Image

strength.

its a perception.

its a concept.

its an action.


#throwback Dec 8, 2015 @ 11:29


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

Advertisements

being silenced.

produces a lump in my throat.

*current status*:

coughing that shit up.


thats all.

kpm©


 

Image

not entirely sure why im here:


Says a part of Me, whilst the other part rolls its eyeballs and says … cos its your fucken blog yah dick!

Lol. Yes I even speak to myself in that tone.

I know it’s been abit of a rough week, for sure; and theres a lot going on at home (house selling), but I think after the tonsillitis and trip to the hospital I came home feeling ‘different’. Not sick different, just different.

What I didn’t get into detail about in that post (because I was trying to do the high five Me shit before I let anybody elses shit take up room in my world …), but vaguely touched on in this post:

was speaking or voicing our / my truth, and not remaining silent.

Before I took my trip to the hospital, two things happened in quick succession to each other. And I don’t believe its an accident … shit like this never is. But I’ve been having a hard time connecting the dots.

The first, was someone sent me a screen shot of a post my father had posted on his FB page, with a photo of me, my (deceased) sister and him.

Heres the statement he made:

When I read it, with the photo, I was immediately angry. Not raving angry … just wtf type angry.

Being sick, wouldn’t let Me get into the repost and reply rampage I wanted to inflict at that time.

So I put it aside.

Not more than 10 minutes later, the second incident happened. I had someone ring Me and demand (no shit!) that I do such-and-such for them, Now. And when I told them No, that I wasn’t feeling well, they went into a tirade of abuse aimed squarely at my lack of nurturing and caring abilities. Not once did they take note that I could hardly speak or was clearly sick. I was so astounded I responded with my go too, and in an extremely pained and raspy voice said ‘fuck you and go fuck yourself’.

I was pissed though.

Annoyed at not being heard, understood … but more than that … different than that. I was just pissed. How dare they!

And then I continued to choke and then we went to the hospital lol.

The following day, as shit as I felt, I knew I needed to respond to my fathers bullshit.

So I attached my comments to the screen shot I’d been sent and let rip.

Now I figured one of 2 things would happen … yes thats how I WAS analysing it before I started writing it, and then something else kicked in, which was … fuck this shit … and fuck it.

So thats how this post made its debut; with no fucks given, just a gnawing in my gutt that wouldn’t go away … which is the Need to Voice … to speak the truth.

Theres plenty of posts throughout this blog referring to the biological douche-pool that is my father so I won’t go into that here.

What surprised Me, was those who actually replied. They had seen my fathers original post and thought I was dead. Another person had messaged my daughter and thought she was dead as we look similar in the photo. And this has been going on for a couple of days.

So, I posted in my comments the following:

One of my cousins posted it on my fathers original post.

The feedback for Me was awesome. I had cousins, relieved I wasn’t dead … and an aunty sent her love. I had my niece, who i haven’t seen for years, thank me, because she was over how this dick has treated her mama (my step-sister) for years.

Now those connections were well worth the post.

But still I am perplexed. And I feel different.

I think it has something to do with how I have been treated most of my life and that somewhere in me at the moment I have an amazing almost righteous indignation to the whole fucking lot of it.

How fucking dare he? How dare he!

I have no other explanations or reasonings that I want to fill the air with.

Just … how dare he …

More specifically, how dare he do that to Me.

Me.

Him and all his kind, that have taken and shat on and not listened and bullied and beaten and raped and manipulated and Silenced for complaining about their behaviours or questioning their behaviours or wanting them to take their behaviours some other fucking place.

All of them!

Fuck them.

I think I am done.

And if I am done, then theres going to be some blood-shed. Possibly more figuratively speaking than literal, but whatever.

I think this is whats changing. This is what is different.

That I am important.

I’m important because I am alive and here and I deserve to take up space.

Now this is new for Me.

I’m still unsure of all the logistics.

But I’m cool with that for now.

Note: of great interest to Me, was I felt not one shred on anxiety as all this unfolded. Now isn’t that fucken something.


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

SaveSave

Image

drivings shit anyway

#throwback Jun 29, 2015 @ 14:37, and a quick browse down memory lane to remind my shizz of how fucking awesome I am.


Decided to give driving a crack again. This time I had someone else with me. I was alright for about 4 minutes…then my passenger decided they wanted to stop…wanted me to go faster…take a different turn…pull over…OMG

I forgot to remind them that this is my exercise in remaining calm; concentrating; slow but steady progress. This is not an exercise in how fast I can get there…being polite to passer bys…looking sporty and fucking spiffing! So I ended up in tears…which fucks me off even more!…I got home, in one piece, in tears, and spent the next half hour bringing my heart rate down and self fucking soothing!

Oh how I detest this shit!

I wish I could drive like I used too…drink like I used too…go for a walk like I used too…catch up with peeps like I used too…go to the god dam mail box like I used too!

Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.

Yes…I’ll try again tomorrow…aannnndddd BREATH…


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

Image

how people treat you.

do they yell at you,

degrade and criticise you.

do they give ‘well-meaning advise’,

and ‘suggest’ you change some how.

do they ask inappropriate questions,

like, stuff that makes you feel uncomfortable.

do they interrupt you midway through ‘conversation’,

to interject their ‘story of glory’.

do they patronise

or mock your choices.

maybe ignore your voice.

and your choices.

.

how do we let them treat us.

.

the same as they always have?

.

i think fucken Not.


#timesuponthatshit


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

SaveSave

SaveSave

SaveSave

Image

unfucking thyself 101.122

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

122.

