choose.

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

is fucken huge.

im letting that shit breatheeeee.


kpm©


alopecia. etc.

when i got alopecia, i didn’t just wake up one morning and all my hair had fallen out.

it happened slowly.

it started with a tiny patch on the back of my head, about the size of one of my nails.

not a lot was known about alopecia then .. and sadly to say, not a lot is known now and its over 20 years on.

& as i was looking for solutions, more hair started falling out. i’d wake up in the morning to handfuls of hair on my pillow and when i showered, handfuls of hair would fall away.

my visits to the doctors where tiresome and fruitless.

when i finally got to see a specialist most of the hair on my head had fallen away and i was wearing a hat. and still they couldn’t tell me why it was happening or how to fix it.

it was a long, slow and emotionally painful process. i was worried that something more devious was wrong with me. i was worried that i wouldn’t be able to find a solution especially if all these know it all fucking doctors and specialists didn’t know much. and i was worried it would never grow back.

as a grappled with all of that i was faced with a choice of stressing out as it fell out or shave it off.  i chose to have what was left of it, shaved off & it made me feel quite helpless.

in hindsight i coulda rocked a baldy & been fine lol but i think the stress of the why’s and how comes over took any kind of self esteem and common sensical solutions.

it took nearly 6-8 months to get to that stage & about 2 months after id shaved it off, the original patch started to sprout white hair that felt like baby hair.

why re-tell this drull story?

cos this arvo i was thinking about where im at in my ‘healing journey’ .. i still fucking despise that phrase, but havent found a suitable alternative yet lol .. & realised that where i am is like the bit just before i decided to shave my hair off.

my life has been a painful fucking process.

from about 2007 onwards, ive had some tragic shit happen, but a deep healing started. that coincided with not having to see fuck face pedo anymore. it also came with the grief of losing my grandfather & the end of an era.

& now i feel as if im at a crossroad.

sort of.

its a time to choose.

not everything has finished healing or even finished being cleaned out .. but i feel like i have a choice to make re facing certain things head on, in a different way & fuck the consequences.

& like my hair, it may or may not grow back. but am i going to keep stressing about it falling out or just face the inevitable, that it is nearly all gone, shave the bastard off and rock the rest.

cos like my hair falling out, i didn’t get to be a ptsd fucktard over night .. hell no .. its been a steady progression. & to say im well over it would be a fucking understatement .. i’ve tried all the well meaning remedies & then some.

this part feels different.

this part feels almost like a letting go but not in the ‘normal’ sense of the phrase.

maybe more like taking the wheel? instead of bracing for shit to happen .. maybe its time i fucked that thing over & fuck all bitch ass consequences!

.. watch this space .. again .. lol ..


kpm©


 

today .. was ..

i remember when i first got vertigo, just over 10 years ago now .. i hadn’t linked it to anything else other than having a bad case of the flu and my sinuses being blocked ..

i was about 36-37 then.

i also knew my health wasnt right due to the amount i was vomitting and shitting and the amount of weight i was losing .. oh as well as my hair .. again.

so, i did what we all do.

i went to the doctors.

i got a med cert. i tried to recover and move on.

that was the start of something larger that would suck my energy something fierce.

but at 38ish i had more energy to fight.

im 48 now and i can feel my energy depleting.

sometimes i turn myself inside out to find solutions cos thats the kinda bitch i am.

im solution focussed.

in finding a solution i’ll shred the evidence i have to source the suitable solution. if that dont work ill try something else.

but, i still get chronic vertigo.

& its seems like it worsened with the onset of peri menopause .. insert eyeball roll.

& im still trying to find solutions.

but some days .. ohhh some days .. its all i can do to stand. walking is near impossible. & anything above those 2 things is draining af.

but i take notes.

so that when i have a steady day i can find alternative solutions.

today is one of those days.

its actually about day 3.

and i was reminded of stumbling up stairs back in my 30s, trying to hold on to the railing and not topple over. i decided in that moment i needed to find alternatives to how i did things.

that if i couldn’t drive to get the groceries i could utilise online.

if i couldn’t sit on a chair without feeling wonky id sit on the floor.

that id minimise and reorganise what i needed so it was on hand and i didn’t have to make 10 trips downstairs or bend over and stand up a tonne of times.

