2018: 10: 4


Through the floor to ceiling windows that lean out the tarmac fields around the terminal look dark grey and oily in the rain.  Skin of a whale surfacing.  Slick.  The tarmac is intersected by a complex set of painted circles and lines and lights.  The planes are being suckled and attended by little parasitic buggies and trailers and trucks.  The rain on the terminal windows distort the whole scene and the strange low truck that drives across my view becomes a fragmented set of planes and bleary orange lights.


It takes 11 hours to fly from Auckland to Osaka.  I watched three movies.  The second one was Call Me By Your Name.  Near the end a father talks to his son.  It is a speech that makes the whole movie work.

We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time….  Just remember our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once and before you know it your heart’s worn out….  Right now there’s sorrow, pain: don’t kill it and with it the joy you felt.  To make yourself feel nothing?  What a waste.

The end of the film, from that scene above, to the final long study of the boy’s face staring into the fire, is heart-breaking.


That night I had a beer on my bed in the airport hotel at Kansai Airport and it was like being home.



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I wrote a book called Kaitiaki o te Pō