What's Wrong with Demockracy in New Zealand?

The irony is whether someone is on the left or the right of the political system, when you question the basis for the foundation of their beliefs, anger either overt or passive appears remarkably fast. The politically neutral person who simply wants a pragmatic and effective solution taken up by government is dis-regarded. A point Gareth Morgan makes explicitly clear in his interviews were the best expert policy is simply ignored and disavowed.

The left and the right are driven by emotion, fear of loss, fear of lack. The middle-ground, the gap between right and left, is the best place for a party to be placed that aims to bring both parts of the political spectrum together and rule based on justice and fairness in a democratic fashion. A party that unites National and Labour is what's needed! and if that is simply a Utopian dream then votes as know them should be modified to create legitimate social change.

An alternative view would then allow everyone in society to vote not for parties but on policies themselves. The MP's who sit in parliament with their own hidden agendas must be neutralized. This is because the technology within our hands, to allow the will of the people to determine the road ahead is now possible. Why should the people accept the rule by others when we the people are capable and willing to rule ourselves.

Government official's and political parties have grown complacent with their unjustified position of administering democracy. They believe the way things have been done is set in stone, but even stone is broken. All politicians and bureaucrats would do well to re-read Rousseau's "The Social Contract" again. The philosopher makes it explicitly clear, that a magistrate appointed on behalf of the people to administer the law should act not on his will, nor his parties, but on the will of the people.

Hence, as we have found out over many years that politicians can not be trusted, they must be in time dispensed with altogether.

Democracy has caught a long, debilitating sickness due to the negligent misconduct of 'Kafkin' civil servants. Thus, Democracy must be returned back into the hands of the people to restore it's full political and emancipatory potential. The emancipation movement is universal, common to everyone, and not yet achieved.

National government: Uncaring on Issue of GST on Female Sanitary Products

The New Zealand government seems too scared to change the law's around GST to improve the lives of the most dis-advantaged woman in society. The blunt and emotionless rebuff by Judith Collin's over this core issue denies human self worth and dignity to our wahine. Time and time again we have witnessed the increase in GST in our country. Yet, when nearly 30,000 kiwi's signed a petition for the opposite to occur on one small everyday item the blue meanie's say no. The government seems to be only interested in taking money off people without offering any genuine gestures of good will to struggling Kiwi's throughout the country, that's a sad reality. I wonder if Judith Collin's was dropped into a parallel universe overnight becoming homeless, struggling to buy sanitary products instead choosing to feed herself, whether she would have a different perspective on the issue. I have an inkling she would! The reason National doesn't want to remove GST on basic human necessities, is because they know, as soon as they do, there will be a ground swell for the government to remove GST on the most basic human necessities; food, bread, milk and water. Our nations depressing children poverty rate conveys that a vast section of New Zealander's are clearly struggling to feed their young families. This is not good enough, we should not be treating hardworking families as disposable people. A strong, decisive and peaceful act of retaliation is needed to express the anger and disappointment around the failure of government to address GST on sanitary products. All New Zealander should temporarily boycott Fonterra products. Until the government adequately justifies why GST on sanitary products should not be removed. It's time the National party and their lack of respect for human dignity is dealt with by hitting them where it hurts their bank accounts and their precious GST on farming produce. I would strongly encourage everyone to buy soy milk, almond milk, cat milk (just joking) any alternative milk product to put pressure on the current government. New Zealander's must wake up to the reality that we too can deny the government their precious GST revenue, just as they deny us any exception's on basic human necessities.

The Road to Ruin - Onboard a Night-bus travelling to Welly

Everything blurred about as i left the city, trees, windows, old wheezing

air-conditioning units became one indistinct ray of pale green as I raced away.

The sky outside the motionless night-bus I was climbing into was darker, 
than blackest obsidian rock buried deep within the folds of the earth. 
I left with no regrets speeding away from the bustling viaduct with its 
enclave of seedy bars populated by corporate drunks, either bored, aggressive or bemused.

Together all the travellers onboard the giant bus came from different corners

of the world. They were forced to mingle with overly friendly locals inquiring 

about where they came from and why they had travelled so far, to New Zealand

of all places. As the tourists grappled to find adequate answers in a second 

language we began to move forward, the hefty combustion engine bursting to life gargling

petrol. The engine together with the buses axle lashed the chrome wheels of the bus onward,
first we moved in a low canter then at once a blustering free-spirited gallop drove
flash looking vehicle across the smooth downtown streets. As the chockablock 
bus gained momentum, accelerated and stopped at red lights

we zipped past tall concrete buildings vacant and empty of overworked employees.

In less than ten minutes our urban surroundings melted and morphed outside, 

through the mirror-like windows I saw the noisy city give way to quiet rundown

Auckland suburbs populated with foolishly overpriced houses and limping 

lampposts unlit indifferent to the safety of pedestrians walking late at night. 

