Salient » Kii Small

Tears Fall, and Sea Levels Rise

Kii Small — Sun, 14 Oct 2018 20:00:48 +0000

This month, for the seventh straight month in a row, the latest climate change report has been released to remind us that we’re fucked if we don’t act now. The Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) released their report last Sunday that explains how much global warming is actually “not here to play your little game”. In the next twenty years, it appears as if we will do irreversible damage to the earth. Not only will nature be destroyed and anarchy descend onto the human race, but your chances to play your childhood games from 2002 will deplete day-by-day.
When asked about his opinion on the matter, Callum Turnbull said, “Fuck, that’s a really intense question to walk into”. Following up to that question, we asked Turnbull if he would give up meat and dairy to save the world from global warming? “I guess my girlfriend was right again,” Turnbull exclaimed as tears fell from his coconut oil drenched skin.
According to scientists we’re not good enough to mention, global warming is apparently close to impossible to stop at this point. This is the seventh year in a row this has been a headline and it is clear as a human race we need to be reminded that we made some bad decisions and it’s too late to say sorry. I interviewed some other students on how they felt about this news but could not transcribe any of the screams or words choked out through hysteric bawling.

*Disclaimer: This is shit news*

Why I Gotta Be Misogynistic Every Time We Kick It

Kii Small — Sun, 07 Oct 2018 20:56:48 +0000

My phone was connected to the bluetooth speaker in the kitchen playing the new Cozy Tapes Vol. II over the sound of a boiling kettle. I don’t often take in all the lyrics from A$AP Mob. They don’t deliver any Deltron 3030 or Kendrick Lamar lyricism that I have to dissect for weeks in between tracks; it’s often just songs filled with flexing about cars, jewellery, and women. I often just listen to the beat on songs like these, because I don’t believe the lyrics will change my life or the way I look at women in denim overalls. The treble in the track is increased and I can hear the vocals a tad clearer. A line by frontman A$AP Rocky rings out:
“My apologies, why I gotta be misogynistic every time we kick it.
Every time I visit something’s different”
The word “misogynistic” is a word I have never before heard in a hip-hop track. I zoned out for the rest of the album and actually thought about that line. Where did Rocky even get the idea to write about misogyny? Am I misogynistic everytime I kick it with my girl? It’s a word that we hear less and less, but an act I notice more and more.
Although misogyny is something that is prevalent in our culture today, I won’t be playing the role of the 56 year old tennis mum blaming the “rap music that the kids are blasting today”.
I also won’t play the role of Chad, and scream that men face prejudice too.

This article is more than the comments about women in the kitchen.
It’s more than the assumptions of women cleaning and cooking all night and day.
It’s more than the shaming of the sexual prowess of any young woman.
This is article is more than a definition of misogyny. Instead, it’s focusing on us dudes being misogynistic everytime we kick it.

It’s date night, and we order in takeaways from your favourite spot because I know you had a rough week. Sweatpants are on and the mood is set. This is probably the time I should put on some Al Green and casually turn up the volume; but tonight is your night. A candle is lit and your favourite smells of coconut and vanilla lift your mood, accompanied by a gentle Kaytranada mix. I relax as I’ve done everything I can to make a safe environment and tell you to vent. You start talking about your deep and intimate issues that somehow make me feel uneasy. I’m not twelve and periods don’t gross me out anymore, but for some reason my mind is jittering with mental sweat. I hurry along the conversation and attempt to finish your sentences. I bring up my phone and start to scroll, just to appear casual and comfortable with the conversation. I start to take snippets of your conversation and talk about my day and things I want to talk about. This continues for another 7 minutes. I think you feel defeated and head to sleep.
You sleep feeling unresolved and tense. I can’t sleep because I’m feeling guilty, but comfortable. Waking up the next morning, we have meaningless chatter and I start to wonder if we ever talk about your situations. I want to hear more about you and your relationships with the outside world, but I realise half way through the conversation that you already let me know. I just don’t take them seriously. This shit feels like teenage fever.
I analyse this situation more and more as the week goes on. I always have to ask myself if this is misogyny or whether I’m just impolite when anecdotes don’t involve me.
The only person I talk about these sorts of things with is Dayna. She helps me self-critique with love and allows me to vent freely.We’ve been friends for years and we catch up occasionally for coffee or drinks. Our conversation always end up talking about our love lives or commitment issues. She starts talking about the last guy she was with, gets into raunchy details. My brain tells me to become more aware of my surroundings as I signal her to quiet down her conversation.

