Taane's ground-breaking sound and vision experience a hit
Tiki Taane. PHOTO: ODT FILES
A fully immersive sound and vision experience delivered by Tiki Taane enveloped the large audience at the Glenroy Auditorium on Wednesday night.
Chamber Music New Zealand shows itself prepared to showcase Aotearoa's avant garde music and encompass a new audience. The stage is set with a light drawing of full-facial moko wearing headphones.
Tiki Taane is one of Aotearoa's award-winning and experimental artists in improvisation and bass culture from his beginnings in Salmonella Dub. He has expanded his artistic range to include directing and producing film and collaborations with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra. He is an multimedia artist of extraordinary stamina and versatility. His improvisational skills mean that each performance is unique.
For this tour Taane has collaborated with digital artist Kereama Taepa, whose transformation of traditional Māori patterns into the digital realm are mesmerisingly beautiful. Three-dimensional figures of Atua slowly rotate and twist. The stage is darkened as Taane deftly moves between his instruments. The intricacy of his rhythmic patterns wax and wane with timely innovation. Taane's charm takes a cheeky twist as he employs a hammer against bamboo, a stick against a cheese grater and dramatically pulses the motor of an electric drill. His artistry is boundless.
The listener travels with the pulse of karakia and sometimes too static images of three Atua, te Uira, god of lightening and therefore electricity, Tanemahuta, who kicks open the earth's creative space and Hine te Iwaiwa who inspires weaving and manipulates visual imagery.
Taane remains aware of how far he can take his audience. The performance closes with a grounding guitar solo from Salmonella Dub and with him leading the audience in Hine e Hine.
Everyone left the auditorium with smiles on their faces having experienced something uniquely ground breaking, performed and produced excellently.
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Otago Daily Times
4 hours ago
- Otago Daily Times
Taane's ground-breaking sound and vision experience a hit
Tiki Taane. PHOTO: ODT FILES A fully immersive sound and vision experience delivered by Tiki Taane enveloped the large audience at the Glenroy Auditorium on Wednesday night. Chamber Music New Zealand shows itself prepared to showcase Aotearoa's avant garde music and encompass a new audience. The stage is set with a light drawing of full-facial moko wearing headphones. Tiki Taane is one of Aotearoa's award-winning and experimental artists in improvisation and bass culture from his beginnings in Salmonella Dub. He has expanded his artistic range to include directing and producing film and collaborations with the Christchurch Symphony Orchestra. He is an multimedia artist of extraordinary stamina and versatility. His improvisational skills mean that each performance is unique. For this tour Taane has collaborated with digital artist Kereama Taepa, whose transformation of traditional Māori patterns into the digital realm are mesmerisingly beautiful. Three-dimensional figures of Atua slowly rotate and twist. The stage is darkened as Taane deftly moves between his instruments. The intricacy of his rhythmic patterns wax and wane with timely innovation. Taane's charm takes a cheeky twist as he employs a hammer against bamboo, a stick against a cheese grater and dramatically pulses the motor of an electric drill. His artistry is boundless. The listener travels with the pulse of karakia and sometimes too static images of three Atua, te Uira, god of lightening and therefore electricity, Tanemahuta, who kicks open the earth's creative space and Hine te Iwaiwa who inspires weaving and manipulates visual imagery. Taane remains aware of how far he can take his audience. The performance closes with a grounding guitar solo from Salmonella Dub and with him leading the audience in Hine e Hine. Everyone left the auditorium with smiles on their faces having experienced something uniquely ground breaking, performed and produced excellently.
