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bootylicious! ~ destinys child

Bootylicious ~ Destiny’s Child, 2003

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what if …

so …

what if it was the case, that i was never designed to have an intimate relationship, whereby another, loved me to much that i was their entire world; and all they wanted to do was care for, about … me. like a parental relationship should be, but less, cos that’d just be creepy. and in all actuality, i don’t really have any clue (other than the summations i’ve concluded upon, which btw, i believe are pretty gangstah) what a positive sort of painting role looks like. most parents are huge fuck ups. think thats ok though, like theres a scale of fuck-up-ness: pedo parents – not cool … don’t let their kids watch tv parents – cool. so yeah … anyway … so what if i was never really really designed to have some kind of intimate relationship with another. what if, i was designed to be alone. not necessarily completely physically alone, but in the sense, that i’ll never share me with anyone else, physically, mentally or spiritually. and is anything, i’m just here to guide someone else to see their potential. and thats all its really all about. fucked up i know. but what if that whole pairing, relationship, ‘lets … stay together’ thing, is just a bunch of bullshit. see, i’m in fact wondering if any cunt can handle my jandal.

i don’t think so.


from pts(d) expression series #68 – Dec 26, 2016 @ 08:01

the current news

In our little country, a story regarding the historic sexual assault of multiple children by a supposed prominent member of our Maori community, is circulating. This person is also now, deceased.

His ex wife and family came forward, via Facebook a couple weeks ago, and laid the whole thing bare.

Now on a personal level, I don’t have any beef with how she did this.

What is causing the current shit storm are the outcries of ‘false accusation’ and ‘you can’t condemn a dead man’ and ‘there is no-one else involved’. However the wife has spoken with police and given names of those who may or may not have been involved with the apparent ‘pedo ring’.

Now, I don’t have beef with this either.

The following rant may sound a little harsh in some areas; but, oh well.

The aftermath of this ‘outing’ is rampant on facebook and the  hurt feelings are running deep.

But what is certainly hard to stomach is the LACK of specific and forthright response or support for possible victims.

What is therefore probable, is that hardly any of them will actually come forward … because why would they?

Justice? Relief?

It’s a deep wound and one that can take years to unfold.

Which brings me to the following fuckery.

People a very very quick to jump on the pedo ring rant, or the support for a sexual assault victim – and no offence intended to this peeps. Their journey is just as fucked as the rest of ours.

My bitch is that when it comes to IN HOUSE sexual assault – via family member/s, there is little to Nil sympathy, empathy and support.

Why?

In my non-professional opinion, its because the general population can not quite fathom that a family member, a person related to a victim – a daughter, grandchild, nephew, child … can be sexually assaulted by their parent, grandparent, uncle, aunt, cousin, siblings …

We’ve been fed, as a society, the whole ‘monster under the bed’ theory, and the serial killer anomaly bullshit … that psychos are rare and only strike once in a while.

We forget that the stats for this sort of shit are currently 1 in 3 females / 1 in 5 males will be sexually assaulted before the age of 18 … in our country anyways.

It doesn’t seem to occur to us, that if these are the under-reported figures, who do they think is doing the assaulting?

Random strangers?

No.

You are more likely to be sexually assaulted by someone you know, period.

I think what becomes to hard for the general population, is the thought of unravelling an entire families dysfunctions to get the whole shitty fucking thing right out in the open. It costs to shine a light on grubby little secrets that cost our children their entire lives.

But we as human beings, need a fucking reality check.

This shit is happening.

In homes.

In churches.

In schools.

Its done by seemingly normal looking people who hold down jobs, are on the PTA, play golf and do grocery shopping. They are skilled chameleons and do not want their filth exposed for the world to see.

Going back to our current news of the week … whoever is accused in this whole filthy thing, and it turns out that they’re innocent … cool. But I don’t care really. They’ll live.

Those that have had to deal with the ordeal of sexual assault and then have had to live with the secret for years … my empathy lies with them. Whether they speak out or not, they are all survivors and all deserve to heal.

The rest of the pedo cunts can go fuck themselves. I hope they’re called out and dealt with like our tipuna (ancestors) would have done.

#death.

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photography .88

#driftwood #woodgrain #macro #macroview #macrophotography #photo #photograph #photography #photographer #kpm©


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

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pts(d) anxiety

Interesting thing racked up to a ‘learning  moment’ today.

I’m currently having one of those long moments, where I don’t want to go anywhere.

I try and sit with and decide whether it’s just a ‘today’ thing or I’m actually nervous about going outside.

Most of the time, it’s the latter.

And even if it is the former, that tends to be laden with guilt for some fucked up reason, which in turn turns it into the latter.

Either way, I’m usually to headfucked by both by the time I’ve tried to work it all out and then I’m physically too fucked to go anywhere or do anything.

