Extract: the day the raids came

#lestweforget this fucking atrocity!

“On the 10th anniversary of the Tūhoe raids, we look back at a book published by Rebel Press in 2010 recounting the experiences of 16 people effected by Operation 8. On October 15 2007 the ‘war on terrorism’ arrived in New Zealand when more than 300 police carried out dawn raids…”

Source: Extract: the day the raids came


pause: go

there will be a lot of ‘unfolding’ in the next few days, maybe weeks, knowing my long winded way of getting to things … there’ll be morbid poetry (er-hem, I mean, More, morbid poetry) ramblings and raging and/or morose music. i’ll be pausing the happy little daily photographs for awhile. They’re not doing it for Me.

i need to get Me sorted and this is the best way i know how. best and easiest, since there aint no cunt to help with this lot.

thanks to Bethany, i’ll be trying the mindfulness tip, but edited for Me’s use 😉

and thanks to the ever faithful Jim, i’ll be trying some serious gardening. Trying, being the key word here 😉

at this stage, i know theres the impending anniversary of my sisters death. and all i know is somewhere after that, i got lost. i’m enjoying blaming my father for that, but it aint entirely his fault. the fault is mine, as in i let him encroach on my space. but i’ma rolling with blaming his rotten ass at the moment.

somewhere after june, i lost touch with managing Me. thats the last time i can remember being aware i was going into a panic and being able to stop it before it happened. by august i was kacked out and fumbling with the grounding process.

i had had 2 ‘run ins’ with my father by then and was feeling like shit, which also annoyed Me no end. by september i’d cut that bastard off.

ACC and 2 large ass panic attacks, a huge bout of vertigo and a months worth of ‘sickness’, and i’m thinking, WTF is happening to Me?

Oh, and add to that the Tears. Fuckssake … I hate tears. i also hate thinking its hormonal, cause hormones are always to blame for a womans tears. these are angry hurt tears; fuck the hormones i say.

last night i got my exhibition pieces back. and with it came a host of compliments, of which i am humbled and grateful for.

also, there was this comment, said with an oozing nasty tone:

‘make you feel better did it?’

and that was enough to shatter what ever esteem and good vibes i had inside.

what pisses Me, is that that one comment was enough to floor Me. a year ago i would’ve brushed it aside. today … it’s echoing in my head.

it’s not the first time in my life i’ve been met with this sort of negativity, and by in large, i’ve culled most of those peeps. but i think in the culling process, i haven’t replaced them with ‘good for the soul’ peeps.

and i think in my new mish, this is what i need to do. not that i don’t love my blogging backup peeps … but i need peeps i can see now. peeps that can help encourage Me and keep Me grounded.

so thats enough rambling for now.

i’m off to cull 😉

random acts of thoughting:

  • does everyone explain themselves?
  • are they asked to explain themselves?
  • why?
  • or why not?
  • why does said explanation not involve … “how are you doing?”
  • i like building stuff
  • so do my mokos
  • just random stuff
  • makes me feel – complete lol
  • i like eating
  • eating is good
  • as long as theres no adverse reaction
  • but even then
  • i still enjoy the eating part
  • i was doing 1/4 antihistamine a day
  • well thats what i got down too
  • now it’s 1/2 every second day
  • which is technically the same?
  • being itchy is a bitch
  • apparently i need to do more self care
  • hmmmm
  • why’s everyone got an opinion on what everyone else is doing?
  • why can’t they just mind their own selves
  • i guess thats an opinion on them though isn’t it
  • oh well, flag that then
  • how do you do self care when you don’t care?
  • hmmm
  • is it compassionate to send: ‘thoughts and prayers’?
  • or is that a cop out?
  • or just a compassionate ‘opinion’ maybe?
  • hmmm
  • i never wanted to go to las vegas
  • it’s too shiny for someone like me
  • don’t want to fucken go now, thats for sure
  • is it worse to be randomly shot at, as opposed to being deliberately bombed?
  • or doesn’t it matter?
  • how did ‘morally shit stuff’, get to be a political debate?
  • i dont think its ok to shoot people
  • i dont think its ok to hurt children
  • i don’t think its ok to hurt people
  • except sex offenders
  • i don’t mind if they get hurt
  • how did prostitution became a viable option for work?
  • thats some fucked up shit
  • how do our new wave feminists not understand that?
  • maybe they don’t know their feminist history?
  • hmmm
  • maybe.
  • when someone starts the conversation with: “I know you mean well …”
  • you know you’re in for a long speech ay.
  • i hate those.
  • if i had’ve said ‘nope, not my problem’; do you think i’d still be complaining now?
  • whats the issue with sleeping?
  • oh thats right, I know the answer to that one
  • so, self care and celebrating your ‘successes’; they’re the same thing right?
  • or is that self care and self encouragement?
  • hmmm
  • when you stop taking painkillers, guess what
  • your body will hurt like a mother fucker
  • i think i’m hungry
  • or maybe i just need more coffee



it split

in two.

