choose.

Choices
knowing I have some. & the freedom to make them ..

is fucken huge.

im letting that shit breatheeeee.


kpm©


choice.s.

there comes a time, when it is a choice whether you see or continue to see things in a demented form .. whether you choose not to recognise the signs of ill life.

.

i started smoking at 11 ish.

i was angry.

but im not sure, at what.

i was wanting to fit somewhere.

to be safe.

accepted.

like everyone else i guess.

but mainly to fit somewhere where life wasnt a fucking irony .. full of hypocrisy.

why pray to a god that wasnt there.

that never answered. never smote those who actually needed it.

cos they were all deaf and couldn’t hear??

what .. all of them??

how do you completely not hear a child for that long.

completely ignore the obvious that you know to be true. 

that something is wrong.

not the child.

but something else.

.

could you not hear your gutt?

could you not see the signs?

hear the signs?

.

but i figuring now, looking at the dissonance the world is in, that ignoring all the signs of something quite obvious to those experiencing it, is an art. & an art that is more common than i thought.


kpm©


 

cho.ice

my choice to remain quiet ..

is my choice.

thats mine.

thats my fight.

for me.


kpm©


 

And, we live to see another day

Near 24 hours have passed, and I’m happy to report no-ones dead, including myself … duh.

And this is where self realisation and a good dose of reflection are kicking in.

First and foremost, I’m glad I didn’t kick a hole in the wall. Fixing it would cost money, that I don’t have.

Hugest realisation:

I’m a simple gal. Believe it or not, I long for peace and quiet. To be able to lean over the neighbours fence and gossip about the other neighbours bloomers blocking out my sunshine … I long for simple food, simple laughs. I like the idea of vegetable gardens and plum trees … fixing shit myself … 3pm coffee breaks … weekends on the beach … I love the thought of all those things … and I’m trying to attain a whisper of that ‘thing’.

My big fucking moment yesterday, was induced by stress and interrupted by the realisation that that was my Grandparents era. And I fucking miss it! It seemed simple and comforting. Even though it was rife with sexual abuse and underlying passive aggressive goings ons …

I guess I miss them. They are my version of Home. That feeling anyway. But it’s gone. And so’s the era. People aren’t like that anymore. There aren’t ‘gentle-men’ agreements: there isn’t idle harmless gossip over the mailbox: there isn’t biscuits and hot coffee at 3pm, paid for by your boss.

What there is plenty of though, is stress.

It’s fucking everywhere.

And it made it’s way into my safe haven and feng shui.

My partner (yes I said it grrr), is a half full kinda dude. But he too is besotted with the grandparent generation … Nice ideals … but not realistic anymore.

I’m more of a ‘fuck your glass and your water, I’ll make my fucking own’ kinda person.

Yes, we clash.

Usually when theres a third party involved.

Another of our differences: I have no problem with telling someone NO. Whether thats a straight out No, fuck off; or a No Thankyou … it gets said if it needs to be said.

Partner on the other hand is more of a … ‘ohhhh but I said I would so I’d better now … ‘ kinda person. There’s No such thing as a No.

As you can guess theres been some god almighty clashes. It fucks with my boundaries, my sense of safety … my sense of calm and peace and fucking stress-free quietness.

So, he’s discussed an arrangement with our soon-to-not-be landlord. Why? Because thats what he does …

But this discussion led to ‘a gentlemans arrangement’ whereby we would pay more rent for the remainder of our tenancy and be reimbursed the increase, weekly. The idea was that by having it look like we are paying more rent on the paperwork, makes it eligible for them to put the house on the market as a potential ‘rental investment’, at current rental prices.

Seemed simple enough. I smelt something fishy though, because I’m a deficit type bitch like that  …

As a side note, the partner had said he’d do some work on the house to bring it up to a sellable standard, in lieu of cash payments, and at slightly better rates than a tradie, of course.

So we get the paperwork from the rental agency.

What it says, in flamboyant technical language, is we have agreed to a rent increase and until we finish doing work on the house, will be reimbursed up to said amount, until such and such a date.

I balked immediately, seeing nothing but big holes in this arrangement.

And all I said to the partner was: How is this beneficial to Us?

And the rest turned into a shitfest.

“Why you gotta get all ‘that way'” (meaning, why you gotta get all man hating, pakeha hating and protesty).

I balked again.

In my opinion, the landlord, who seems like a nice enough dude, has re-written himself a good deal. Increased rent before selling and free work to his house.

In my opinion also – this is a deal only white priviledge would even have the audacity to ‘offer’ after agreeing verbally to something completely different.

And also in my mother fucking opinion – it’s the type of deal only a down trodden maori slave would consider as being a good deal!

And the angst that comes from being shown otherwise is what is causing the stress. Because like I said, partner does not say No.

I even offered to do it for him.

He’s still in justification mode and is having a hard time getting his mermaid headspace around the fact that this dude is trying to fuck him up the ass.

It’s a harsh realisation, I know.

But it’s fact.