Scoop
4 hours ago
- Scoop
Kōkā Puts Māori Storytelling, Healing, And Matariki At The Heart Of Its Journey
A new feature film weaving together Māori storytelling, intergenerational healing, and the significance of Matariki has hit the big screens today, offering Aotearoa a moving experience grounded in te ao Māori. Kōkā, directed by Kath Akuhata-Brown (Ngāti Porou), follows the journey of two wāhine - a kuia named Hamo and a troubled young woman, Jo - who form an unlikely bond on a road trip across Aotearoa. Described by Akuhata-Brown as "a road movie, but a journey that is both physical and metaphysical", the film platforms both mātauranga Māori and the Ngāti Porou dialect. "I genuinely wanted to create something that showed the world how beautiful being Māori is to me," Akuhata-Brown said. Akuhata-Brown first wrote Kōkā nearly 20 years ago but said now was the perfect time to share it. "I wanted the world to understand that our existence is so deeply connected to our land and our tīpuna. This doesn't make us a people who live in the past, but a vibrant, connected nation." The film's release coincides with Matariki, a season of remembrance, renewal, and wānanga. It's also a time that brought Akuhata-Brown closer to mātauranga Māori, she said. "It wasn't until making the film that I started understanding Matariki's significance to me personally. "My dad lived by Matariki principles... it was just his way of life. It was all he knew. Everything was alive: pounamu, the stars, the whenua, the awa - all of it was a living entity. "That's why it became important to me. I started understanding that more during the process of making Kōkā." Māori voices at the forefront Kōkā stood in deliberate contrast to earlier portrayals of Māori in films like Once Were Warriors, Akuhata-Brown said. Released in 1994 and directed by Lee Tamahori, Once Were Warriors follows an urban Māori whānau living in South Auckland and their problems with poverty, domestic violence, and alcoholism, caused by intergenerational trauma, racism, and systemic land loss. "The intention was to bring elements of healing into the work, to ensure that when people come away from it, they're not traumatised. Because I am so sick of traumatising films," Akuhata-Brown said. She said the current political climate made it more important than ever to share Māori stories. "I think if you look through history, the greatest storytellers emerge in the darkest periods. Not just in te ao Māori, but across the world. "Artists are the soul of the nation. And our souls need some help right now." A spiritual journey of healing and whakapapa Hinetu Dell (Ngāti Porou), who plays the character Hamo, said it was "humbling" to be part of a kaupapa that uplifted her people. "It's really important for those who live in isolated areas or isolated spaces to see their kind on the screen. It's something they can aspire to and achieve." She said stepping into the role of Hamo, a kuia deeply rooted in tikanga and whakapapa, felt natural. "A lot of the experiences that Hamo was going through, I had already experienced in my own life. I was very comfortable with the Māori protocols." Kōkā also explored intergenerational trauma and how the restoration of mauri begins through service, connection, and care. "Hamo serves this girl by doing all the work, catching the kai that's important to young women. Hamo does karakia, and during that whole process, Jo, who has come into this place bruised and battered, is healed," Dell said. A tribute to a life lived and lost Jo's character was inspired by a real person Akuhata-Brown once met, a young Māori man who had been institutionalised, released into the community, and left to "survive on his own". "He lived under the Grafton Bridge and used to read the newspaper to see who had passed away, then turn up to their tangi," she said. "He had no filters, it was quite full on. People were nervous around him. I thought to myself, he's not long for this world. Three years later, his body was found in a ditch." Akuhata-Brown said she couldn't stop thinking about him. "My Jo in the film is that Joe. It's to honour him and his life when no one else did." She said the character served as a reminder of the realities some Māori still face. "All I know is that someone's life has been given that's the truth." Connection through te reo and identity Darneen Christian (Tūhoe, Ngāti Kahungunu, Pitcairn Island), who plays Jo, said the production was both challenging and rewarding. "I love that it's touching people who don't know their whakapapa and their culture. It's touching a lot of things people are starting to finally be passionate about and trying to work on." Like her character, Christian said she had been distant from her Māori whakapapa. But being on set helped her reconnect. "I teared up at one of our rehearsals and said I can't communicate with you in the language. Everyone was so supportive, I realised I wasn't going to be looked down on." The film's alignment with Matariki made the experience more meaningful. "It's a