Wait.
Why? Why would I tell her to quiet down? Who cares if she’s talking about the last dick appointment she attended? I’d let my male friends talk about their weird and nasty encounters with women loud and proud in a Maccas playground at 10AM. Dayna should feel free to talk about Jason’s game, just as much as he feels free to talk about hers.
It’s at this point I begin to self reflect. As someone who would define themselves openly as a keeper of human rights and equality between all races and genders, I’m doing a shit job of doing it subconsciously. Inprofessional environments I would never be so rude, but when I let my guard down over some green tea and caramel slice I seem to slip up. Are my misogynist tendencies internalized?

It’s a school night. You’re scrolling Instagram and come across an old friend you don’t talk to anymore. Comments on your photos from 2013 are filled with praise and compliments from her, but ever since your disagreement over one guy you hardly talk to her anymore. She uploads something which makes you slightly jealous and angry; something you’ll never fully admit. You call her a slut, and tell a slanderous story about her being an “untrustworthy bitch” when you were both friends. Everyone else in the room is male and inclined to listen, and refuses to argue with you. The words slut, whore, and bitch are more normalised in that environment, and the young men around you feel more comfortable using those words to describe women like that. You only used those words when you were angry. That doesn’t matter, the damage is already done.
Like many other people who will read this article, you’ll probably define yourself as someone who’s “not a dickhead”, if not a feminist. I know we focus on how to combat rape culture and the negative gender norms women face daily, and somehow we find ourselves in arguments with people who believe “women do it just as much as men”. I don’t have the answers for this, and I cannot challenge or critique a culture successfully.

Internalized misogyny and subtle sexism are issues which pass us on the bus, at the pub, or on the couch every day. In a casual setting we’re far more relaxed and I don’t want you to feel tense everytime a woman enters the room. Just as I do to myself every time I write, I need to remember I’m not perfect and critique my actions openly. The last thing I want to do is ruin your movie night or your morning brunch out by telling you well done and treating you like a pre-teen. You’re a grown woman on your way to a degree and a full time job, you should feel just as comfortable as me when we kick it.

There’s a lot of confidence that comes after a self-reflection like this. I can’t end this piece on a happy or sad note, because this is something that we all still battle for every day. This isn’t something we’ve solved at all, and this isn’t something which you’re going to give up. In your endeavour to look out for these signs, I hope you remember the verse and how it ends.
“My apologies, why I gotta be misogynistic every time we kick it
Every time I visit something’s different and every time I leave you know you miss it”

The Lifts Are Always One Step Ahead

Kii Small — Sun, 16 Sep 2018 21:00:55 +0000

This week, the elevators on Kelburn Campus are back in operation and allowing students to travel between the 3rd and 7th floor without the need for stairs. Students and staff are flabbergasted that the second coming of Jesus Christ has not come prior to the elevator repair.
“Honestly, I’m shocked. This whole time I thought the 7th floor was a myth developed by postgrad students to fool undergrads. I actually went there today. Scenes.” said one Te Puni Village resident. The elevators have been out of order since the 2016 Kaikoura earthquake, and have forced students to perform the ungodly task of climbing stairs to find their academic articles.
It’s not all laughs & lifts around campus though. A documentary concerning the broken elevators has halted production in the Salient TV office. They are “devastated”, as months of footage are now completely irrelevant. We can only imagine they will be hoping for the repairs to be temporary.
Callum Turnbull is of the group of students who is so shocked, they’re actually disappointed. “This is a major change in my university life, and they didn’t even consult me about it. No email, no nothing. Is there where my fees are going?” Turnbull has reportedly scheduled a boycott of the elevators for the rest of the year.

