yo ..

i see you.


first & foremost, this is not for victims nor survivors.


it’s not for those that can relate. it’s not a lesson in what to avoid and what should be done.

it’s not tears. it’s not rage.

it’s not for those wanting to know why. or for those that want to ‘just understand’.


this is for the infant, the toddler, the new entrant, the pre period, pre voice breaking child who will get fucked with today.

who will get fucked.

and no one will notice. Noone will say a word. Noone will do anything.

it’s for the forgotten child, the one that has repeatedly begged for it to stop, so many times they’ve given up. it’s for the child that probably won’t make it past 15. who wonders, is this all I am good for .. all my existence is about. who will go to school (but not today) and get reprimanded for a spelling error when all the can smell is rotten cum seeping out of their assholes.

this is for that child, that probably will never get to read this, and will still get fucked anyway & who will probably kill themselves before they get a chance to escape. the child who is so numb they can’t feel anything anymore.


this is for you.


and then it’s for the fuckwits who surround you and still stay fucking silent and incapacitated .. apathetic and docile.

it’s for the lame ass, couldn’t & didn’t do it, intervener. 

because you cunts are part of the poison.


& lastly, this is for the fuck face kiddyfuckers of this world, that fuck with children. because you cunts come in all shapes and sizes. you’re not all famous & belong to little rings & conspiracy theories. you’re everyday, mundane, boring little fucks whose dicks dont get hard unless your prey is small & helpless.


i see you too.


& you’ll keep cunts.

your day is coming.



kpm ©


*April is National Child Abuse Awareness Month*


them. they did.

they wanted to meet her. ‘the inner child’. ffs.

i’m not sure where ‘they’ originated this whole fucking concept, but i bet it was a straight white old fuck that came up with that bullshit.

here’s what i think. in 2 parts.

  1. there is no ‘meeting’ that girl. not for anyone other than me.

she holds the darkest of memories. & those won’t come out maybe ever. that is the price she paid & the burden she carries, so i could live.

she not interested in honouring ceremonies. & making fucking friends.

she has no interest in relationship.

shes not shy. shes also not a damaged, broken little girl.    

she is my intuition. not fear.

she holds my memories till she knows the rest of me is ok to deal with them.

i thought i despised her.

like i despise others that can’t handle their shit. that cant speak the truth.

but i don’t.

i admire her & respect her.

she did what she needed to do for all of me. & that’s what I’m doing now. she may never join hands & sing kom’bai’ah & that is a.fucken.ok with me.

she has earned that right. period.

i have a relationship with her and its one i dont want to keep justifying or explaining to anyone.

2. if we were talking about someone ‘meeting’ a physical child of mine, there would boundaries higher than the cunts put up for that ‘inner child.

you dont get to talk to my kids, my mokos, just cos you feel like it.

they were / are protected so fiercely, if you looked sideways at them i’d be asking what the fuck you were doing.

you dont get to stroll on in & start a conversation, touch the shoulder of, ask a question of, any child of mine. not one.

& those are actions all parents / grandparents & protectors of children should adopt. period.


our kids.


tangata whenua (indigenous) make up 15% of the total population.

our kids make up 70 motherfucking % of the youth justice population.

they get used as pawns.

pushed across some unseen board.

removed & reassembled.

shredded, shifted, sifted & shat out.


you’ve proven you have No idea how to care for them.

time to give them back.




the gutt-wrench.

the weekend just gone, i said ‘goodbye’ to my daughter & my beautiful moko.

moko is going to live with her papa & nanny, & my girl has joined the army.

i hate goodbyes.

i prefer – ‘see you later’.

but this whole process has had me reeling for months & as d.day got closer, it did a number on my insides, which i am still slowly processing.

i’m trying to be kind to myself & roll with the punches … but i’m feeling slightly bruised now.

i’m not sure how to explain it all, but thats about the size of me & fucking emotions.

i feel raw though. raw & vulnerable. & i hate it. but i’m sitting with the whole fucking thing.

it’s change. & its a new chapter. for all of us.

kpm ©



i write, in the hopes, that one day my kids might understand completely,
who I am.

kpm ©


dear functioning kiddy fuckers.

the lawyer.










you lot have managed to stay hidden,

far away from the monster under the bed.

you lot pretend to reside in far loftier surrounds –

the boardroom, your leagues & gentlemen clubs.

it is a little more than amusing,

that you should categorise your dealings as normal.

pretty sure a kiddy fucker, is just a kiddy fucker.

like shit is shit.

putting icing on it, does’t make it a cake.

