John The Baptist Show

Its time for a roadie to the home of New Zealands first ever suicide bomber, and the worlds biggest argument over a letter in the alphabet. Come on down to Whanganui to the best show on earth. Thats right John the Baptist is going on tour and you can catch them right here in the Nui.
With support by yours truly, and Jack Mitchel Anyon.
PS you can stay at our house, on the floor.

Baw Bawding

My friend John made this……………………… snowboarding is sometimes fun.

Baw Baw’ding EP - 02 from john waddell on Vimeo.

Ventriloquism

Click the Buttons

So I entered this competition with the crapest video ever, and i managed some how to make it into the top 5. I need you to vote for me as much as you can to give me the slightest chance of winning, after all everyone loves an under-dog. Voting is open for 2 weeks, so please vote for me a few times every day, or every hour, or every minute, or every second. You dont have to watch the video, its seriously terrible, just vote. I love those of you that do vote, your good deed will come back to you one day, and to those of you the dont all i have for you is a frown, and a disapointed grumble.

If you want to hear my music when it actually sounds ok go to www.myspace.com/ellenyoungmusic

Click for the link here

Cloud Control

The Legacy of James Poltroon

Butterflies in Straitjackets.

It’s quite a weird thing going crazy. It kind of sneaks up on you.

I’d questioned..it for a while. “Am I going crazy?” or “That seems a bit odd, does everyone feel like this?”

Sure, I feel different, but so do all my friends, and hey they’re all pretty normal aren’t they?

That’s how it started for me anyway. Considering on the odd occasion, “Am I crazy?” toying with the idea, rolling around in its delicious mystery.

When I was in ..Sri Lanka I thought I was going crazy,..now I don’t really know. In Sri Lanka, spending three weeks by myself I met Jimmy Dermer, and learnt the joys of an alter ego. Two people within one, a place I could go to escape boredom. I could control it though, so realize now I wasn’t crazy. I could convince myself I was Jimmy, or that Jimmy was me, but that’s the thing, I could convince myself. I’m not sure whether it was Jimmy I spoke to on the phone the other day, but it very well could have been.

It’s a nice feeling, thinking you’re different.

After all, why would I want to be like everyone else? No one seems to be having a good time anyway, this is how it starts. Disassociation.

This happened for me a long time ago. A few months ago I would have thought it was at university, but it was earlier than that.

I sit by myself, dye my hair black, stop going to parties. Normal people are so boring, want to do such meaningless things. I say, “I’m happy in my box”, there’s other people in my box as well, and they keep me warm.

Maybe the crazier I get the more I forget who I was. Now I remember my childhood more than I did when I was a teenager, so will I remember how I was at university better in my thirties?

It seems my disassociation probably started at high school. It probably just wasn’t such a conscious decision. I didn’t define myself by who I hated. I was defined because they hated me.

“I can’t forget what was important to me then. I am still me now and always will be”. Because I know this I am special, and am destined to do amazing things, or so I thought at the time.

In-group and Out group. Disassociation becomes stronger when you have company. It is not you that defines the rift anymore: why do you need everyone else? Everyone you care about is like you anyway.

You’re in your box and your happy that way, so am I.

Maybe now I am really crazy, but I don’t think I was.

Me and craziness were still different. I could consider whether I was crazy or not.

Me and him were still the same. He was an escape, delicious. He took on different characters but was always me. The Joy, or Jimmy Dermer? He took on different names but was always a part of me. At this stage I tried to separate him, give him his own personality, but began to realize he didn’t work that way. He wanted mine.

“Little do they know” I remember thinking one day on the way to work.

I could be a secret agent in deep cover. This is all fantasy, a little game where nothing is real. See how things work? This wasn’t an escape, it was a real consideration. It wasn’t about the way I felt, it was about the way other people saw me.

I wrote this at the time:

“I am detached. I strive for everything, but ultimately nothing matters. My goal in life is to be extraordinary in whatever I do, and influence the world and other people, or truly convince myself that they don’t matter.”