*Disclaimer: This is shit news*

Editor’s Letter

Kii Small — Sun, 19 Aug 2018 21:00:24 +0000

This week Louise is snowed under with a bunch of editorial work and cannot do her editorial letter to all of you readers. So you’re stuck with the person that sits parallel to her in the office and whose job description is so dissimilar that she forgets I work here at times.
This week, I think we were supposed to write something about the free speech issue in regards to the whole Don Brash situation; but that’s not what we about to do. I’m gonna use this time to talk about something else.
On a dark and damp Tuesday around 11PM, I begin to slip into the ground-zero state of my mind and subconsciously prioritize my need to sleep and forget to reply to any “upto” messages I get from then on. All music goes off and my phone is put on silent so it can sleep under the pillow next to me. All of the lights dim to black and I begin to embark on the strenuous journey of sleeping.
My mind races around at a crazy pace as I analyse my deep ambitions, dreams, regrets; my beautiful dark twisted fantasies. My eyes adjust to my room which is no longer lit up by screens and inboxes, rather, by the strobing street light outside. I stop and listen; something I don’t do often enough.
I listen to the wind torture the trees outside and paint blood on the leaves. The static stops. I forget about what I have on my to-do list and the people I have to text back. I step back and realise how much I’ve taken in of my day. I can’t remember the people I met. I can’t remember the meals I ate or the amount of money I spent. I hardly recall my last conversation and whatthat person said. I know I heard em’ say something, but it didn’t resonate with me. Conversations had with people I love are placed on a packed 12-lane highway leading to a tunnel that feeds into one large channel of chaos and scenes my mind is unable to paint. My entire day is thrown through the wire and jumbled into an archive file I’ll never actually look at willingly.
This week, I want you to take a step back from the static that you hear everyday. Listen to understand instead of just hearing people talk about shit you don’t want to hear. I find that we latch onto certain sections of an anecdote to respond to instead of listening to the entire story. At the end of it I feel as if one person leaves with misconceptions and the other person leaves feeling unheard. There is no worse feeling than not being heard.

I’m challenging you to listen more. Take it in and exhale it. As you find yourself turning your lights off and hopping into bed, drift into a 4th dimension knowing that you have collected all you can from your day. You have learned everything you possibly can from your encounters and you are ready to rest for what seems like 30 hours.
Wake up Mr. West.

Vic Merch Value Skyrockets

Kii Small — Sun, 05 Aug 2018 21:00:03 +0000

Hoodies, sweatshirts, and coffee mugs labelled “Victoria University of Wellington” are flying off the shelves following the name change debate from the board. Students have been crowding Vic Deals, (soon to be Welly Deals) for “Victoria University” merch before the name is changed forever. Callum Turnbull told us he was actually frightened to wear his Victoria University hoodie that he purchased in first year. “I can’t walk home late at night now, someone might try to steal this 2013 vintage Victoria Uni hoodie. They don’t make these bad boys anymore.” Turnbull went on to try and sell us his secondhand hoodie for a slab of VBs, a Vic Books 10% discount voucher, and an undisclosed amount of narcotics. The black market of Vic Uni merchandise has been flourishing since the name change debacle, and reportedly put students at risk of theft.

For the last few months, the university board has alerted the public about their intent to change the name of the university to “eliminate confusion for potential overseas students”. Overseas students have been reportedly flabbergasted to find that the great Victorian University that they requested isn’t located in Kelburn, New Zealand. Marcus Longmeat reportedly complained to the university that he was mislead in his enrolment process. “You mean to tell me Queen Victoria didn’t actually go here and all I get is Grant Guilford who used to be a vet? Not even a Vietnam vet, an animal-fixer vet.”