& that was the start.

i still sit on floor.

i still utilise online services.

& im still trying to find solutions.

still.

today im tired.

tomorrow i hopefully kick ass again .. hopefully.


kpm©


 

cho.ice

my choice to remain quiet ..

is my choice.

thats mine.

thats my fight.

for me.


kpm©


 

yet another dream ..

the other night i dreamt about a river. clean & clear. 2 rivers actually.

flowing through my house. i could see them through glass floors.

& as i looked at them i thought, fuck they’re clear & clean ..

i should get my camera.

then i just stood there thinking .. i’ll have to go upstairs, find the new batteries, change the batteries & then come back down to take the photo/s. the river could have changed by then. ? .

then the next thought was : is it more important to get a photo or just view it & enjoy it. here & now.

.

i woke up feeling anxious.

anxious that i’d made the wrong choice.

that i had missed some mind blowing photo op OR missed something that nature herself wanted me to see.

.

& thats me.

.

continuously anxious that i’m doing the wrong thing.

.

what the actual fuck.

.

choices & change. they seem to go hand in hand.


kpm ©


 

‘them’

anyone ever asked ‘them’ what they want?


kpm©


 

thought about my nan today,

actually i think about her most days, but today was a little different.

i had always wondered why she never left my grandfather when she appeared to be mostly (except for a few interim moments) pretty miserable.

they fought like cats & dogs & never really had anything nice to say to one another. they co-existed, or so it seemed.

they slept in different rooms & never really attended ‘functions’ together, like i saw other couples do.

there was always an air of animosity & tension.

poor old nan got the blame for most of that.

don’t get me wrong, i love both of my grandparents way beyond i love most things. but there things that my eyes & heart didn’t really understand.

as i become more ‘vocal’ & more of a feminist i suppose, my misplaced disdain for nan being in a situation she really didn’t like, made me question what she was up too.

why didn’t she just move on? start a new life? like my mama had when my father turned out to be a dick.

well, today i caught a glimpse of nans plight. i understood in a new way, why she didn’t or rather, couldn’t, ‘change’ her situation. it was something that i did know really, but not really really. lol. yah know when you really get the gist of something.

nan was a woman. a woman of the pre & post WW2 era. while she was fiercely independent & an entrepreneur & trailblazer of her era; she was limited.

because she was a woman.

where does a woman with no steady income – no ‘credentials’ – no ability to drive let alone purchase a vehicle – no ‘tribe’ that was accepting of her & her life choices (she married a man-of-colour, my grandfather, & was ostracised for it) – no alternatives – with declining mental health issues & daily challenges of small town living & generalised ‘woman misunderstanding’ – with a mouth that challenged the patriarchy @ every turn & was demonised for it.

where does that woman go when there is no where to go?

i guess i hadn’t really understood that sometimes, there is literally No Place To Go.

when that happens, you make a choice – a limited choice, but a choice none-the-less.

you remain in the situation that you know & that you can manoeuvre some type of freedom out of. as limited as that may be, it is better than the weighed up alternative – homelessness. aloneness.

today i understood her.

i understood her choices.

i admire her more than i think i have ever admired her before.


kpm ©


 

dinner.

i had biscuits for dinner.

fuck i love adulting this way.


kpm ©


 

:(

some choices are just like, figuring out the least amount of damage that could be done & rolling with that.

well thats what i’ve been doing … up until now.

its not a long term solution though.

tomorrow moko #9 is being ‘dedicated’ @ his parents ‘church’. i was invited, & surprisingly, i considered it.

i don’t do church. i don’t do religion. but i don’t stop someone else from doing those things. & won’t not go somewhere ‘cos i don’t agree with it.