I don’t have any ill feeling toward the landlord. We have an arrangement with him that works for us at the moment. Changing that, is his job. Not changing it, is ours. Simple.

But to dress it up as anything other than what it is; or to try and shame me into believing that I have a ‘negativity’ issue is bullshit.

And it’s bullshit I almost fell for.

As a reeled around yesterday trying hard not to put my fist through anything, I could hear the ghosts of years gone by … ‘you don’t know what your doing’, ‘your not a good mother’, ‘you just need to shut up and listen’, ‘ you need to obey …’ and the list went on …

Once I’d let them have their say and I found somewhat of a centre again … I could dismiss them as the bullshit they were then, but I couldn’t do anything about it … Now I can.

I’m not any of those things that were said about me; to me, against me. It is not my problem if ‘they’ don’t get me and it’s not a discussion I need to have to try and persuade them to see me differently.

Really, they can all just jog on.

If, however, I choose to stay with my partner, am I going to let him put me in an inferior position to make himself comfortable? And if the answer is No, how do I calmly combat that … cos holes in walls is way too stressful now-days.

And thats where I’m at.

I’m trying to figure out how to do the next bit.


kpm ©


 

 

SaveSave

its an individual thing?

SaveSave

SaveSaveOhhh yaas, she’s on a fucking roll today lol. That could have something to do with the beautiful rain that is hovering around … or maybe cos I have the day / night to myself and feel like I actually have room to breath for the first time in ages … could have something to do with actually listening to my gutt for the past 72 hours …

Whatever the fuck it is … I’m alright with it.

So, I was reading a fellow bloggers post yesterday … the guts of it was their unfolding of a horrific history, their way. And you know what, as horrific as it all is, there is something extremely gangstah about listening to the roar of someone elses truth … of hearing it rip the silence barrier from top to tail … it’s an earth shaking, spine tingling experience. And for their truth being told, I am grateful and feel honoured to have heard it!

It got Me thinking, as I do.

I have written, repeated and re-written the same old things … over and over again. I started tentatively … barely a squeak lol. And though, to some, it seemed like a roar – I know, for Me, it wasn’t my Whole voice. Just a whisper.

Profanity or swearing like a sailor, is second nature to Me. It is what I do. But I’ve realised it’s whats put some off my Blog, just as it has reeled in those who can relate or speak in a similar vein. Am I worried? Fuck No … those that have stayed and those that can relate, have become some of my closest compadres in this fucked up journey of ours ;)

But I’ve also reasoned with myself, that this is why people stay away. Not just on this platform, but in real human life lol.

Have I inadvertently done this on purpose to keep the fuckers away?

I hadn’t thought so … but maybe … and thats alright.

Those that have stayed around, in real life, are just a handful of some of the most beautiful people this world has spat out. And I wouldn’t change that either.

But following my original train of thought … I began wondering … why do we follow or trust the words of people who say they know something, because someone else says they’re right?

Make sense?

There are few peeps that have an original idea … their own ideas … and can roll with them, unchecked and unhindered by the criticisms of ‘others’.

If Martin Luther had’ve been a petrol pump attendant from Wellington, would anyone have listened?

If Hitler was a conservationist working with 10 kea in the outbacks of Mangaweka, would anyone have eventually voted the cunt in?

They were listened too … given a platform … followed … hailed … because they were listened too, given a platform and then a larger platform, followed and hailed as ‘the one who knew’.

Were they ever questioned by their peers? Ever held in check?

Good and bad … do they become what they are because a whole lot of like minded souls tag themselves into their posts? If they didn’t, they’d just be Susan from Christchurch who likes cats and drinks camomile tea on sundays and is trying too write a self help blog on the intricacies of pet hair and allergies.

There are so many voices in this world … and we give those voices importance or non-importance if you get my meaning.

But then we seem to think that We are unimportant if no-one hears us … likes us … follows us … quotes us and tags us into their extremely long facebook posts lol.

Whatever happened to following our gutt … doing our own thing … creating and loving and dancing to the beat of our own fucking drum without the ‘consent’ of anyone else?

I guess I’m prattling on about this, because I see so many blogs and people, come and go, (and I may end up being one of those ;) ) and get swallowed up in the figurative-ness of internet-ness lol. No-one hardly hears them. No-one seems to care. Well not unless someone ‘more important’ ‘gives’ them a hand up pfft …

Does that mean they’re all really un-important?

Nope.

Not at all.

In conclusion lol …

Heres to the little fuckers … whose blogs, whose voices, whose art … never gets seen, read, heard …

We all fucking matter!!!

Throw that shit out there: its important!!!

xo


kpm ©


 

.

don’t work

for an asshole.

period.


kpm ©


u will, will not

you thought, didja

i will

will not

don’t do

wotcha want, me too

.

No, is what I do

say

make

take

fake, not

.

No, is the

go too

.

Get used to it

.

I will not do

Wotcha want me to do


that’s it. move along.


kpm©


 

that said

all I ever

ever

wanted

wanted

was the same

same

as you

you

the freedom

freedom

to choose

choose

make a choice

choice

like you do

do


kpm ©