*Disclaimer: This is shit news*

Vic Books Discount

Kii Small — Sun, 29 Jul 2018 21:00:12 +0000

Local students and semi-educated adults were shocked to learn that Victoria University offers alumni a 10% discount on all books in the VicBooks catalogue if they show a “recent monthly alumni e-newsletter” before purchasing at the counter. Some students were even more surprised to know VicBooks cared about their horrid financial situation. “Ain’t that the same coffee place that charge me fifty cents for a cup? That’s wild,” said Callum Turnbull. VicBooks have been offering this discount for a long time, but apparently not long enough for 46-year old PhD student who was enjoying his eighth straight year on campus until the news was broken to him. “Do you know how much money I’ve spent on textbooks that I read four pages of? Do you know how many monthly alumni e-newsletters I’ve put in the junk folder?”
Views and subscriptions to this sacred e-newsletter have increased steadily, causing their printouts to be seen as a secondary form of currency around Kelburn and Pipitea campus for students. 10% off a $130 textbook is a Domino’s pizza and a slab of VBs; a well-balanced diet for any first-year accounting student.
Many printers on campus have jammed and “given up” following many attempts to print off the newsletters. Campus Care have fixed a record number of printers this week and were reportedly proud that students were finally buying books for the first time in three years.
***disclaimer*** this shit is real. Hit up Vic Books and get what you’re owed.

RIP Illot Cafe

Kii Small — Sun, 15 Jul 2018 21:00:41 +0000

On July 5th 2018, the beloved deep-fried palace that we know as Ilott Cafe closed their doors for the last time, to the screams and tears of many students. The cafe, formerly known as Revive, Hangover Heaven, and “Fuck Yes Cafe” was the hub for all students with a craving for fried chicken, chips, and luke-warm Asian food.
There has been wide speculation around the closure of Ilott; including rumours of lease expiration, health warnings, and an unacceptable amount of undergraduate happiness. Local student, Marcus McNab responded with “No, are you serious bro?” which was subsequently followed by several hours of hysterical screaming and crying.

“Where else am I supposed to get deep-fried goodness and a Fanta? Vic Books won’t sell anything without a vegetable, let alone an inch of salt,” he added.
Concerns grow as students search for their next fast-foodhit to feed their benevolent souls for $4.90. Some students and beloved alumni refuse to search for an alternative option on campus and have begun a petition for the movement, ‘#reviveRevive’. The petition has near 2000 supporters and is growing in size, along with the BMI of its supporters.
Devon Sanson, stating that he refuses to purchase a “$50 noodle salad from The Lab”, has signed the petition out of sheer passion for Revive. Darcy Ash, a 45-year-old nurse from Taranaki was stunned as petition for her cat’s heart surgery was stuck at 150 signatures. “At least the kids are fighting for what they love. I can only hope they’ll sign to save Mr. Ming as well.”
We can only assume that those who will not miss the Ilott Cafe are buried somewhere in their vegetarian noodle salad and sugar free vegan honey latte in ultimate bliss. Buried next to Mr. Ming.

*Disclaimer: This is shit news*

Love Isn’t Real, Because You Aren’t Hard Enough

Kii Small — Tue, 05 Jun 2018 00:00:53 +0000

I’m 16. The clock hits 9:30pm and my mother tells me to get to bed and get an early night. My lamp lights up the room that was previously lit up by Minecraft and my phone alerting me that someone poked me.

The rain begin to hit my window as I turn on my speaker and play Kendrick Lamar’s Good Kid, M.A.A.D. City.
My phone buzzes. A text from my girlfriend, Bella. I pause my game, unlock my phone and the text lights up my room, face, and entire life.

“I think I love you.”
The rain stops. The lamp dims, and in my peripheral vision my turquoise walls have been painted battleship grey. Kendrick’s album promptly skips to Frank Ocean’s Channel Orange. I’ve forgotten how to breathe, as my chest twists and unwinds like a tornado flew around my room. Start.
This was where I was introduced to love. Despite being romantically inept, having no job, driver’s license, goals, sexual knowledge, or confidence, I submerged myself into a pool of intimacy and commitment. Age 16 1⁄2. We began to spend more time together during and after school. In town, on the rugby field, outside the drama studio, in my lounge watching game shows, and everywhere in between; places where I found love. I began to care about something other than myself, and worry for the welfare of young women like her. Lost.

Lost in the heat of it all.
Fast forward to my departure to university in 2015 and the inevitable heartbreak that followed. It sucked, but we don’t have to relive that in detail. I immediately meet someone new. Tayla. We commit and begin to grow like we’re knee deep in fertilizer; blooming like roses grown entangled by the torrential wind that is first year university. Away from home is difficult alone and easier when you share a bed with someone that reminds you of the friends and family you left behind. Someone that reminds you of Bella.
Thoughts of Bella can’t escape my mind as Tayla turns around and whispers through her tears, “I love you”. The street sweepers outside becomes mute as the humidity in the room begins to make the walls sweat my tears for me. To be polite I return the compliment. In the same way I spoke to Bella.

