A Fire In The Dark

Posted: July 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

And in the end,
We lie awake and dream of making our escape

Death and All His Friends – Coldplay


On the 4th of April 2000, when I was 10 years old, my oldest brother and the only hero I had left in the world, lost his fight to cancer. He was 25 years old. So many things happened around this time that I am having a very hard time putting them into proper paragraphs but I shall try my very best.

I’ll start this a year earlier, when I was 9. So I had been playing the guitar for around a year now, I was getting better than I ever thought I possibly could, just doing chords and learning my scales. I was happy but there was a lot wrong at the same time. It was around this time that I noticed that my father really wasnt a father at all. He was just a huge child stuck in a mans body, he did whatever he wanted, got drunk all the time, had promiscuous sex with anyone he wanted, and due to my Mother being so worried about my Brothers illness, the normally strong fiery woman I had grown up with was now a shell of what she had used to be. My school life was in shambles due to 1 person. A horrible teacher who made me work on the floor because she wanted to use my desk as hers was constantly covered in paperwork. This went on for months and months. My mother finally stood up to her and the backlash was horrible. I was made to clean desks and whiteboards most lunchtimes, and even redo assignments. Her reason was simply this “You can do much better” I remember one assignment I did on the Aztecs. I was so into this assignment that I went all out. I put together one of those huge multipart boards, painted it a colour known as Aztec Gold,¬† filled it with information and pictures and made a model of an Aztec temple out of Paper Machet which was completely painted and wasnt too bad for a 9-year-old to do. I was totally and utterly proud of this assignment and my mother saw how hard I had worked. I got a C+ for my efforts. I was so angry at the teacher that I kicked her. I got into so much trouble for this, but you know. I truly didn’t care.

I managed to get through the year without being stabbed to death by the Twenty-something year old teacher from hell and that meant one thing. Christmas was coming. We were house sitting for a family that we knew quite well at this time, they lived just down the road from us and had a huge Mandarin Orchard with around 20,000 tree’s. I used to love¬† running through the rows and rows of tree’s in the early morning and going for a dip in the pool in the late afternoon which became my ritual. Christmas arrived and my brother, sister and brothers girlfriend came to have Christmas lunch with us. My mother made an amazing meal as she always did. Roast Chicken and Vegetables, her famous Bacon and Kumara (sweet potato) salad, fresh bread, Ham, Lettuce salads and Mushroom salads. We ate all day, and it was well past dark when my brother and his girlfriend left, my sister stayed with us that night which was always an event as she was quite a wild child back in those days. Little did I know, this was the last time that I would see my brother well enough to walk.

The next year of school I got the best teacher ever. An amazing man who was 1 of 2 male teachers in the school. He was a 30-year-old ex rock musician who was addicted to Grunge music and got us all into it aswell. I remember how easy it was for me to play, I could play it all day long even though it sounded like crap on an acoustic guitar. I was sad though, my brother was wasting away before my very eyes getting thinner and thinner everyday untill he was just bones. We went to visit him every week in the city which was quite an adventure as we lived on the outskirts of a town, so going into the city was a big thing for me. I missed one week though, I went to a birthday party one morning for a friend of mine instead, and when I came back, my younger brother and I were dropped off at our neighbours place and Mum left without saying a word to me. We spent the night there and when she picked us up the next morning, he had died.

The next things that happened shocked me to the core, the first one was that my Mother didn’t let me go to the funeral. Her reason “It will be sad” I still think to myself “No fucking shit it will be sad, my brother was the most loved out of all of us” I sat at home with a babysitter and never got to say goodbye. The second thing that happened next was that my Dad said “Hey guys, I will be back in an hour, going to get some smokes” he didnt come back for 5 years. These last two things messed me up for years after, But that’s for the next entry.


And So I Grew

Posted: June 12, 2011 in Uncategorized

You don’t know the truth and I love your life
Flinch against the fire but this ain’t winter
And I’m all by myself the way I wanna be
Where I’m content to be to be all by myself

Luv Your Life – Silverchair


I would like to skip a few years as I have no real significant memories of them, up until the age of 7 or 8.

At the age of 6, I had already been to two different schools, Moving from the New Zealand paradise of an area known as The Bay of Islands, to the Weed capital of New Zealand, Whangerei. To the final destination, Auckland City, City of sails. Auckland is the biggest city in New Zealand, with approximately 2 million people. As a boy I had no idea just how big this was as I was in a small farming community within the large Auckland city scape. I went to school, I made friends, but I always felt that my life was destined for bigger things, Even at such a tender age, I knew. I remember waking up one morning to a new sound. My father had found his old record player. The ancient turning wheel of creative magic. He put on an album I had never heard before, Wheels of Fire, by a 3 piece band known as Cream, featuring a then young Eric Clapton. I will never ever forget that sound, this beautiful instrument floating through the air, through the nerves in my brain. It tickled my mind in such a way. I had finally heard it. That is what I wanted to do. This was my calling.

