Venus Hum

The sound of heartbeats.

Fill me up with sound
The world sings with me a million smiles an hour
I can see me dancing on my radio
I can hear you singing in the blades of grass

Yellow dandelions on my way to school
Big Beautiful Sky!

Song: Venus Hum.

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Good morning, all you lovely people, and welcome to the 700th instalment of Nick’s Kōrero. Blimey.

To begin with, a word of thanks. I really appreciated your kind words and encouragement in response to yesterday's No Surprises vent. You left me with no doubt that I should say the things even if you won’t all agree. So I guess it’s time to piss some people off. 🙂

C’mon, newly empowered, let’s break all the rules. In today’s column - Why all this pronoun nonsense is a bunch of bollocks, and you can’t just go stealing words that already have meanings...

I’m joking. Having gotten into trouble over Gaza, if I get myself in hot water with pronouns, the Greens will kick me out before the end of the week!

I’m kidding, of course; the Greens can’t kick anyone out.

Greens co-leader Chloe Swarbrick. Photo / Mark Mitchell.

Ouch, sorry. I’m not sure this culling of sacred cows is all it’s cracked up to be. Dang, I hope that not being vegan isn’t a third strike.

Maybe instead of having beef with the Greens, I could say something nice about someone on the other side? Directed towards a subject perhaps even more shocking than Israel.

Look, you at the back, you’ve got to stop clenching. These are just words, remember, and those are the last ones on that matter. Although seeing the images of Israeli Settlers, a euphemism for land-grabbers, storming the Al-Aqsa Mosque overnight, it is hard to feel any empathy for those people. Those Israelis have no desire for peace - and neither do they deserve it, as even now, they seek to antagonise the Palestinians and escalate the conflict.

Anyway, without further ado, how about that David Seymour?

Wasn’t it nice to see him wander out of the trenches, from the fetid position he occupies, to join humanity in no-mans-land? That location between political battles, lulled in the eye of a storm brewing, yet momentarily held at bay by decorum.

Like a fart at a job interview.