time to release and start again... to leave what has happened behind and welcome what's new." Dell said the journey of understanding Matariki had also evolved for her. "Matariki is a word that's very familiar to me in terms of haka and waiata," Dell said. "Prior to that, we didn't really understand what Matariki really meant until today. The research in terms of Matariki has been instrumental in developing us as a people to go forward." Te reo Māori, whenua, and a nod to Ngāti Porou Kōkā was the first feature film to be shot predominantly in the Ngāti Porou dialect. The dialogue was developed with local kaumātua, language experts, and Te Rūnanga o Ngāti Porou. Akuhata-Brown said the language spanned generations, from modern-day reo to expressions once used by Māori Battalion soldiers. "The language of women is different to the language of men and there's even a Ngāti Porou language of love," she said. "It's a full range of te reo and it was incredibly important to the filmmaking team that the language create a tapestry of beauty and gorgeousness. I haven't dared touch it." Actor Te Kohe Tuhaka (Ngāti Porou, Tūhoe), known widely in Aotearoa for his role in The Dead Lands, plays Marcus in the film, a police officer who acts as a protector to Hamo. He said Kōkā' s use of reo is empowering but "normal." "I grew up in a period where I just thought everybody spoke te reo Māori, and English was second, everybody's second language. Which is not the case. Case in point to the current government. "Everything about te ao Māori is a very normalised thing in my life. That is not to say that I am an expert in any of it. I just know what I know, and I've grown how I've grown." Tuhaka said an important part of the film is exploring the universal challenges Māori still face today. "We touch on poverty, we touch on low socio-economic spaces, we touch on the role of the police in the community, we look at the journey of Māori returning back to their maunga, their awa, our versions of manaakitanga. "The landscape is another massive character and touchstone for us in Kōkā." He said all of these practices and kaupapa exist now. "To be able to shine a bit of Matariki light, me Puanga, ki runga i ēnei tū āhuatanga, it feels fitting as we head towards our release in Matariki weekend." A tribute to the whenua and wāhine Filming took place across Te Wai Pounamu, Te Whanganui-a-Tara, and the East Cape - but it was Akuhata-Brown's awa and maunga that anchored the story. "It couldn't be told anywhere else," she said. The title Kōkā is specific to Ngāti Porou and is a shortened form of Waiapu Kōkā Huhua, referring to the ancestral Waiapu River. It can be translated to "matriarch" or "mother of us all". "It reflects all those female aspects - not just one," Akuhata-Brown said. "Along the Waiapu riverbanks are marae often led by chiefly women, nurturing all the people who live there." "The river's flow mirrors the story structure, with all rivers joining the central character Hamo on her journey out to sea," she said. Making space for future storytellers All of the film's actors offered words of encouragement to rangatahi, wāhine, and Māori wanting to enter the film industry. Tuhaka said it was important for aspiring creatives to understand their purpose. "You have to really know why. Why this industry? Why this craft?" he said. "We're lucky here in Aotearoa that it's not foreign to dabble in a whole raft of things, in front of the camera, behind the camera. But it's about understanding the 'why' because you'll get more noes than yeses, and the why is what gets you through the no's and lets you really celebrate the yeses," Tuhaka said. "Kia kaha, kia māia, kia manawanui. "If this is something you want, go for it. Make mistakes, stand up, and carry on," Dell said. Christian said the time was right for more Māori voices in film. "This is the time. The pot's boiling for the right time to start jumping in." Kōkā premieres across Aotearoa this Matariki, Friday, 20 June.
Newsroom
10 hours ago
- Newsroom
Short story for Matariki Weekend: It followed her home, by Jessica Hinerangi Thompson- Carr
They lived in an overpriced flat two blocks from the beach. Peter, Nathan, Luke and Harley all took commerce, Isla studied environmental management, and Kiri had enrolled in marine science. Kiri met Isla through Te Rōpū Māori association, and as soon as she'd expressed needing a place to live, Isla had invited her in. The boys accepted her quickly, they thought she was fun because she could do keg stands. Kiri didn't like beer, but she wanted friends, so she signed the lease. They held flat parties, large and small, at least three nights a week. As the university workload increased, the parties did not wind down. They strained through their studies, the promise of a box and some beats their carrot dangling on a stick at the end of the day. * Almost every day of first semester was spent at the beach with drinks. Kiri walked to the rock pools while the others lay in the dunes, tipping her beer onto the sand when they weren't