i will Not go somewhere however, if the risk to my sanity, is too great.

i asked all the pertinent questions: time, place, duration of event, what’s involved, layout of church, seating, lighting, noise factor etc.

as the replies were coming in, my assessment was that this 10-15 minute dedication was to be brighter & noisier than the last open air drum & bass concert i’d been too! our moko (whose nearly 6 months old) will be given head phones to drown out the noise!

wtf.

anyway, i had to decide whether i could deal or not, & decided i couldn’t.

i’ve made some significant progress with the driving & negotiating my way around certain events … but this …

this is is abit above my pay grade @ the moment.

yes, i’m slightly disappointed.

for all the usual bullshit reasons.

but it is what it is for now … & the best thing i can do is not dwell on it like its a ‘failure’ but rather a pause & recalibrate moment.

slow & steady.


kpm ©


 

sullen learns.

i guess i was kinda hoping that i wasn’t right & that our little town wasn’t really as racist AF. that mabes i was being a little sensitive *insert eye ball roll* & that it was all in my head.

well, i had some valuable learns. sad learns. but valuable.

i learned-ded that our little town is indeed as racist AF. that they decline a brown person housing, supply & participation, based solely on colour / ethnicity.

i was privy to half a dozen stories, of being declined last minute for housing, after the owner discovered the applicant was actually brown. another story of being declined over the counter sales @ our local shop, based on colour. another story of ‘modifying the brown’ of a worker so she could properly serve the white clients. another story of a family leaving our community because of the racism her & her children had suffered.

there were a few others but i’ll stop there.

so … where does this leave us?

now that the guts feeling has been confirmed, do we wait for the next covert racist comment that comes our way? do we chose to ignore it or confront it head on? what if that racism comes from the people who own the house? or who have the potential of renting to us? how much ass licking & pride swallowing do we do?

this is a real thing.

it’s a choice. & most of the time we suck it up & ignore the racist remarks … because we have shit to do & the choices are limited.

its all well & good preaching rights & activism. the reality is though .. we y’all gonna live? what y’all gonna eat? whose gonna fill in your scripts if your confront the motherfuckers about their racism??

non-racist country my ass!


kpm©


 

Image

sexual politics of religion: pt 1 & 2

addendum: which is ironic as i havent even published the fucking thing yet … anywho … this has been sitting in my drafts and i’ve been tutuing with it, editting, adding and adjusting … and it doesnt feel right, so i’ve left it for awhile …

and this morning, i’m here again, but this time i’m like … ” Fuck It … just post the fucking thing as it is and do the updates on it later “…

Reason being: i think i’m holding onto it and silencing myself … again … and because this post is in a long winded way, exactly what i’m trying to UNDO … it’s important that i just throw it out there … it’s a whole layer of me that i haven’t ‘done’, and that shit is coming to an end.

so … roll on ;)


original draft:

in a couple posts so far i’ve said that i’ve been dreaming vividly, and the following train of thought came from one of these dreams. it has to do with religion, conformity, norms, recovery and discovering who i am.

gonna do this in 2 parts, possibly a few parts lol, cos i’m still putting my pieces together. as i do.

i’m gonna start with religion. specifically, my experience of religion and being brought up in a ‘christian’ environment.

keep in mind that the sexual assaults on my little personage started around the 3 year old mark and ‘christianity’, as i remember it, was introduced to my world at about 4 or 5 years old.

sexual assault on its own fucks with the feng shui, trust, physical boundaries, instincts and decision making, to name but a few. repeated assault (physical, psychological and emotional) produce a hyperarousal state whereby the assault-ee is in constant assessment and reaction mode/s.

right, that said, heres my dissection of religion as it pertains to me and my experience.