More and more it starts becoming about externalities, I can see now… Less about myself and more about the way others see me. The person who can no longer be proud of themselves or love themselves, yearns for the love, or at least, the respect, of those around them.

I wrote:

“Why did it take me so long to realize that you can either slam your head against the wall of life, bitter and twisted because it wont let you live your dreams, when you can play it at its own game, and beat it, remaining detached the entire time.”

I’d given up on being able to live my dreams.

Does everyone come to this conclusion when they are my age?

Did I want to reassociate? Was it too late? I can’t really remember my state of mind at the time.

I always thought I was special. I know I am different. So, surely most people don’t come to this conclusion.

Then there are those people who never consider it and live life, in effect trying to beat it at its own game. Of course, it’s better to realize the battle exists, isn’t it?

No longer convinced that what made me different was a good thing I start making what other people are a bad thing. This leads to a general distaste for everything human I think.

“I love being able to sit in a park and eat a juicy hamburger admiring the way the lights reflect on the..pond.”

Constantly questioning and analyzing, searching for beauty in nature. Everything like me is ugly.

Is the meaning of life just to live life, i.e. life is the meaning of life? It’s about the process rather than the goal.

It seems to make sense, but I’ve never thought it before. Actually I would have thought of it before. Let’s be honest, it’s not really an original idea. I guess I just hadn’t thought of it in that way. In the way that I ask, “Is that all there is?”

Dreams are free. It is a great state of mind to be in, and it is where I think I had always been.

But to turn a dream into reality you need money or power. The key is not forgetting the dream.

“DON’T FORGET THE DREAM..” I wrote. In writing it, I didn’t realize I’d forgotten it.

“I am so happy right now,” I wrote, expecting that soon I wouldn’t be.

“You can’t put yourself inside a box and put everyone else outside it,” people would say to me, “Why not?” I asked.

By now I’d stopped thinking about whether I was crazy. After a while you do just stop thinking about it. It’s not a conscious thing, it just slips your mind. Craziness is no longer something you consider. You don’t ask, “Am I crazy?” Why would you? You’re too busy to think about it.

I came to the conclusion that I’d smashed my head against a brick wall long enough. You can’t beat everyone else. The world is greedy; everyone wants money and “stuff”. Everyone wants to get drunk or drugged. Everyone wants to escape.

Then the other day the phone rang. I picked it up and said “Hello.” He answered in my voice, and I wasn’t sure who it was. “Who is this?” I asked. “Who is this?” he asked me, perfect mimicry. “What do you want?” I asked him, and he asked me straight back. I wasn’t sure who it was on the other end of the line. He sounded just like me but so distant. Then I questioned who was on my end of the line. Then we both said, “Hello” again, searching for the identity of the other caller. Then we hung up.

It could have been one of my friends, but I never found out which one. I pictured the person on the other end of the line hanging up the phone and going to his room. Wondering with whom he had just spoken.

I try to remember who I used to be, who was in my box, but all I’ve done is push them away. I’ve redefined the size of my box, pushing more and more people to the outside.

It is just me and her in the box now. I talk to her three times a week. She is coming back in a month.

She was coming back in a month last month, and she will be coming back in a month next month as well, but she is coming back. There is someone in my box and she loves me.

Every few times I wake up, others are allowed into my box. They come in my dreams, when I am me.

I meet them when I lose my friends, who disappear. Mist into the night, laughing and partying till they disintegrate, vaporize, smoke into the cool evening air, filled with raucous drunkenness. I never notice them leave, but suddenly they are not there and I am alone.

Their eyes glow iridescent purples and turquoises. I dance with them, spinning in lit darkness, blurry indefinable features apart from their shining eyes. Breathing from a distance on the backs of their necks, they shiver. We dance and everything else disappears. I tell them my feelings, under swirling colorful lights, and they understand. I make their entire bodies quiver. We spin alone together in the silent darkness. Everything else fades to nothing in that instant, that seems to last an eternity, at the time.