& your weaner is just as small as the rest of them.

the inadequacy that propels you to

surf for little prey, makes you inadequate.




you may have a blue collar, a white collar.

but you deserve less than a dog collar.

but i see you.


~ don’t leave your children unattended

~ don’t disregard our intuition

~ if you think that its dodgy; then it is

~ kiddy-fuckers don’t take vacations.



a child prostitute

How is that even a thing,

I wonder.

As I watch them come and go.

I see their ‘baby on board’ stickers

In their rear windows.

And who do they pick up?

You look no more than eleven.

Are you eleven,

or younger?

I feel disgust for those leeches.

Those scum infested bastards.

But you leave with them,

And return in 10 minutes.

How is it that you have to be here?

Why do you go with them?

Yes I know the answer.

But all the answer does not lie with you.

They said on the News;

“What should we be doing about the child prostitution issue”.

It’s an issue?


it’s a fucking abomination!

A shame on this nation!

A child,

a prostitute.

Your ‘clients’ are rapist pigs.

They are not clients.

Your job is not a job.

It isn’t a well thought out career pathway.

It’s cunty pedos cashing in on your silence.

Your need.

Your vulnerability.

I hate them for you!!

I told you so,

When you wouldn’t come with me.

I told you so,

As you huffed your poison and rolled your little eyes.

I told you I would hate them for you,

And I do!

I’ll fix it if it takes me forever

I’ll fix it.

So you can braid your hair

And get your nails did

So you can eat your lunch at school

And you can sleep between Dora Explorer sheets.

I’ll fix it

I’ll keep hating them

Until I fix it.

kpm ©


on : dead funeral stuff

Yes, it seems a little morbid, but after recent events and conversations I decided to take matters into my own hands, and plan ahead. Properly.

After a little research I found out the following (for our country anyways) … this is ‘my’ interpreted version:

  • A will doesn’t need to be done with a lawyer, it just needs to be written and witnessed by 2 people who won’t get anything out of it; the will that is.
  • You can’t bury on private land unless you have a shitload of permits.
  • Burying in a cemetery also takes a shitload of permits.
  • Why be buried with a shit tonne of people you don’t know, especially when you hardly liked people when you were alive?
  • The funeral industry is just that; an industry. They’ll make a buck off’ve anything.
  • A service is held for customary reasons. There’s no real necessity in it.
  • You don’t need a casket to be buried in, or cremated in.
  • You don’t need to be embalmed.
  • You don’t need to be cut up unless you died some heinous way and they want to poke around and find the cause of death.
  • If you get buried in non-biodegradable shit (including the box), that shit lingers and leeches into the earth.
  • An urn is a waste of money. A jar will do.
  • The cheapest way to go is cremation; but that still costs a shit tonne of money. I think the Vikings had the right idea.
  • It’s still possible to be buried at sea, but again, you need a shit tonne of permits.
  • Even a natural burial here, has regulations re: planting, depth of burial, buying a plot.
  • It’ll cost you a small fortune to transport the body and hire a mortician peep, but when fams are grieving, that’s the last thing they’re worried about.
  • Apparently you can get some death grant to help with expenses. How nice of them.
  • A cemetery is still Council / Crown owned. And has regulations.
  • Memorials, headstones and plinths also cost an immoral amount of money.
  • When you’re dead, You’re dead.

kpm ©



& as our 2 faced country prepares their vigils for the young life murdered & hear the cries of ‘violence against women & girls isn’t acceptable anytime or anywhere’ : i wonder, will we ever really learn? will we ever really really give a shit about the violence perpetrated against women & children in our little country? will we give a shit enough, to actually do something about it? because this shit is Not new & is an epidemic.

but one we seem to tolerate, until it happens where we can’t just ditch that shit so no-one else will ever see it.




teach enlightenment

Found this in my news feed today … it should be reasonably self-explanatory.