looking. She crouched like a shag and studied the eco systems inside. All her lunchtimes at high school had been spent in the corner of the library reading about octopus and crabs. Her only friend had been the seventy year old Librarian Mrs Lauder. Kiri wanted to be liked. So badly. She didn't want to be Koretake Kiri anymore, the sore nickname given by her old peers up North. Koretake Kiri couldn't answer pātai in class, she froze up. Koretake Kiri couldn't do a job without dropping something. Koretake Kiri didn't know social cues, she rambled while others rolled their eyes. She didn't know what clothes to wear or how to apply makeup, or party like they did on TV. But Ōtepoti was her clean slate. No one knew her down here. She was determined to learn, and fake what she could. She'd done the whole rom com transformation thing before arriving. Got a fresh haircut. Plucked her eye brows. Filled her wardrobe with Glassons attire. She knew to play the billboard hot 100 when the aux cord came her way. She watched beauty youtubers with her breakfast. She found ways to bond with her flatmates. Isla loved One Direction, American Horror Story, and spending her afternoons scrolling Tumblr, so Kiri watched all the episodes at night through her headphones and made a Tumblr account dedicated to Zayn. They lay side by side on Isla's bed eating chips and re-blogging for hours. The boys loved video games. Sometimes they let her play Mario Kart or Call of Duty with them. She was good enough to last a few rounds, and mimicked how her cousins talked up home when they played. 'Kerri! Oi! Don't shoot at me!' 'It's Kiri.' 'Sorry Kerri. What the hell what are you doing?!' 'Your mum.' 'Kerri! Where are you going now?' 'Get wrecked scrub. It's Kiri.' They all chuckled and she hid her smile with a shrug. She had to limit her reo use. Isla seemed uncomfortable when Kiri tried to kōrero Māori with her outside of uni. The boys didn't know anything beyond Kia Ora and the national anthem. She tried to teach them a little. 'Kei te pehea koe?' 'Huh?' 'It means how are you? You could say anything back like pai for good, pōuri for sad, ngenge for tired…' 'Oh. I'm good, thanks.' Isla did most of the cleaning, and Kiri tried to help. There was no chore chart. The boys didn't seem to notice the filth. Peter liked to watch Isla vacuum and Harley liked to watch Kiri cook her meals. Kiri always gave him a portion of what she made. He was the most attractive of the boys, though she'd learned the phrase 'don't screw the crew,' she couldn't help flirting with him, seeing every glance he gave her as something meaningful. She began to feel at home in the flat, each room always loud and lively. The location was ideal, the ocean a stone's throw away so she could study marine life anytime. She loved the parties, things she'd never been invited to before. She could blend in at parties, beneath the aluminium hum, revelling in the spell of false friendliness that everyone fell under. * Her 19th birthday rolled around. They spent the day on the beach. The boys chugged beers in between a game of touch and Isla watched on her towel sipping vodka cruisers. Kiri went to the rock pools. Her māmā called. 'Hari Huritau e te tau! I pehea āu akoranga?' 'Pai. Good,' Kiri didn't mention the C she'd received on her recent essay, or how she'd missed three tutorials because she was too hungover, 'I'm learning a lot.' 'Me āu hoanoho?' 'They're really cool,' she didn't confess about the excessive drinking or the lack of a chore chart. 'Kōrero Māori to me my girl. Why don't you kōrero Māori?' 'Everything is pai māmā, kei te pai noa. It's all good down here. I'll be up to visit end of the year.' She hung up and stared into the water at her feet. Her tears fed the pool, and movement caught her eye. Something hid at the bottom under the murk and weed. She felt it watching her. A rounded shadow, adjusting itself deeper into the rock. 'Kiri! Come on!' It was dinner time. Everyone stumbled back to the flat tipsy. The back of Kiri's head buzzed. Her teeth tingled. She noticed something slink around in her peripheral. * Kiri twisted her body in her mirror. As she tucked the back of her cami into her jeans she noticed it. Beside her bed on the floor, pressed against the wall, a shiny wet blob. She screamed. Isla came running, 'What is it?' 'Look!' Kiri pointed. 'I don't know … what is that?' Isla peered down. It was the size of a bowling ball, pale pink, and slightly translucent. Like silicone but squishier, like jelly but sturdier. Kiri's insides flipped. It had followed her home, she knew it. She reached out. 'Don't touch it!' Kiri sniffed the smallest spot of wet at the tip of her finger, 'I think it's from the beach.' 'Oh god that's disgusting.' Isla stormed through the flat. 'Harley! Did you put something in Kiri's room? Peter! Do you know anything about this? Boys! Is it a sick joke? You guys are so rank.' The boys came to look, shaking their heads, scrunching their noses. 'I have no idea what that thing is.' 'Alien as!' Peter marvelled, offering Kiri a beer. 