They have no names but they care about me and understand me. In the morning they are gone. I question whether they exist at all, but of course they do. I never see them again and I can’t remember their names

I work everyday and I dream about work every night, or is it the other way around. It’s hard to distinguish.

Sometimes I float to work. My long green trench-coat flies horizontal to my body in the wind. I glance down the motorway as I cross the bridge, floating 20 meters above the black tarmac. My hair blows into my watering eyes. I would love to float down to the road level below, let the cars pass through me, to confirm I wasn’t really here. The road, twisting blackness into the distance and the rain falls in large slow drops. I watch the drops leave the clouds and follow them down to where they impact. I open my eyes, wide, staring upwards feeling the sting of the water. I watch the clouds reeling past, smoke from a thousand fires on a nearby hilltop, the same fires as Murray told me about, but in my world, a black and white film.

When I’m at work during the week does everything disappear? I live two separate lives, or maybe it’s the same life. I am just two people. I am the consciousness of one during the week and the other when I dream

I woke up on a cloud last weekend, swimming, playing in the waterfall. I had been there before, I think, before I fell asleep, or was that just deja vu? My week ended in a drunken blur again. Squinting wide-eyed in gloomy, colorful, twisting lights, inhaling deeply on a cigarette, caffeine flowing quickly through my veins, poisoning myself… “I’m killing myself,” I think, seductively, leaning against a wall inhaling deeply again. The rush of nicotine making my body buzz. I almost feel like I’m awake, half-asleep half dreaming. They haven’t visited me tonight.

I’m alone in thought, but surrounded by my friends, smiling faces. I’ll tell someone I hate them tonight. I always do indirectly, I don’t even know them but I’ll be an asshole anyway.

I don’t hate them. I wish they could understand, I hate myself.

If I hate them, it makes me easier to deal with, but then when I go back to sleep I regret what I said. I hate hurting people, but I do it every weekend, lost in my own despair, complete egotism and depression.

Her eyes shone brightly, glittery, an angel. I stared intently and smiled through the blur of my vision. I talked to her, about what? I didn’t know, often the case when dreaming. I felt happy, then she hated me. She called me an asshole and began to cry. I’m not sure what I said. She wouldn’t have deserved it. It was something I could barely control; awake for a second, then back dreaming. Another person hurt for no reason. Leaving pain in my wake. She did nothing to me. Why do I do it? It doesn’t make me feel any better. When I go back to sleep it makes me hate myself even more.

It’s weird. The more people you hate, and that you put outside your box, the more unique or special you feel. In the short run you feel important. Then one day you realize it’s just you in the box. You still feel important, but you also feel alone.

I’m alone in my box and people say, “You can’t keep separating yourself from the rest of society.” But I don’t want to. What they don’t realize is I’ve built my box so fucken strong. I’ve put it on a tower way up in the sky, surrounded by the clouds. Locked in steel I sit, all important, and all powerful, the king of everything inside my box, where everyone loves me, and I’ve built it so fucken strong that I can’t escape.

The view is amazing, the sun is always up, above the clouds, where I sit staring out to emptiness.

..And then I start wondering whether I’m crazy, and it’s too late. - Butterflies in Straitjackets

truth?

I wasnt going to resort to web picture blogging but studying philosophy is backing me into a corner on this one. No time………………….. does time exist? what is existence? aaarrrrggghhh.

Slide Down Frozen Water

Once again the people at Groovstar have given us some pre winter excitement!
Ole smokey makes my heart melt.

Go to their web site to check it all out www.groovstar.co.nz

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Download Demos

Heres a link to my free demos download, I wanted to re-record them cause they’re pretty rough but Ive realized its not gonna happen, because im way too busy. So you’ll just have pretend the mistakes arent there. Feel free to share them around.
click here for song down loads

Mind Map