It’s a stark reminder of just how shit our perceptions can be, and why rape is even still a concept in this day and age.



  • You may be ‘enlightened’, but there are plenty of fuckwits that aren’t. Always be watchful. 
  • Trust your gut. If it says it’s strange, then it is.
  • ‘No’ is enough of a statement; it needs no explanation.

fyi: not my meme.

kpm ©



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.


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.


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.

kpm ©




the reasons im here.

we don’t have a lot of contact with moko #8. and today we found out her leg was broken whilst in the care of her daycare.



there should be some very simple but very important things happening now.

  • her day to day care, whilst in a cast, post surgery, should be a given.
  • the details that were missed when we were first told, should have been filled in by now. we have offered our assistance.
  • the daycare that she was in should be asked, ‘WTF happened?’

but so far the partner has been told he’s lucky to have been told at all. that moko is ‘fine’. that we weren’t going to be told because we’d ‘tell on the daycare’ and get them in trouble.



yep thats a mother fucking long ass pause.


i’m am trying my damn-dest to breath and gather my shit.

in all ways this is layer upon layer of absolute bullshit.

add to that the deafening silence and retreat into ‘i don’t want to talk about it’ territory everyones going too.


all this, once again, smells awfully familiar.

this is how abuse within a familial system, thrives.

its left unchecked.

adults cover other adults asses.

and in the meantime, they all forget about the little person who could not protect her self and can’t speak for herself now.

ohhhh the fuckery.


there aint no way i’m letting this shit slide. at all.


and here i am again though, speaking and acting for those who can’t … which i don’t mind. what i do mind is the fucking ignorance and downright complacency and lack of mother fucking care there is going on around me.

and yep, its a-fucking-with-the-pts(d) big fucking time.

nan always said, when it rains it pours. just as well i don’t mind the fucking rain.




here we go: the unravel.

Yesterday was a little more of a head fuck than I had prepared for: but thats life aint it!

And as I drifted off into a sedated sleep last night, with my last thoughts being something along the lines of : ‘fucken ay, I survived and thank fuck its over …’ – which is kinda a mantra of mine …

So imagine my surprise *insert eyeball roll* when a nasty little flashback minced around in my dreams and woke me the fuck up, sweating and shaken.

It all came together in that rather uncomfortable moment.

For those that have read my story, this next part is not news, but please Bear with Me – this is the abbreviated version:

I was sexually assaulted by a maternal uncle from approximately the ages of 3 to 7, and psychologically assaulted by the same sick cunt for my entire life up until my mid 30s and both my grandparents had passed away, and I no longer had to have anything do with the cunt.

For those that understand the intricacies of the home based sexual / psychological assault of infants and children, you will know that there is more to the ‘assault’ than the ‘event’ itself. In fact, the event can be a relief, as fucken sick as that sounds; because the torture is the waiting.

Over the last few years I’ve recounted more things and memories than I care too really; and each time I have a duo type thing happen. The first is the horror that comes with realising how inadequate the world is to look after something as vulnerable as a child. The second, is the amazement of the resilience that a child actually has, even when all odds are stacked against them. I’m not referring to the ability to survive falling out of a tree, or the ability to self soothe a stubbed toe. I’m referring to the ability to adjust ones senses and perceptions of the world around them, so that they are able to predict impending harm; minimise harm and process harm done … over and over and over again.

The concept of ‘safety’ is really an opinion of privilege and is extremely variable.

Home and family ‘should’ be a place of ‘safety’; where you are able to have your needs met, your food provided, your clothing provided … your educational needs met, your healthcare needs met … the basic requirements – met. The ‘feel good’ things, in my opinion, are a bonus. By those, I mean, sports participation, reading activities, fucken friends over, shit like that.

Living in fear, should not, in my opinion, be part of the home package. Maybe fear of an ass whooping cos you pinched the neighbours strawberries, or broke their window … that kinda fear is good … healthy even.

The type of fear that has you pissing your pants, is not healthy.