'What do I do? How do I get it out?' 'Shovel it out?' 'We don't have a shovel.' They used an oven tray to scoop the mucilaginous mass off the floor. It was heavy. Kiri and Peter had to hold each side of the tray. They walked sideways down the street to the beach. It schlooped onto the sand, rippling at the drop, then stilled. 'Do you think it's dead?' Kiri whispered. 'Maybe,' Peter peered down, 'I don't know if it was ever alive.' The pink glowed in the setting sun. It looked too bright to be dead. * Although it was her birthday party, no one noticed when she disappeared from it. So many strangers filled the house. Kiri collapsed onto her bed and waited for sleep to come. Her whole body was coiled in taut uncertainty. She rolled side to side. She stared at the ceiling, then she stared at the floor where the blob had been. The jelly stain hadn't dried. Kiri reached out from her bed and wiped her finger across it. She sniffed. It was an odd smell. A little sickening, a little moreish. She rubbed her nose and finger raw into the dawn, rubbing and sniffing, rubbing and sniffing. She couldn't stop. * It began in her puku. Groanings like wrecked ships swaying in ocean trenches, whale song echoing down to her pelvis. She had to leave her lectures early, mortified. She skipped flat movie nights and kept to her room, researching IBS and colon cancer. Student health said it was trapped gas and prescribed some medication. It didn't help. Kiri spent her time curled up facing the wall where the blob had been. It had left a permanent stain on the skirting board which still smelled. Some nights she woke kneeling on the carpet, face pressed against it, inhaling desperately. Sometimes she caught herself licking it. She gained the fresher five and more, despite diet attempts. Her belly, hips, behind, and breasts, all bubbled out from her bones. She attended step and spin classes at the gym, stopped eating fast food and sweets, and shrunk her portions. But her flesh kept expanding. * 'Don't you think that's a bit revealing?' Harley scanned her outfit one night. Kiri wore a sheer long sleeve over a v-neck singlet and jeans. 'Are you serious?' 'I dunno … I can see a lot.' Before she could think what to reply, he left her. Kiri swore at her reflection; scolded herself for not telling him where to put his eyes, for not defending herself. She consulted Isla who was hacking burnt crust off a pan in the kitchen, a rare cooking attempt by Peter. 'Don't ever let a man tell you what your outfit is or isn't. You look great.' 'Is it too revealing though? Harley said-' 'You've just gained a little weight and guys can't compute that our bodies aren't flat forever. Ignore him.' Their thirsty Thursday proceeded. They went to the clubs and returned by 3am, congregating in the lounge to guzzle water and review the night. Kiri settled on an arm chair and just listened. She was content for the moment, until she felt Harley's eyes on her. 'Jesus put your breasts away, Kerri.' He said it loudly so everyone else stopped talking and looked at him, then looked at her. 'They're actually massive.' 'Don't look at them if they bother you so much.' 'It's hard not to when you've got them out like that.' Kiri stood and walked as calmly as she could to her room. She checked herself in the mirror. Her skin was coral red and her eyes shone with shock. But she was covered up. The boys had never commented on their bodies before. At least not in front of them. She tucked herself into bed and pawed at the blob wall, struggling to sleep. She recalled her notes from the last few lectures she'd attended. Shelter seeking behaviour in intertidal crabs … the collapse of orange roughy fisheries… H. rotundifrons and P. elongatus species scuttled up and down her walls. Sleek tuna, narrow sharks, and burnished barracudas swam circles on her ceiling. * Her appetite evolved. She couldn't starve herself anymore. She was sick of eating nothing. So she started eating everything; kinas, mussels, shrimp, tarakihi, red gurnard, tuna, snapper, squid, prawns, oysters … Nights when she'd run out of kai she ran to the beach and dug frantically in the dark for pipi till her fingers turned blue. Sometimes she wanted the kai so desperately, she didn't slow to cook it. She slipped fillets of raw fish down her throat with ease. The bones were no obstacle. During exam season, Kiri's skin turned pink all over, like sunburn, but the days were dark and cold. Small bumps burgeoned along her arms and legs. She returned to student health and they said it was eczema caused by stress. She lathered foundation over the limbs she could not cover in clothing, and beat herself silly every morning with the beauty blender. Every day she was bumpier, pinker, thirstier, hungrier. She couldn't escape the unbearable sensation of dryness. In the shower she scrubbed herself raw, rotating between a loofah, exfoliant gloves and a pumice stone. Whispers outside the door. She caught 'being so weird …' and 'flat meeting'. It was happening, she sighed, they were