Masculine yearning for the Divine Feminine? A fish spewing his sperm into an ovum-laced river is more elegant.

“Wanna have some fun?” he asked.

Although his directness was satisfying, I told him that I was having fun right where I was, thanks. Falling silent, I relaxed against the tree and let my gaze settle peacefully onto the ocean. The rickety fellow eventually left.


When I was in Nimbin, Australia, back in early February, I asked my lover, Mark, what the New Zealand accent was like. He couldn’t really pin down what made their accent different from an Australian accent, but it was, and Mark said that I’d see for myself that all Kiwis are a little weird.

He’s right – they are.

It’s the grandness of the Land of the Long White Cloud1 coupled with a sparse population. There’s air in everything: caught between the snowy alpine peaks, leaking from the crystal-clear night sky, blowing over flat farmland, and bustling in the overly-manicured hedgerows2.

This is what gives Kiwis clarity of perception and an open heart. Air is the element of the heart chakra3.

An excess of the element of air is in their speech, too. Vowels are pronounced differently out of economy: they flatten the ‘e’ and cup their ‘i’ into a ‘u’ to avoid cracking their wind-chapped lips… ‘fush and chups’… Their words are lighter, yet more precise than an Australian’s. Like the Kiwi bird, they are comfortable probing from a distance: to them, space is a tool, not a barrier to intimacy.

Perhaps because people are more rare here, they are more precious. A Kiwi seems weird to a foreigner because Kiwis will make and hold eye contact without hesitation. They skip right over small talk to bravely face uncomfortable emotions and raw truths. Like the wild birds that dominate the animal kingdom here, they don’t know what it’s like to be hunted, so they go where they will (in conversation and in motion) with complete ease and self-confidence. If you find a bird crossing the street in New Zealand, and a car comes speeding towards it, you’ll see that the bird walks to safety at the edge of the road; it does not fly. It’s not worried. It has no fear.

That’s it. That’s what differentiates New Zealanders from the rest of humanity, and that’s why they’re weird. They are beautifully unafraid.

My suspicion is that it’s nature, not nurture. Just imagine being able to stride confidently through long grass without fearing an infectious tick bite, or scaling a cliffside without fearing a hidden rattler in the rocks. There are no snakes, no wolves howling in the night, and no poisonous creatures lurking in dark holes; no lions, tigers, or bears. Kiwis spend their summers shoeless and connected to the Earth: there’s no foot and mouth disease or rabies4 to scare them into sole(soul)-destroying shoes.

If the opposite of fear is love, then the generous New Zealand social system must be a natural extension of their strong sense of security. It’s the safest, kindest, and most honest country in the world, and that’s why it’s so difficult and expensive to achieve residency here.

Kiwis are damn lucky to be born into this majestic land that knows more of love than of fear. I’m lucky to have a chance to experience this authentic, open-hearted way of life. The Regent is the first proper Kiwi that I’ve really gotten to know.

1 https://teara.govt.nz/en/1966/aotearoa

2 Stairway to Heaven, Led Zepplin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXQUu5Dti4g

3 https://elementalgrowth.org/heart-chakra/

4 https://www.mpi.govt.nz/dmsdocument/10466/direc

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July 10, Journal

6:30am

A virile young couple has moved in next door at the lodge. The waves of testosterone are making me dizzy.

I’ve got to get out of here. One more bowl of oatmeal, one more orgasmic shower under the lodge’s hot, clit-punishing showerhead, and I’m out. I don’t even try to keep my moans quiet anymore.

9:25am

Turban’s kiss was as pillowy as his thick brown lips promised. They cushioned mine against the shock of their proximity; seemingly appearing out of nowhere after a long, sexually charged good-bye hug in the lodge’s communal kitchen. We pressed our lips earnestly together a few times before Turban snaked a pointed tongue into the crevice between mine. I welcomed its slickness with soft licks, and our hungry bodies pressed together indecently. Resenting every woolly layer of clothing that kept my skin away from his, I caressed his bare neck and let my fingertips slide over the back of his exotic black turban. We kissed away the long minutes until the 10am check-out time, when I had to reluctantly pull away from our warm embrace in the bright morning sun.

If there wasn’t a horny Mormon waiting for me less than a mile away, I’d have found a way to get naked with Turban. Why did he wait to express his interest until the evening before my departure? We could have fucked a lot in this past week, but it never occurred to me to make a move because Turban was the manager here, and he had been commendably professional. As it was, we only got half an hour together with our desire exposed, and this belly-melting kiss is all that we’ll ever have time for. Time is a funny thing. The story of Turban and I lasted exactly as long as it was supposed to, I guess: we were allotted one kiss, and it was delightful.

I’ll have to practice noticing and taking more opportunities for sex. It’s a shame to miss this ride when I have no fear or reticence holding me back. Shy dicks need riding, too, but only the bold ones get wet.

10:11am

I’ve just pulled in to the Mormon’s farm and Rex is running in happy circles around me. Turban’s kiss turned me on so much that I am going to fuck that Mormon limp.

He’s just walking towards me now, smiling his lopsided Wolverine smile, and my heart has flipped and melted like a chocolate chip pancake. The Mormon is everything that I do and don’t want in a partner, and I need to be safe in his sexy arms before I leave him behind in the dust. I’ve completely forgotten what Turban’s lips felt like.

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June 13, Journal

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April 23 – Day 29, Journal

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