Now drag that dread of impending harm … assault … death … on for 7 years … 11 years … 21 years … 32 years … 44 years. And ask yourself … what does that look like?

Well apparently, it looks like I did this morning, when I realised that all of yesterdays bullshit, was not just about the carpets and the invasion of privacy … of waiting, of stress, of managing shit …

I could smell it. It all felt familiar. And it always does, I just hadn’t quite recognised it. That the feeling of impending dread; of not knowing what is going to happen in my home next; of not being able to find a safe place, a place to rest … is the inescapable feeling that has enshrouded Me all my life.

And as I unpack it, piece by piece, and look for a safe, possibly unreal place, to be … I’m tired. Really tired.

Tired of the ugly in the world. The ugly that takes from children; that sucks the light right out of them.

And at the same time, I’m again, astonished at the ability of children, of Me: to survive the unspeakable; the unthinkable; the intolerable.






moko #1 made dinner for the fams … he was so proud of himself xo

I had a quick glimpse of a medium sized epiphany this morning … on my way from the laundry to the kitchen, which was the wrong way I might add … carrying the 4th pile of random clothing and miscellaneous items in about 15 minutes.

“Ahhhh, thats right … this is what motherhood looks like …. Faaarrrrkkkkk”

I didn’t think I had forgotten, but I had lol.

My girl and her partner now have 4 little darlings. The youngest is a few days old … the oldest is 11 next year. Theres like a 10 minute gap between the oldest and 2nd oldest (just kidding … theres like 13 months … which I might add, is really like juggling twins, but worse … ), and then theres a 5 year gap between 2nd and 3rd and now a 4 year gap between 3rd and 4th.

I didn’t have that.

And as I was rubbing my extremely over tired puffy allergy infested eyeballs and trying to get my equilibrium back on track whilst listening too 3 little people talk flat tack and eat their breakfast and put on sock and scream at the other that ‘thats not how mama ties my laces’ … I was thinking …

“How the fuck …. ”

Mothers and fathers all over the world, doing their do, raising their babies, picking snot off clothes and dry food outta hair … trying to find matching socks whilst convincing their babies that ‘unmatched socks are the in thing now, don’t you know …’ – they are all freaking fucking amazing.

You know, they have our next generations in their hands and they’re shaping and growing those little people … equipping them to be game changers, open thinkers, challengers … enjoyers of Life.

And thats a fucking hard job.

And I wonder … why the fuck doesn’t our government acknowledge and pay that shit? And closer to home … whose thanking the parents daily, for doing what they do?

Well today, I honour my daughters and partners of, for the most fucking amazing jobs that they do with my beautiful mokos … for the unseen jobs they do daily to raise awesome little humans into big humans.

Love Yous!!!

kpm ©



baca bikers.

Although a tad cheesy in places, there is something about this whole thing that gets to Me every time I watch it.

Theres something completely intricate and overwhelmingly awesome about protection … about feeling safe … feeling enabled and powerful. It is what every child has the absolute right and need to feel.

I guess over the years I’ve learnt and lived, what it means to Not be protected, even in the littlest things. It produces a strange type of species, such as I. Almost slightly feral in action. It becomes about survival and it is dam hard to switch your thinking to anything but survival.

I love that these dudes are there to protect, after the fact.

Because that is just as fucking important, if not more important.

(video via YouTube)

kpm ©

just a rant waiting to happen:

As previously stated on many, many an occasion, these are my beefs:

  • colonisation
  • misogyny
  • sexual assault, particularly of children
  • racism

I rant these topics regularly.

I follow these topics.

I respond to these topics.

I also live these topics.

I am also trying to resolve these topics on the daily.

They’re not a passing fad.

They’re not an ‘in thing’ for the moment.

They’ve been and will continue to be a lifetime of outworking, responding, resistance and resolving.

I have to.

I am brown.

I am a biological woman.

There aint no other choice.

My resistance of these topics has taken variations, particularly over the last couple of years. By responding verbally, I have been able to clarify and resolve them in part.

I have started to become more aware however, of a peculiar type of fuckery involved with misogyny, that has probably been there for way longer than I’ve been noticing it; but thusly noticed, I am beholden to respond.