Wait. This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. I don’t feel this shit. Why is that love? That’s just one person being polite to another. Why would I want to hurt someone’s feelings, when I could lie to them about something I don’t know the answer to? It’s easy, right?
I do it all the time. The barista at my local bakery asks me “How are you today?”.
“To be honest, I’ve had a shocker. I don’t know if I’ve ever been in love and I don’t know whether I’m just scared of the response when I disagree so I just lie to make the situation more positive.”
Why the f*ck would I say that? She doesn’t need that on her plate. Maybe she’s just dying for me to say something dead so she can ask for my order. I respond with “Good, how are you?”.

I do it all the time.
Troy asks me if he should hit up the girl in the turtleneck with the hoops and boots next to the bartender, but I’ve just had a conversation with her about how creepy Troy is. Tell him what’s really good? Nah, I don’t have the heart. How could I?
How could I create a situation where someone I’m committed to loves me without reciprocation? I didn’t have the heart to. So, I continue. I continue to say it every night. Every morning. On the end of text messages, on birthday cards, post-it notes, phone calls and through lustful moments.

But, Bella never knew and neither would Tayla.

My head in one hand at the waterfront, with the other drenched in vanilla ice cream. Sticky with tears and ice cream, I confront my fear. I still feel lonely. I’m not in love and I never have been. I’m just too scared to say no and be a bad person. I never put myself first.

I begin to take care of my own ambitions. I build my confidence to the point where I feel comfortable in sweatpants and a sweatshirt in the middle of Courtenay Place for everyone to see. I could make the first move and invite you over later for milk and cookies, but we both know I’m lactose-intolerant. I vow to never change anything about myself if it doesn’t benefit me. Promise to never be put in a situation where I have to lie everyday about what I feel. I put myself first.
My confidence is perceived as arrogance, but it allows me to feel emotion. To feel every kiss, every intimate moment, and every tear-jerking goodbye as a sentimental landmark in my lifetime. Ever since I found that confidence, it’s been spreading like ivy, painting my black and grey feelings to pink and white.
My opinion? Love isn’t real because you haven’t been selfish yet.

Diss Tracks Are Poetry, Just Admit You Have A Crush

Kii Small — Tue, 05 Jun 2018 00:00:04 +0000

This week, rapper and certified drug dealer Pusha T got into a poetic altercation with Canadian rapper and instagram papi Drake, over alleged ghostwriting and overall talent.
Pusha dropped Daytona this week — fully produced by Kanye “Say my Name” West — which addressed Drake’s ghostwriting rumours, Kanye’s mental state, and how the drug market is looking this summer in California.
Drake and his OvO crew retaliated 48 hours later with “Duppy Freestyle”, which called out Pusha T for not actually being “that big” of a drug dealer, and slandering Kanye for asking for money last year.
“Fuck Drizzy really turned him like Meek Mill,” said apparent rap fanatic Courtney White, who labels herself a “diehard fan” having listened to Views with her boyfriend that one time.

Pusha T — also known for potentially killing people that were once alive — took the insults about drug dealing and ghostwriting and decided to hit back at Drake, accusing him of being a “deadbeat motherfucker” to his alleged son.
Pusha continued to insult Drake’s family: calling Drake’s father Dennis Graham a deadbeat Dad, saying Drake isn’t taking full responsibility for his child, attacking Drake for not being proud of his former porn star baby momma, and even taking a hit at Drake’s producer who will “die soon” from MS.
“Woah that’s just not on to be honest. Do you really think Drake has a child to anyone that’s not me?” responded White after hearing the best soundbites from the track.
Drake is reportedly writing a new song dedicated to Pusha T, thanking him for the last 96 hours of being holed up in a studio writing poetry about Pusha while Pusha also secludes himself to write poetry about Drake.

*Disclaimer: This is shit news.*