Auckland Even when I’m well stoned on a tab of LSD or Indian grass, you still look to me like an elephant’s arsehole surrounded by blue-black haemorrhoids, The sound of the opening and shutting of bankbooks, The thudding of refrigerator doors, The ripsaw voices of Glen Eden mothers yelling at their children, The chugging noise of masturbation from the bedrooms of the bourgeoise, The voices of dead teachers droning in dead classrooms, The TV voice of Mr. Muldoon, The farting noise of the trucks that grind their way down Queen Street Has drowned forever the song of Tangaroa on a thousand beaches, The sound of the wind among the green volcanoes And the whisper of the human heart. Boredom is the essence of your death.

--James K. Baxter (learned of it via The Road to Jerusalem, a documentary about Baxter)