With colonisation, theres a peeling back of the layers to find the crux of the issue. For Me, this has been a decade or so of said peelage and the crux usually turns out to be another layer to peel away.

At the core however, colonisation holds it strength in a persons/cultures mindset. Sure there are the systemic layers that we fight against; that we can work to change legislation on; that we can unpack and reframe. But at the end of the day, the war is left to play out, within our minds.

What do I mean?

Take for example, the changing of educational legislation. We can restore our native language; we can start our own schools; we can work to have bilingual units within the mainstream; we can argue to have our (accurate history) taught within the curriculum.

But can we abolish all Crown education?


Not without starting a riot or 10.

And for Me, this is the crux.

They layer bullshit over bullshit; feed us crumbs and let us ‘have’ slight changes. But at the centre of all of this, we are fighting for a system that was thrust, quite violently, upon Us. It’s not something we asked for, or petitioned for, or voted for or discussed and agreed too.

So what are we really fighting for?

To be heard within a system that is inherently, not ours? Why? It’s not ours!

And the same layered bullshit is repeated with everything “Crown”. The justice system, the health system, the economic system … they were all thrust violently upon us.

Is the answer not in, extracting ourselves from all of it? Is that even practical? Or maybe the answer is finding a way to live within it without it muddying up our waters?

What is Not cool though, is those that believe we should ‘get over’ the past and ‘move on’. But that moving on isn’t ‘ours’; its what is ‘prescribed’ For Us.

Now if this looks familiar when placed over the misogyny concept, that’s because it is. It’s the same fuckery.

Over the centuries women have had male theories of what and who we are and should be, violently thrust upon us. As we have peeled back those layers to get to the truth and to undo the damage, we have been prescribed another male concept of how and who we should be.

Yes, you can vote. Yes, you can be gay. Yes, you can work outside the home. Yes, you can be a prostitute, legally. Yes, you can marry another woman. Yes, you can have mammograms and smears. Yes, you can have your babies in a hospital.

But why are we asking permission for something we can do anyway and asking to do something that was not changed at our behest and was rehashed, Not as our choice in the first place?

Over the centuries we have been ladened with roles and reversals. We’ve been told we have No rights / are property. We’ve been burnt, raped, beaten, stripped, re-assigned, removed, silenced and murdered. Why? Because misogyny says it can treat us like that? Similar to the slave owner mentality, it is believed that women are nothing more than chattels.

The fuckery however, lies in Us believing this bullshit. Being so worn down, that we believe their bullshit; re-live their bullshit; teach their bullshit … and take anything that looks slightly positive, as making ‘strides in the right direction’.

“But it’s changed – women are listened too now … they have options …”


Take this for example then:

Your average thriller movie scene. A woman. A prostitute. Being picked up by a customer who looks like he hasn’t showered in a decade or 2 … The scene focuses on what she has to offer: which is of course – tits and ass. It focuses on what she’s selling – sexuality. It focuses on what she was unable to do when she’s attacked because he believes he’s to good to pay for a whore. It focuses on the ‘whore-ness’ and what she did to bring this attack on: thats right – tits and ass and sexuality. Theres no winning here. She’s fucked if she does, and fucked if she doesn’t.

My point?

Our society Still feeds the ‘women are commodities’ theory and the ‘mother theresa versus slut’ theory. We sell it. We buy into it. We believe it. Men and women alike.

So while we have ‘advanced’ as such, we are still fighting the age old fight of being heard. But who silenced Us? Why did they silence Us? Why do they insist on telling Us what to do and what to be? Are they threatened? Who let them prescribe what we should be like? How we should respond? And how we should resolve it?

Don’t believe this mentality is still being perpetuated on the daily?

The other day I heard a parent say the following to their 3 year old daughter:

“Close your legs darling … we don’t want to see your underwear”

I cringed. I mean, I cringed hard!

Everything in Me screamed … “Why? Why the fuck should this little person close their legs? So an adult doesn’t see their underwear? Whats wrong with underwear? Why are you worried about underwear? Is there something underlying that your Not stating?”

And I can hear the rhetoric now!