I remember asking my father “Daddy, what is that instrument?” and he looked at me and smiled. “Its a guitar Jase, A string instrument.” I remember when I was a lot younger, my father had fixed a tap in our house, I thought he could do absolutely everything possible. “Can you play a guitar Daddy?” He stared at me with the same eyes I stare out of every day. “Yes. I can play a guitar.” And for the first time in my life. He played. For me and me alone. I had heard him play before, but I was always asleep when he did it. I had no idea it was him playing. And he sang. He played a standard blues rhythm and sang in a deep raspy blues filled voice. Full of emotion and sorrow. I was hooked. I asked him then and there. “Can I do that too Daddy?” and tears filled his eyes slightly. “I don’t know son. I really don’t know. Guitars aren’t made for toes to play” This made me very angry. My house was never full of music. It was only at 7 that my father decided to bring his music, his life, into his home life.

It was about this time that my oldest brother Gavin started to come and stay with us a lot. He hadn’t been around much apart from Christmas or Birthdays since he turned 18, when he left in what was a very very sad day for us all. I knew something was wrong with Gav. My parents just never told me. I constantly asked questions about his staying “Why is he staying Mummy? He never used to stay with us.” My Mother eventually broke down. “You’re Brother is very very sick Jason, He has cancer.” “But only old people get that don’t they?” she almost cried. “No, there are different cases where some people might get it.” “Is he going to die?” I asked with my curious voice. My father was frozen on the spot, almost rocking back and forth in a trance. “He’s going to get some tests done.” That was all that was going to be said.

I ran to my room, I had taken Dads guitar with me which must have looked quite funny, my sliding a guitar along the floor trying to be secret about it. I stood it upright like a double bass and pushed in a string, I struck it with my other toe. It was horribly painful but I had to do it. I had to express what I was feeling. So I did until my toes bled. I cried about how horrid the pain was, but I learnt to deal with it. I played a single string at a time. But I learnt. And that is how it started. How my life started.


I’m sorry its taken so long for me to write again, I have been so busy with Germany planning with Kar I haven’t had my mind on the Blog! Promise I’ll post again soon.

The Beginning

Posted: May 9, 2011 in Biography

I know I was born and I know I shall die,
The in between is mine. I am mine.

I Am Mine – Pearl Jam


I was born. December 8th 1989. That was the day I was born. It wasn’t that I wasn’t lovable. It was that I was different. Jason they named me. Jason Alexander. And that would be my name. I was brought home in a blanket to cover what was yet unknown to my siblings. My brother always wanted someone to teach to play rugby. It was how they broke the news to him and my older sister. “He’ll be a soccer player, and a damn good one at that!” my mother said in her quiet, soft, shy voice. No scans had shown what I am. Or how It came to be. A complete shock to my parents and the entire family. I was born on that hot summers day without arms. The 2nd son to a blues musician and the first child to a quiet farm girl from the middle of nowhere. My parents told me they went through a very hard time when I was young. The entire community seemed to shun them and turn their backs on the family. All because they simply had no idea what to say, and it was probably a wise thing too, my father with his legendary quick fists and passion, my mother with her ember to inferno temper and love for me. I was her first born after all.

My mother told me about how my father used to play Sunday cricket. It was the last day of the season. So I must have been just over a month old. All of my fathers friends were there. “Look! Al’s arrived!” they said happily. “Oh… Angie is here too… and… the boy” My mother set up the push chair, put me in it, wrapped in a blanket to hide what were then seen as deformities to the world. An older woman sat in the bleachers as my mother rolled me up and sat down. “What beautiful eyes your child has!” she exclaimed loudly. Another woman hushed her and whispered something that my mother never heard. The elderly woman then turned to my mother and said “Can I have a hold?” My mother almost cried and said “He’s ummmm… he’s a different little boy, but if you want to you can.” The elderly woman turned to my mother with me freshly exposed from my blanket and said “Now. Why would that matter? He is a beautiful baby, such a beautiful smile and lovely huge eyes!” That was when my mother knew. Everything would be alright.

And everything was alright. My parents loved me and cared for me as you would any baby. The town came around and started sending cards. Word has it that one elderly woman was a busybody of the town and gave everyone a scolding about being so cruel to us. I still have no idea who that woman was. I want to say that she has probably passed on but I want to thank her for making my mother have hope that I would become a “normal” child. Normal is exactly what I became. I learnt to smile, laugh even, Play with toys, jigsaw puzzles mostly. They were my favourite thing in the world to do. The fact that you could attempt it in so many ways, and only one was right fascinated me. “Why aren’t there other ways to do it Mummy?” I used to ask. “Why cant the beach chair be on the other side of the beach?” or “Why can’t Mickey Mouse be standing on his head and Minnie Mouse be the Wizard?” It was like I could become one with the picture and think about hundreds of different scenario’s that could occur around the 5 characters shown. That was how I would play, by escaping reality and forcing my mind to work extra hard. I learnt to flirt too. My fathers son some say. I could walk into the supermarket with Mum and all the women and girls on the cash registers would smile and pick me up, I used to blink my big grey eyes at them and flutter my eye lashes. They used to squeal and give me free ice cream. Which I think is totally badass. Even today.


I think Ive written enough for today. I hope those of you who read it like it. And those of you who don’t read it are weird annoying gits. And you’ll never know I said that.