Half an hour in my stomach started to somersault like a supremely ungifted male gymnast.
Instantly I  regretted eating far to much Chinese takeaways at the wooden dinner table,

especially when i thought about the long road ahead to windswept long-suffering Wellington

 where my brother Gabriel lived. In some unknown flat nestled high above 

Aro valley in an old house in the wealth infested area of Kelburn, slightly to

upmarket for the encouraged likes of students. Gabe told me where he lived 
tpohutkawa trees loomed over weathered pioneer houses built on sheer cliffs 
overlooking a raging harbour and mystical forest. Pushing aside the painted pictures 
in my head of what Kelburn looked like my mind wandered. Eventually I started 
chuckling while tossing about in my awkward bus bed as I recalled something funny.
I hadn't even left home and my Mother said she was going to miss me as If I was
going to war in a mock-comical fashion.

Truth behold my mother was deeply worried about the earth rattling quakes shaking Wellington.

I knew full well about the dangers involved and look a foolhardy idiot I set out in 

search of adventure. If my heart was destined to fall to its tragic death in unfortunate 
circumstance I was rest assured my soul would always return to linger closely by the side 
of both my parents. While thinking this very thought the bus fell with a great thump into a
gaping pothole causing my thoughts to flashback to the less than satisfying good-bye 
I had called to my youngest brother Charlie in his room instead of hugging him. 
In haste I had marched out our windowed front door worried I was going to miss my ride.
without saying a proper farewell wrapping my arms around his shoulders. I was sure Charlie 
had barely heard me as I shouted down our long echoing corridor. I knew that he was 
busily waging a virtual war against Hungary on his laptop computer and secretly hoped 
I had disrupted him. I could see him now as I layer hunched in the feral position his strong 
back bent over his bright multi-coloured compterscreen, his eyes glued to the events 
unfolding in front of his square eyes as he tapped out orders followed by digital soldiers
at his beck and call. I wish I had told him in an annoying big brother way to clean up
his room, especially his day old pop-corn bowls covered in stale butter that urked
the whole family. Even thought I knew full well he wouldn't, he would've simply grunted 
in reply or worse denied me the use of his ipad

.

Fully accepting my fate I slowly slunk back deep into the hard bed aboard the night-bus driven 

on in an unrelenting fashion by a somewhat manic kind-hearted driver. The driver a gruff voiced 

fellow called David command us to call him by his name and not the dehumanising title of driver.

He kept rabbiting on about things over the crackling onboard speaker as I started to zone out 
and feel ever so queasy. Again my stomach began to rebel against me in my dis-comfort 
I had to remember why I was travelling across a vast chunk of New Zealand's upper north 
island on a rickety bus. The first reason being of a practical nature was that all the plane
 flights were booked out or too expensive. The flaming bus-ride was an utter rip-off but 
much better value than forking out hundreds of dollars for a one hour flight at short notice. 
The second and infinitely more important reason being that I wanted to celebrate New Years
eve the following night with Gabriel in Wellington. We had organised to hit up a rave near 
Courtney place and true to my word that was what we were going to do. I would also be 
able to see his flat and catch up with his friends that had often travelled up to visit us in
Auckland which was an added bonus. Full of renewed resolve I pretended to recover my
wits and settle in for the long-haul drive through the night. I decisively thought 
without pretending that anything was better than lounging around in Auckland again 
like last year going to same dreary bar with the same hipsters year in year out. 

Queasy or not, I was on the road to ruin and was not turning back for anything 
even more so that I was going to bloody well enjoy it. I read an old text Gabriel 
had sent me telling how he would meet me outside the MacDonald's when I pulled 
up in 9 hours and 45 minutes. Soon enough my younger Brother and I (being the 
oldest of all my siblings) would be revelling in our wonky New Years eve glory like 
drunken knights readying for utter life-ending slaughter. With that thought in mind
I fell asleep, for how long I can't recall, all I do know is that I was having vivid lucid 
dreams about how we would run amuck on the most debauched night of 2016, 
then sacrifice the memories amassed in that hard and testing year on the sacrificial alter of 2017.  

Book Review: “Nice Work If You Can Get It” - by Don Franks

Ever wondered what the life of restaurant or hotel lobby piano player resembles? Or even better what such a person's life would look like who lives in little old New Zealand? well look no further and get your hands on Don Franks new vivacious book "Nice Work If You Can Get It". The well-known musician from Wellington who has played for years on the piano, banjo and even the Russian "Balalaika" (a 3 string acoustic guitar shaped like a triangle) offers the reader a rip snorting read and laugh from beginning to end in his latest comical offering. 

From his residency tickling the ivory keys at the bourgeois restaurant "El Casino" in Welly under the rule of a fiery Italian boss, to a series of traumatic paid gigs in NZ back country round a camp fire with a lone acoustic guitar, Don leaves no stone upturned or gag up his sleeve. The authors writing is elegant clear and packs one hell of punch like a n awesome blog post one usually never find amongst the cacophony on the internet. 

In truth Don’s book actually makes me wonder if he would've done better to have taken up the pen and avoided plucking strings and plonking keys for a pittance amusing drunks and overfed restaurateurs. But once  you even read one page from his new book it confirms how Don the musician is a born performer, who feeds off the love or hatred of a crowd no matter what size. 