And I had this conversation with my partner, just to gauge the ‘temperature’ of that rhetoric. Apparently … men are just trying to ‘protect our virtue’ … still. But who asked them to protect our virtue? What the fuck is virtue anyways? And who are you protecting our virtue from? Other women?

No. Your protecting your chattel from other men.

And this mentality has been deeply embedded within us. And comments like the above one, not only teach us that theres something wrong with us having our legs open; our underwear; having fun; being a child … but it teaches us to Care what other people think of Us. It teaches Us that we are property; that we need protection from an unseen threat; that we should be afraid; that we should be modest and ladylike …. that we should fit a certain ‘role’.

Do you feel Me?

We are being told, advertently and inadvertently, what and who we should be; how and where we should act. And within those parameters we are fighting; we are responding; we are trying to gain leverage; trying to ‘make it’; trying … trying all the time.

This is what I call the colonisation of the mind … with misogyny.

We’ve become what they wanted. We respond as they want. We defend as they want. We Teach as they want.

The fuckery again:

Now, We, not them, are teaching our children this assimilative bullshit.

Mamas are telling their daughters they need to be modest. Why? Because we bought into the ‘virtue’ bullshit? Yep, and we bought into the gender role bullshit and we’re teaching that shit. ‘We’ are teaching gender  and roles.


Why can’t we find our own prescribed method of being? Why can’t we teach our babies to Be … Be themselves! Why are we teaching them to fit a gender role or a sexuality type or a job type or a face to wear in public? Whats wrong with teaching them to be strong, to explore, to resolve, to think, to laugh, to love, to care, to use their initiative, to develop … these aren’t gender specific or role specific qualities. They’re growing decent human being qualities.

[Side note: this is how our indigenous ancestors lived.]

I’m not sure that I’ve completely unfolded what this all means for Me or my mokos … but I’m sure as shit not having them believe they are only good for certain things based on some white archaic view of gender. And when I say mokos, I don’t just mean my biological female grand babies … I mean all of them. I don’t want our biological males believing they have the right to dominate based on their penis. I also don’t want them to believe that they have to be some stereotypical patriarchal, ‘thou shalt not cry … harden up or go home’ ‘male’ either. I just want them to Be, and to Not be assholes.

Be themselves … Be decent humans.

kpm ©


my babies.

I speak of my daughters often throughout my blog, but not alot, if you get my drift. And thats mainly out of respect for their privacy … little bitches ;)

But as I recently had a big dose of them, they are next up on my agenda … because they are my essence <3

They are like a split of Me with an extra dollup of chocolate and gelato on the side ;)

They are both ultra sensitive and completely gangstah … but different.

… I started writing about how beautiful they both are … but that wasn’t actually the reason I thought of them both for this post today … so let Me get to the gutts of it ay.

I’ve also written alot about not knowing when and how We will stop being here … in this world. Whether it be those that take their own lives, or those that have lived a long plentiful life, or those that are so dam miserable they probably should be dead … the jist is, We never know when our time is up; but it is a guarantee of this life. That we will all one day expire.

I know this. And its strange, because the closer I get to digging Me and digging life, the more urgency I feel to love every little bit of it because its been so fucken hard for so long … I think I’ve done my hard times and down times enough for a couple life times.

But as I was hanging with my girlies the other day, the youngest (shes 23) had learnt that her friend, who is a little younger than her, had died. She leaves behind a 3 year old.

I think I was kinda in shock, but felt for my girl and could see her grief; and her love for her friend.

Today it kinda slapped Me up side the head. That my baby is feeling the grief of loss that we associate with older, having lived some more of life type age bracket. And that this girls mama would be completely gutted … to have lost her baby girl; her child … the child, growing into a young woman … who now, is no more.

My heart kinda skipped a bit of a beat. Not because I know this lady or her daughter … but because my girl was is in pain and that pains Me.

And because my girls are my love and life. They always have been. Because I am eternally grateful for them; for having them here – still; for being able to watch them grow from beautiful kids to even more beautiful young women … and I’m not just talking outward beauty (they are stunning looking girls though!), but what makes them extraordinary is what they exude … their essence.

