Destination:
OBLIVION
HOW FAR WOULD YOU GO TO DISAPPEAR?
CHRIST IS LORD
A CHRISTIAN LIFE CENTRE
ARISAN
B
3.
3 FEBOO
Jerky finger?
44 THRASHER
Hubs over the hip at the 90s-built Porirua.
Spittle at Waiuku. Old '70s shit.
Mongolia? Kilimanjaro? Mardi Gras? For some, far
away from the numbers is where they want to be. A ticket
+ a seat + a dream = oblivion.
For me, the journey is always the destination. Never sim-
pler. Call it my fountain of youth, but gettin' dirty, jumping
fences, spitting, sleeping under the stars, and breakin' shit
has always been what I'm good at. I love it. Far away from
my parents' approval and far away from anybody, knowing
what I truly think. I rule the streets of oblivion. Phone bills,
money orders, parking spaces, and tragedies need not
apply. I taste this life. Like eating oysters on a deserted
beach: you must taste the saltwater and spit out the sand
to know true zest. Maybe you know, maybe you don't-
but that's where you will always find me.
Stranger full tilt at the 24-foot Hiua pipes.
-Skip Towne
Whangarei. Sick pit.
Hungry? All-you-can-eat free raw oysters on the beach.
45