Upon reading information regarding ‘social anxiety’ and generalised anxiety symptoms, I have, in all my infinite wisdom, decided that pts(d) anxiety, whilst similar, is most definitely different.

The interesting similarity though, is the fear of what is expected of us … real or imagined.

The slight difference with pts(d) anxiety, is those imagined fears, have at some point and time, been realities.

Whats my point?

I aint got one.

Suffice to say: Fuck anxiety in all of it’s forms.


from pts(d) expression series #70 – Dec 28, 2016 @ 08:01

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do the right thing ~ redhead kingpin

Do The Right Thing – Redhead Kingpin, 1989

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shit got real … 1986

Bit of a painful re-read … but it is what it is, and I’m still fucking here ;)

#throwback June 29, 2015 @ 16:20


14 if I’m not mistaken…I’m not sure why there’s so much pressure on ‘being’ better…acheiving…striving…deciding…not fucking up…at this age. 14 years of life and you know sweet fuck all, but think you know everything. And I think this is how it should be. Confidence building, learning, fucking up and learning from your mistakes, figuring out what you like and don’t, figuring out what and who you are. Instead of waiting till your 40 something :0

This is where I started my descent…well, I was aware of the descent anyways. Church and religion played a huge part of my life up until this point. Whether I liked it or not or agreed with it or not, it was engrained. Church peeps, church music, church rules…religion and all its restrictions and limitations. Its do’s and don’ts…making sure your soul was A O K just in case you got hit by a bus and ended up in front of your maker in the latter part of a day.

Btw – this was a Pentecostal movement, or religion whatever you like to call it. Christianity…the kind that didn’t believe in homosexuality, abortion, smoking, drinking, fornication, swearing…Jesus dies on a cross and raises from the dead three days later…that kind of religion. Because it was so ‘heavy’ it was hard to see the good in it all…it still is sometimes. I get that it gave peeps some kind of peace…but all I could ever see was hypocrisy and judgement. And I was probably partaking in the same ‘sin’; but really…isn’t that what 14’s all about? Having an opinion and voice and figuring our whether it’s a worthy one to have or not?

I remember having a ‘God encounter’ at about this age…a real one. And it moved my soul. So I don’t have any doubt that there is an entity that is bigger and more awesome-er than us. However my belief on where this entity resides and what they are, has changed. After this God encounter, I felt a whole heap of peace, not like I had ever felt before. And it was fucking great! I slept without nightmares for about a week. Then I became agitated again.

How is it, that someone can be ‘touched’ by God, and not see things differently? As I peered around our church, I saw a whole heap of people who were quite content with their hum drum lives…were happy with their flash cars and full pockets…and bellies…they had no need for anything else…and church was just a motion they committed once a week; like taking a daily shit. They had no need for anything else. And as far as I could tell, they obviously couldn’t read! The shit that was Biblical was not practiced at all! We used to have a huge Sunday feed at church, after service. Every Sunday. And we all ate well. You could go to the shop afterwards, and there were kids there, scraping together change, to buy bread. The church was in a crap ass neighbourhood by the way…I could write that in a move PC way, but I’m sure you get the drift…It was the neighbourhood where poverty resided on every corner; parents drank and kids wandered…that kind of place. The church had set up in that neighbourhood, so they could ‘reach the lost’. Pfft. I’m not to sure who the hell was lost actually.

So my attendance at this place started becoming somewhat of a mission to see who I could piss off and who was actually practicing their religious beliefs. I don’t think I realised what I was doing at the time, but I was pushing buttons left right and centre, to see who was really on the reals. And I managed to piss plenty of them off…they didn’t like my ‘attitude’ and told my mother I needed more ‘discipline’…that being a good spanking! But that just fuelled the fire for me. How is it that I needed twacking and they could sit on their fat asses while the ‘lost’ remained lost? Surely there were bigger concerns than my ‘rebellious, defiant and Jezebel’ attitude? Well, apparently not. After a few good ‘prayer sessions’ and ‘renouncing of demonic spirits’, which apparently came from my cultural heritage and the fact that my mother had been a fornicator in a previous existence…they thought their job was done. They could stand in front of their maker and say that they had assisted with the upbringing of the solo mothers kid.

Actually, that’s not fair…there were a few that did do what they preached…that walked the talk. One dude, taught me to drive. Poor bastard lol. He had been a skin head in a previous existence. He knew the ass end of life and didn’t take for granted anything that he was given. He was a good dude. Then there was another couple that had been drug addicts in a previous existence and decided that they would ‘follow Christ’. They were still human…good people. The guy schooled me in Bob Dylan :)…that dude was deep.

Underneath everything though, I was festering. I was angry on angry. I started to hate school. Hate dance. Hate church…more than usual…I hated feeling. I hated thinking. I hated the people I was around.