They make Me so proud … but more than that … I have always been in love with my kids, and I’m pleased that they have loved Me back :)

kpm ©


my babies are on the move again

The house that my kids and mokos moved in to recently, has been sold and they are on the move again. This time they are going back into town.

Being in the countryside has done them all the most amazing world of good. The mokos (grandchildren) have discovered their groove and rediscovered their confidence. My eldest daughter has found her groove, gotten herself a new job – which she’s loving, and most importantly, she’s learnt how to say No to the stuff she doesn’t want or need! My youngest daughter has a new appreciation for her sister and the amount of work she does … the stresses that face a mama with 3 extremely strong willed little darlings. She has also found her groove and another layer of confidence. She enrolled in a hair dressing course, which she’s loving! It’s so nice to see her happy at what she’s doing. And her little midget, #4 moko, has thrived with her cousins around. She’s loved and protected – x6 … and she’s benefiting from that. And the oldest girls partner … well he makes Me proud :) He struggles with so much feminine strength around him lol … but he too, is finding his groove.

So, my eldest daughter rang Me at midnight the other night … and once I realised there was No pending emergency, she says … ‘Well you’re usually awake, so I thought I’d ring for a chat and to see how you are’ LOL … how could I refuse that :)

As we do, we got into deep conversation pretty quickly and a couple things came out.

To digress though: Me and the partner had been discussing the ‘kids and puppy’ video thats been doing the rounds on social media recently. This dude set up an experiment to lure kids away from a park, (with their parents present) with a cute little puppy. Every single kid went with the stranger; rightly so, the parents were horrified. Now theres all kinds of shizz ethically wrong with doing this sort of experiment, but what it did bring to light – or so they thought – was that kids are easily manipulated, thus unprotected.

My comment to the partner was, that it wasn’t so much that kids were easily manipulated, but that We (society, schools, parents, friends) have taught our kids, with one hand to be socially ‘polite’, and then with the other hand, have told them not to talk to strangers etc. But technically they are not strangers after they have introduced themselves, right? We make our kids kiss aunty so-and-so, when they meet her for the first time, even when the kid doesn’t want to … because, ‘it’s rude not too’. And then We act surprised when they toodle off with a nice stranger who has a cute puppy. I reckoned my Mokos wouldn’t do this. Because what they have been taught is something very different.

A. Trust their gut.

B. If they don’t want to pucker up for aunt maude, they don’t, and they’re not told off for it.

Un-digress and back to topic…

My daughter said that she had organised for 2 of her church friends to go and pick up moko #1 & #2 after school on this particular day; but she had forgotten to tell the mokos.

So ‘after school’ arrives, and these 2 churchies rock up to the school to pick up the mokos. But they refused to get in the car. (I was chuckling by this point of the story … ). The 2 churchies did what ‘people’ usually do, which in my opinion is undermining and dangerous – they told the mokos that a. they knew who they were, so it’d be safe b. that their mother had rung them and organised this c. that it wasn’t their (the churchies) fault that the mokos mother hadn’t told them d. everything would be alright.

And the mokos still refused to get in the car with them. The mokos explanation to the churchies was: a. We are allowed to get in the car with 5 people. b. You guys are not on that list.

In the end, the churchies rang the mokos mother and bluntly said, ‘your kids won’t get in the car’. To which, my daughter replies: ‘Aw, good darlings. I forgot to tell them you were picking them up. Put them on the phone”.

Moko #1 gets on the phone … ‘Hey Mum … they’re not on the list ay.’ … ‘Yes son, you did good! I forgot to let you both know they were coming to pick you up, sorry about that. But what you did was perfect!’.

And it was!! She was proud of her babies … and I was super proud as a Nan, of my girl and the mokos :)

Then we got on to the impending move. She was worried that the mokos would be anxious and not want to go, and she was feeling guilty. So she re-framed the whole thing for them. And they re-framed it back.

Turns out they are excited to be ‘getting a new house’ cos the other is ‘old’ now.

And thats it.

