I live in a triangle. It's not normal I know, but then that is normal for me. It is completely unpractical and tall people visit only once. But it is whimsical and weird and that counts for a lot in my world.
I live with three points of enclosure rather than four, my home is a crashed star, where only one fifth is visible. It's a pyramid without the hefty overtones, an alpine chalet without the snow.
And I'll let you in on a secret; a weird imagining that nods at a quirk that is possibly quirkier than most. I like to imagine that actually, my house is just the roof of a normal abode. That under the ground the four walls of a grand family home remain.
I can picture the family that live there, their routines, arguments, laughter and annoyance at the strange sounds that come from their roof. They are house proud and right wing and they watch the news every night.
And this is where my imaginings get really skewed. This family of ground dwellers, these subterranean John Key voters that live under my feet actually believe every word that TV 3 tells them. Weird. Odder than strange. Down right peculiar. Who would of thought.
Unbelievable really.
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