Believe it or not, I’m still trying to find my voice.

After a shittone of years of being silenced in a shittone of ways, I am still unravelling who I am and what I have to say.

Some of it is necessary.

Some of its not.

Some of it is pure and utter rage.

Some of it is not.

What I’m learning, is that it is ALL alright.

We all need to find our voice. Find what we want to say and say it. And voicing shit is not always something that comes out of our mouths. But it is emotion and emotional and it needs to be told.

Our stories, the good and the bad … the mundane and the horrific … all need to be told … some way.

Today I found more of my voice.

And now I have a sore throat.

But thats Ok, because my throat was sore-er when I was actively silent.


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

Image

fuck this guy:

POTUS:

fullsizeoutput_110a


#throwback Jan 21, 2017 @ 15:59


 

a ptsd day

taken

over-power

violate.

.

move

respond

frozen.

.

chill

fear

ancient.

.

short

sharp

hard.

.

blunt

cut

don’t.

.

can’t

feel

hurt.

.

ache

abnormal

kill.

.

run

scream

sunshine.

.

wake

shatter

red.

.

hate

scorn

smile.

.

fake

push

pick.

.

heavy

lurch

find.

.

set

cloud

heat.

.

power

wield

run.

.

fight

fight

fight

.


#throwback Sep 29, 2015 @ 21:14


kpm©


 

Link

politics, prostitution & funding

Politics and vying for funding in Aotearoa, seem to fuck with the original intention of a organisation. This isn’t a new thing, but it seems that in recent years, it is getting progressively worse. Now, its not unusual for charities and organisations, that have been doing exceptional well, to have their funding cut. This seems to set off a string of events; 1 being, the rush for funding, which tends to get the organisation to ‘bend over’, where it wouldn’t have bent over before.

Excerpt: “The organisation has long departed from its origins as a grassroots charity. It started in the 1980s, as a group of nine Wellington women in prostitution protecting themselves against the abuses of pimps, the spread of AIDs, and the government’s criminalization of prostituted persons. By 2003, the Prostitution Reform Act (PRA) was passed, finally decriminalizing those prostituted in New Zealand’s sex trade – but also pimps and sex buyers. Though NZPC still leverages their historic, grassroots image, it currently promotes government policy of full decriminalization as a generously state-funded sex trade lobby.”

Source: Why the New Zealand Prostitutes’ Collective cannot be trusted

For more, go to Writing By Renee.

Image

the unfold

when i do a ‘call out’… of motives … pain … understanding …  reasoning … i’m usually calling out one of two, or both things in a person.

the patriarchy and the white.

the white is about privilege.

now this is not a new thing for me and it’s not a new thing for those that know me well. those that know me well almost expect it and sometimes willingly ask for it.

my opinion that is.

however, they always hate it.

which leads me to believe, while they are verbally asking for it, deep down, they’re wanting a lie.

that said:

at the moment it feels like im being assaulted … my senses, my body, my mind … slightly different this time …  but definitely slightly maddening. both mentally and physically.

i am referring to the incident with the moko and her leg being broken.

why cant they (her immediate family) speak up for her? why are they not as concerned as i feel? why are they treating the whole incident like she fell off the slide at the park?

the seething feeling that of course comes up for me is: why could they Not speak up for me?

and why is it that there is no-one calling this shit out and holding adults responsible?

i don’t think it’s about the patriarchy or whiteness. instead it’s about another one of my favourite call outs, which is even more well hidden than the formers.

discomfort.

i believe people generally like the status quo. they like to believe that roses are red and the sun always shines on the happy and that we’re all gonna grow up to be really nice productive people.

they don’t like to think about poverty, neglect, hurt children and the adults they may end up  being.

the latter causes discomfort.

and that discomfort causes immobility.

in my opinion.

.

so, while i don’t want to be thinking about it at all, i was already well on my way down this track the other day with all the house intrusions, and this seems to have done another number on my psyche.

in my puny little brain its a simple cause and effect.

infant is hurt: we fix it.

simple.

fixing involves more than just lip service however. and involves more than weird little anecdotes about how clumsy You were as a child, or how You survived the great tumble of ’57 and survived alright.

.

who thinks leaving a small child to roam around un supervised is ok?

who thinks leaving a small child under the care of a swastika loving fuckwit is ok?

who thinks its ‘just their job’ when someone comes marching through your home?

who thinks it was just their job when they marched through our country annihliating us to take our land in the first place?

.

Yes this is where my brain goes on the daily. and i get that others don’t see things as i do. but really? they cant see that a child needs help? even when its as blatantly obvious as a broken leg?

i get that accidents happen. i’m pretty sure i’ve written a post on another of my mokos broken wrists … thats right: plural. he’s a risk taker and decided to do a somersault off’ve the tree and landed on his wrists, breaking both. the questions that were asked of his parents, by health care workers, other parents, teachers etc were astounding and intrusive, but i’m glad they were asked. at least they thought to ask!

at the moment: it’s silent.

Then theres the lies and half truths floating around. a definite loathing of mine.

‘there was no-one watching – there was someone watching but they were too far away’ … ‘she fell … she got stuck …’ , the list goes on.

what no-one has asked yet, is, why?

it’s making me sick to my stomach and i’ve spent a good part of today trying to let some of it go … as much as i can.

but i’m not letting it go so i get let it go per se.

something still needs to be done.

i don’t care who gets in trouble or if it turns out to be nothing more than an accident … but to Not ask; to Not require someone to take responsibility … in my opinion … is a fucking crime.


thats it.


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

SaveSave