They’re not anxious or overly complicated by the move … it’s just another adventure for them, and an adventure that they all get to have together! Isn’t that just beautiful :)

Turns out the whole parenting out of guilt, in my opinion, is a sickness that follows shitloads of parents … and I wonder if it has a lot to do with the resulting ‘i’m entitled’ attitudes that ooze out of some kids. It also seems to be partially responsible for the lack of common sense and reality they seem Not to possess.

But I’m proud of my kids … I’m proud of their mistakes, their efforts, their forthrightness, their ability to think, articulate, question …

I love them <3

So a couple more weeks and we will be helping them make their next move … to start their next adventure :) So exciting!

kpm ©



response to copyright infringement and child porn

As I am reasonably inept in regards to the functioning of cyber world, and posting educational material and uplifting photographs are the realm of my know-how; so stumbling upon a copywritten stolen photograph on a pornographic website featuring underage girls, came as a bit of shock to the system.

Needless to say, it has been an enlightening couple of days.

I am grateful that said photograph was not personal in nature and it has been a lesson in what I will be posting in future. Whilst I am not inclined to be dictated by some pervert thief, and a network provider that abdicates any responsibility in assisting with the provision of details because they do not ‘control the content of their customers’; I will be taking down all photographs from my websites, that are family related.

I thank all those that have genuinely ‘liked’ and commented on these photographs and perused them for the pleasure they were intended.

This post is to inform those who are unaware of the process re filing a complaint about stolen material, but more importantly, reporting and protecting the vulnerable.

If you should find any material or photographic depictions of persons who appear to be ‘underage’, you should lodged a complaint with the provider of that website (if you can find it). This can usually be done through the following website: http://www.whoishostingthis.com. You can then report the site and/or the incident here: https://report.cybertip.org. You will need to provide personal details and the URLs the offence is related too.

For New Zealand, you can also go to the following links:




As you know, well for those of you who actually read my shit: some fuckwit decided to pinch a photo of mine … of ‘sea foam’ ffs … and repost it, with my site name on it … to a fucking porn website depicting underage girls in all manner of fucking disgusting-ness.

For those who know my shit, you would’ve guessed by now, that this has fucked with my world slightly … for a few reasons … the obvious being – kids being fucked with!! Yes it pisses me no end that some cunt has violated my ‘space’ … but hei aha: my shoulders must have gotten a little broader over the last couple years; fuck that I say.

But then placing my shit on a site that depicts the violation children has gotten all my heckles right up there!

So the point of this post – aside from having yet another rant about it, in true Me form … is to let you know that I will be removing all photographs over the next couple of days, relating to my family, especially my mokos. If anything, this has all been a valuable lesson in what is ‘not’ protected on the net … Children!

So I won’t be doing my usual posts for a couple of days until I have ‘reconstructed’ my sites adequately … Soz about that … but not ;) [ this kinda of fucks with my organised, anal as fuck feng shui, but its worth it ;) ]

And finally, I wanted to make sure those that are unaware, as I have been, of the process you need to take if you should come across kiddie porn scum and their filth in the course of your surfing the web. Yes, theres shit we can do. If you’ve been anything like me, you’ve just tried to get rid of whatever is on the screen, hoping that’s the end of it.

But it isn’t.

Just remember, you may be able to delete it off’ve you’re screen; but whoever is in those depictions, is someones child!!!!! Even if they look 16 or 17, they’re still someones child! And they are people … little people! That require our notice and fucking protection! And btw … the age of ‘consent’ (I’m not talking about ‘giving’ consent here), is six-fucking-teen!

So, in conclusion … here’s my photographic depiction of the debacle thus far, and since no cunt wants to take full responsibility for the ‘questionable’ site, feel free to peruse these closer to get a real ‘feel’ for the abdication of responsibility that is so readily evident here.

Cheers … See yous on the flip side … aka coupley days ;) 

kpm ©




update re (kiddie) porn bastards

While I’m slightly disturbed some cunt has pinched my shit and posted it on some dodgy porn site …

The contents of that site disturbed me more.

And as I ruminated on what to do … I came up with this semi-solution:

Because no child should be on any site like this!!

a. I contacted this place:

b. and laid a complaint about the site.

Filthy Mongrels.

[watch this space]

kpm ©