Plus if Don had chosen the pen over the string his readers wouldn't be able to dive into his messy world of zany tales explaining how a man could live from one gig to another in our nations past. 

One of the highlights of the book is when Don retells how another musician certainly not Don himself! ;) played one song over and over again making a good pay day in an upmarket club, let’s just say "Blue Moon" and "Spanish Eyes" come up an awful lot in this book! Bravo Don. 

Brother Gabriel - A Brilliant Photographic Visionary defending himself against a Heartless Wellington Art Critic

Gabriel Bioletti commented on this.

Gabriel Bioletti with Gus McRobbie.

21 hrs · 

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Sam Allen Probably my favourite piece in your 2106 collection, the stark contrast of light and dark, the absent confusion of the Grobbie, the number of pixels, all add to this sense of existential numbness. This piece really captures the futility of seeking purpose in life

Unlike · Reply · 3 · 5 hrs

Gabriel Bioletti Hey Sam I greatly appreciate you're considered opinion on this initial collection. However there is just one point I need to make in response; I feel the shortest path to greatness and fulfillment in art is to live it, breathe it, encompass the ideas you portray into your own everyday life. For this reason I feel like any attempt at perceiving 'intent' in my pictures will result in a somewhat contrived analysis of the real meaning behind the aesthetics. So whilst you're description does seem apt, I do struggle to reconcile my own personal beliefs with such an interpretation.

Unlike · Reply · 5 · 5 hrs

Moss Bioletti haha

Like · Reply · Just now

Write a reply...

Sam Allen Oh hey Gabriel, it's not often I get to talk to such a visionary artist as yourself. I guess the fame hasn't found you yet, but I'm sure it will some day.
You posit that my perception of meaning in your work was an "attempt", but to me the words came effortlessly, and without contrivance or indeed any motive of self-aggrandizement.
Given the absolute subjectivity of art and beauty, I feel that you as the artist need to learn to relinquish absolute interpretive authority over your works as you release them for public consumption (I too struggle with this, would you believe!). My comment was not an attempt to trap your art's meaning in stasis, but more to add a sort of meta value to it. 
We could even argue that my comment has more beauty and meaning than your photo, as it demonstrates - through its very existence - how art can inspire and bring substance to thought.
Again, really love the photo.

Like · Reply · 4 hrs

Gabriel Bioletti Oh hey again Sam. I do realise that, to a certain degree, the notion of 'death of the author' has been quite en mode recently. While i do agree that there is a certain obligation for critics of art (such as yourself), i believe vehemently that there is a much stronger obligation for the artist (me, in this case) to be steadfast in their original interpretation. The idea of absolute subjectivity does result in potentially integral motifs, themes and techniques to be lost in translation. This results in a violation of the conservation of information, something i believe to be of a much higher significance.

Again, don't think for a moment that i don't appreciate you're feedback. Maybe we will have to agree to disagree

Like · Reply · 4 hrs

Sam Allen Dear sir.
I hope you understand that I'm actually one of the most down to earth and humble people you will ever meet, and I don't appreciate being called a "critic". What I do is not the dissemination of criticism, but the delivery of high impact and insightful commentary on various pieces and their meaning as I interpret it.
My commentary adds impact to art and increases exposure of the artist, as I have a significant following of art lovers who rely on my taste and interpretations.
I hope you appreciate that the rigidity you try to impose on your work's meaning is a self serving knife to the throat of all viewers.
no offence intended.
Sincerely
Samuel Allen.

Like · Reply · 4 hrs

Gabriel Bioletti Dear Hopeless Critic,

Judging by you're utterly inappropriate and unprofessional response i would be inclined to think that you are not nearly as significant a CRITIC as you have built yourself up to be.

It is not my job to validate you're sub-par existence as a source of second-hand information. I appreciate the necessity of constructive criticism in order to move forward as a coherent and self-contained artist. Furthermore, you clearly display great insight and potential to legitimately contribute to the world of the art and I would sincerely suggest you pursue tertiary education on the subject in order to convey you're ideas in a more succinct, less frantic manner.

Yours sincerely, Gabriel Alfred George Bioletti

Like · Reply · 3 hrs · Edited

Sam Allen Sir.
Let us agree to disagree. While I respect your obvious and gratuitous skill as an artist, I find you manner to be unbearably standoffish and 
I strongly suggest that you also pursue tertiary education, perhaps in formal communication.
I came to you with nothing but good intentions and you turned around and shat all over my face and in my ears.
How dare you call me sub-par. You have no right to criticise my work.
You are an insufferable artist and I only hope that you may one day find peace within yourself as I did long ago.
Good day.

Like · Reply · 3 hrs

Gabriel Bioletti Adieu

Like · Reply · 3 hrs

Gus McRobbie I think i'll eat it now.

Like · Reply · 2 · 3 hrs

Moss Bioletti the photo that spilt a thousand words