Work in progress
Previous | Detour | Next This detour is therapy more than anything else. Picture me on the therapist’s couch talking about 1964-66 in detail instead of skipping over it. If you really want to watch my wheels fall off in slow motion, help yourself — some people enjoy observing lab mice! Otherwise I’d ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next Aimless I may have thought I was on the way up after my stint at the hospital, the magic Summer of ’65 and reverting to my original goal, a degree in agriculture, but I was wrong. After only three days I wanted to leave Massey. Like the previous ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next I thought it might be amusing to record an old man (“older man”!) reading his nineteen year-old’s words aloud — the diary I wrote over the Summer of 1965. Honestly, I was amazed — by how much we did, most of it forgotten. By our youthful exuberance and the ... Read more
| Contents | This, for what it’s worth, is what I was reading and writing in 1965 after dropping out from VUW. Looking back, I thought it weird that the book that eventually “grabbed me by the shoulders and shook me” was written by a German psychotherapist in 1930 — ... Read more
Previous | Detour | Next Mum and Dad drove me down to Wellington in February 1964. All I can remember of the trip is staying overnight at a little, long-gone, old-time hotel in the hills somewhere past Auckland, and seeing black-and-white TV for the first time in its lounge. The ... Read more
Contents But nobody said anything like that to me — not my parents, not my teachers, not anyone I can remember. And maybe they were right because I did really well until the wheels fell off. I think it’s interesting to ask why the wheels fell off a bright kid ... Read more