seeing Koretake Kiri. * Exams passed, and celebrations commenced with more gusto than ever. Everyone went to Castle Street. Kiri followed her flatmates trying not to feel like the unwanted one who clung too close. They mostly ignored her, except Harley who'd snorted something that made him extremely friendly. Kiri disregarded him. Of all of them, he was the last one she wanted to talk to. He hadn't said sorry, just pretended everything was fine. She felt his eyes on her throughout the night. She tried to elbow them off, jumping from group to group, mooching smokes and laughing at anything. Hungrier. Thirstier. She walked into random flats and raided the cupboards in the kitchens, stuffing handfuls of cereal and wads of bread into her mouth. No one noticed. In the bathrooms she held her tongue under the running faucet until someone banged on the door. She felt she was drowning in filthy bass and broken glass. She wandered around the corner onto Howe street where bodies thinned out. There she found a couch crouched in the middle of the road like a dare. 'You wouldn't,' Harley's voice behind her jeered. She turned to see him holding out a lighter. She felt an absurd impulse to impress him. She wanted to show him she was more than round and bumpy. Hungry and thirsty. Anxious and useless. She snatched the lighter and flicked a tiny flame alive. It caught the fabric and ran like a dog off its leash up the upholstery. They jumped back, but Kiri caught a whip of heat on her arm. Harley laughed and clapped as she ran away. The back of her head buzzed. Her arm stung, her gums ached and her vision shimmied. She ordered a ride back to the flat and made her way to the beach. Kiri stumbled down the dunes into the black water and hunched over, retching. Something fell out of her mouth. Rushing red on her tongue. She searched the sand at her feet and clutched what could have been wheel shells or cats eyes. But they were teeth. Kiri sank down and let the cold clamp its jaws into her body. The buzzing drained out of her under the press of the tide. Her arm cooled and she let the current shuck her back and forth. She released her teeth, and fell asleep in the steady shore for a few hours. She would have stayed all night if her puku hadn't woken her. * Still hungry. Trekking slowly back home, her feet dragged on the concrete, breath heavy. It was hard to work her lungs out of the water now. Her face slipped downward. She stumbled into the flat and leaned against the wall in the hallway, listening. She slunk into her bedroom and bent down to greet the blob wall. 'Hey,' someone whispered from her bed, 'I texted you.' Harley sat up and patted the space beside him. Kiri lurched forward, her legs heavy sponge, grabbed the edge of the bed and gurgled. 'Was that your stomach?' Harley started laughing, but stopped when his eyes adjusted. She hovered over him. Her eyes had sunk into a softened skull. Her mouth pinched to a lumpy centre. Her hair had melted to mucus. Her thick makeup had been washed away revealing the dermal branchiae that erupted all over her skin. Before Harley could scream, before he could make any move to escape, she had him. It felt sublime to be completely spilled out. She smothered his face with her top ray, and wrapped the rest of her around his middle. Her new suction disc slowly pried his stomach open at the belly button, it was as easy as peeling back the wrapper of a chocolate bar. She relished the warmth of his intestines. She averted her own stomach, her new centre, into his, and began to eat. Leisurely, she digested most of his innards. When she was done, she released his husk and her stomach retreated back into her body. It had been a silent feast. She oozed to the floor and latched herself onto the wall. * Isla knocked several times on Kiri's door the next day. She expected a reply eventually, but when night fell and Kiri hadn't emerged, she let herself in. There was no evidence of the previous night. No body on the bed, no blood or acids on the sheets. But there was a star-shaped blob suctioned to the wall. 'Another one?' Isla sighed, kneeling down to inspect the organism. Before she went to fetch the oven tray, she couldn't help herself. She reached out and touched it. Asked what was on her mind when she wrote the story, the author replied, 'This story was inspired by my own and many of my friends first year of university at Otago. The pressure of trying to fit in and force friendships when inside you're a growing turmoil. The drinking culture, the anxiety, pretending to be an adult when you're just a child fresh out of high school. I had a horrible relationship with my body, my sexuality, my identity, in my first few years. I wanted release, to spill out, but I was terrified of what was in me. This story is about the pressure that builds up when you try to repress it, and revenge of the body and nature. 'It is also inspired by starfish. A friend once walked me through how truly terrifying they are, and if they were to grow larger and come for us, we would be doomed.'