I had a couple of really good friends around this time. They were sisters and both looked like they were bred for the Aryan Nation…blonde blonde; bright blue eyes. They had a nice life. Farming girls. Horses. Mother and Father. They were good people. But they didn’t relate to what I felt. And as far as they could see, I had a good life too. Which I did, in comparison to some. I was warm, fed, went to church, lived like a Pakeha.

I was still smoking at this time but because I needed numbness I ventured off to find other things to achieve that. I found sniffing / snuffing, whatever you like to call it. I found pills. I found cheap alcohol. And if you blend all those together they make for an awesome little numbing cocktail.

It’s kind of surprising in hindsight, that I went down this pathway. I had seen my asshole Uncle ping himself up many times with poppies stripped down for the opium or other white substances. And it had always terrified me, watching him change from erratic and violent into subdued and violent…not a pretty picture. But my cocktail didn’t seem so bad I guess…so there wasn’t really a comparison for me at that time. I just wanted numbness.

I told my mother what had happened to me at 4. She cried. I was ‘prayed’ for. It didn’t do much for the overall internal picture really.

4th form was ass. I was put in the top stream Maths class, surprising to me as Maths was not my best subject. And even more surprising was that academically I was doing pretty good. The teacher however, was one of those types that liked to ridicule and belittle publicly, in the hopes that her students would somehow learn better. Myself and another brown brother lol, decided to ask the 4th form Dean, to be moved into another class, as neither of us understood what was being taught and we didn’t like the way we were being treated. So it turns out, that a percentage of brown kids, from a low socio-economic background, were required in each stream. We were the lucky two that had been picked for this particular stream. If he was to move us, it would throw out the government requirement. Pftt to that. We both walked out in the end and attended a different class. Maths for dummies!

Socially, I was floundering. I found my peers shallow and trivial. But I guess this is the age where that’s what should be practiced, in all fairness. But I didn’t fit and it was becoming more and more obvious.

I was still dancing, and dancing well…but I was struggling. I’d go to school stoned, drunk, snorted out or all of the above; just to get through the day. I wanted to explode but didn’t really understand how or why.


from pts(d) expression series #113 – Feb 9, 2017 @ 08:01

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what does

did yah know that

sexual assault

or sexual violation,

whatever your feng shui;

does a number of things

to ones gig.

theres the physical act.

the physical results.

those scars can be permanent.

tearing.

bruising.

scarring.

a womb, that won’t bear children.

just to name a few.

then there’s the psychological

fuckery.

paranoia.

fear.

anxiety.

dreams: nightmares: night terrors,

potatoe – potato.

whatevs: bitches are bitches.

then there’s the sexual effects.

we are sexual beings.

sexual violation, is an offence of the sexual being.

the results:

flashbacks –

smell.

pain.

sight.

hearing.

taste.

to get it fucking twisted

a pts(d) fuck:

that those past violations

are present violations.

that they are re-lived

right here

right now,

even though you know with your head

they’re not now:

you body says otherwise.


from pts(d) expression series #75 – Jan 2, 2017 @ 08:03

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unfucking thyself 101.114

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

114.

I have this thing for finishing what I start. Actually, the whole fucking world (western world actually) does.

If you don’t finish something then you’re no good; won’t ever amount to anything; aren’t stable etc etc.

I wonder who made that shit up?

Whoever did, did a good job of perpetuating their bullshit onto many a generation of peeps; including mine.

It’s a pain in my ass … in causes anxiety and stress … the thought … thats right, just the thought … of not Finishing something to completion.

My OCD self then increases the angst by having to complete something to ‘my’ standard … which isn’t like everyone elses … it’s a special kind of fuckery lol.

So as you can see by some of my earlier posts today, I’m on a fucking roll lol. And I’m ‘finishing’ shit up.

Why?

So my OCD half can leave it all the fuck alone. So I can listen to my instincts without having this gnawing feeling in the back of my mind, or in the pit of my gutt, telling Me I haven’t completed a certain something, so I can’t do something else.

Geezus.

The picture?

My chisels.

A constant reminder that I didn’t do the 3 years like I said I would. I only did the first year. I did fucking well and yes, I was actually fucking fucked with undiagnosed pts(d) at that stage … but who cares … I didn’t complete what I said I would. Instead I made excuses as to why just the first year was enough.

Fucks sakes ay!

I have learnt today that I am part of my own problem.

Hard pill to swallow but swallowing I am.

When is enough, enough for Me?

What does completed mean? Does it mean what I think it means or am I just another product of mental colonisation?

So here I am, again, against every little bit of my will, finishing up a process I started, before I think I should … because, it turns out, that ‘unfucking myself’ is simply a matter of stopping doing what I’ve always done, or thinking like I’ve always thought … and doing something different. It don’t matter if the new way is right or wrong … it’s just a change in direction.

Peace.


Fin.


 

re write – forty

“theres no right or wrong.

theres just the process.

forward is not always a movement and the things that seem the darkest are sometimes the things that are ok.”


Fin.