my tooth

that is.

and then



fell right


PS: You’ll find more of the same deep shit @ my Instagram and FaceBook.

doggy daydreams

them: insert eyeroll

“you still going on

about being assaulted”

me: insert eyeroll

“you still going on

about your decomposing dog”



i’m not a



reassessing where i’m at: now

I realised the other day, what a fucked up year its been for Me. By fucked up, I mean good and bad. Not all fucked up is bad 😉

I’ve been tired. Sick. Sick and tired. Generally worn down, and out. Its felt never ending. So, yesterday, I reassessed as I do:

Picked that shit to bits and went over it with a fine tooth comb.

Turns out, I should’ve done it earlier. Which kind of goes with my whole point to myself: That it’s been a funk … a tired monotonous fucked funk.

I was trying to remember when and where I had been feeling pretty content. Cos I know there was a time, quite recently, where it felt like shit was pretty good. Not ‘happy happy joy joy’ kinda good, but … ‘ahhh, I can do this’, kinda good.

It was before my sister died.

I know I had learnt how to calm my farm and breath deeply. I had learned how to manage myself when I went for my walks – and I was enjoying that. I know I had learned how to voice my concerns and not do what I didn’t want to do. I know I had learned when I was on the verge of a panic attack and how to bring myself down or stop it before it blew up. I know, I knew how to deal with shit, Immediately: and not put it on pause.

Pausing,  does not agree with my constitution.

Then somewhere between my sister dying, which I handled pretty well, and just after my birthday … shit got worn down. I remember having two extremely unpleasant and surprising panic attacks. One was when I was talking to the ACC wankers on the phone and trying to walk to the shop. I knew when it happened I had fucked up something, but wasn’t too sure how to remedy it. Well I know now what I fucked up.

I lost control. Not just physically, resulting in the panic attack … but the entire situation from the get go.

I let them control my situation. I felt beholden to their times, their phone calls, their delays … because I needed the assessment (or so I thought), and I needed the extra money (or so I thought). So I Let Them metaphorically, bend Me over and fuck Me up the asshole. I did what I knew I shouldn’t: and shouldn’t, because the long term effects are violent.

The other big ass, take it’s time, panic fuck, was prior to the assessment. I was already fucked. Fucked because of the waiting. Me and waiting also don’t really do well in cohabitation.

And from the phone panic attack till the assessment panic fuck, I had days of shaking, headaches, stomach aches, dizziness, anxiety and panic .. I took more anti anxiety meds during that time than I had in the previous year. I couldn’t breath properly and the sleeping was fitful, again, and full of shit nightmares and waking flashbacks.

But somehow, I just managed … and denied the obvious. That I was crumbling.

Add to all this, my father and his ‘way’. He has unceremoniously fucked with my world in the last year. And I’ve written a shit tonne on him.

But what has dawned on Me, with regards to him,  is the hurt that comes with knowing that my father does not love Me. Does not understand Me. Is unwilling to know who I am.

His interest in Me was only as a replacement for my sister. He wanted Me to be like her. But I can’t do that.

It did make Me realise too though, that there are not many that know Me, and my ‘support’ is little to none. Not because it’s not offered but because the offer-ees really don’t get Me and I frustrate them.

It is easier to try on my own. Except when I get worn down.

I’m going to have to start from the beginning again, because I have gotten to the place I was at a couple years ago … where leaving the house is hard. It’s not as bad as it was, but I can feel myself heading there pretty rapidly.

So in my reassessment, my daily goals have been simplified and adjusted. I need to do only what I want to do from here on in; at least until I can gain some momentum. Because theres a huge difference, for Me,  between Not wanting to do some thing;  being forced to do something and wanting to do something but being afraid.

Much to my disgust, I’ve started taking my anti anxiety meds to take the edge off. I’ll be utilising them more to actually get Me out of the house and past the letter box. I tried it tonight, so I could get down to the beach.

I love the beach.

After taking 1/4 anti anxiety med I was still nervous and shaky. I did the headphones and music; took water and extra meds, and my walking stick and camera.

I’ve missed the beach, and the sunset. I’ve missed going alone.

I got there tonight; slightly wobbly and hazed, but in one piece.

And I smiled my ass off once my nerves subsided. I even talked to a newly married couple that were from South America.

So Slow and Steady is what I’m returning too.

Really Slow.

Really Steady.












“god your negative”


*round of applause for stating the obvious*


i wanna know:

when did prostitution

become a

career option?