.

i came across an article the other day, to do with religious trauma. they call it religious trauma syndrome.

in the article it describes the effects of religious trauma, or being under the influence of a tyrannical religious influence for prolonged periods, as : fear, anxiety, flash backs, panic attacks, nightmares, depression, cognitive difficulties and issues with social functioning.

because this type of religious entity requires conformity to fit in, non-conformity reigns down the wrath of god, figuratively – the wrath of those ‘in charge’, literally.

as i said before, my introduction to the Assemblies of God church was at about 4 or 5 years of age, and that was in 1977-78. i got completely clear of the church for the first time when i was about 16 or 17. everything that i did after that was smothered with guilt and the prospect of going to hell. my daughter was taken from me based on the theory that i was not conforming to a normal christian lifestyle, which including drinking and hanging out with non-christians.

i know right!

throughout my mothering ‘career’ i came up against a number of ‘controls’ that tried to use my daughters as a means to make me comply. when i did not, i was psychological punished; sometimes, physically punished with the threat of having the kids taken from me.

add to all of this a large helping of mental and emotional torture which i fought against but fought alone.

i completely ditched any and all churches in my 30s and when my children were about 12 and 7. i was completely and utterly damned for it and ostracised from friends and those i had come to consider as family.

i don’t regret the decision and still have absolutely no interest in any religion.

it’s taken years to chip off the after effects of all that indoctrination though. not that i ever believed what they preached entirely, but it was rather hard to say you didn’t believe in something or ask questions or ask for details, when the answer was always : because god said.

that was never enough for me.

as the years have gone on and i’ve managed to figure out that organised religion has nothing to do with spirituality or ‘god’; that god is what ever and whoever you feel comfortable with them being to you.

but to this day, i will literally sprint from organised religious nut jobs and their speeches, quicker than you can say: ‘go’.

i have had enough to deal with the assaults and add a thick layer of religious mayhem to that, and i realised, i’ve been a busy bitch, trying to piece myself back together … back to what i was intended to be before others peoples ideals, beliefs and sicknesses fucked with me.

religious freakiness and all its controlling techniques are pretty much like a pedo grooming and assaulting. the after effects are also similar.

it occurred to me today: that i have more grit and determination and fight for life, than i thought i had.

i am pleased i have a questioning streak; that i will not conform to anothers ‘shoulds’ or suggestions, just because they ask or demand it of me. that instinct in me has kept me alive and kept me searching for better.

that makes me as gangstah as fuck.


part 2, ish.


if you know anything about christianity, you’ll know a lot of their teachings focus on the damnation of ‘sexuality’. i was going to say homosexuality, but really, this lot condemns more than just sexual orientation.

they teach abstination of desire, exploration, sexual boundaries and orientation. all things sexual are considered sinful (punishable by hell) unless you are married.

in my personal experience, by the time i hit my teens i wasn’t really ‘interested’ in being sexual or experimenting or discovering. i’d had more than my fair share of invasive, demeaning and damaging sexual experiences.

like the sexual assault on me as an infant, any and all sexual experiences thereafter were experienced through the lens of guilt and damnation. at no time do i remember there being any lessons on what reasonable exploration was about. or even what sexuality and intimacy was about. in my mind it was all dirty. all of it. and unfortunately, my very early experiences did nothing to dissuade that thought pattern. christianity’s teachings actually just compounded it.

and this isn’t adding to the mixture how society views female sexuality, desire and / or their choices.


part 3, later. maybe.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

Image

such a grown up thing to do:

Much to my surprise, I ended up selling a few of my exhibition pieces. I don’t usually sell and I think thats been more about the emotional attachment that I have with each piece I do.

But this time, alot of that emotional attachment wasn’t there. Maybe it’s because it was all such a cathartic process … I’m not sure really.

But any who … As tempted as I was to buy really really necessary items of shit like:

  • Shoes
  • M&Ms
  • Shoes

I decided instead to invest in my Art :)

So I bought these puppies instead!

Feeling like a grown up right now lol.

4x 30×30 stretched canvas


kpm ©


 

.

don’t work

for an asshole.

period.


kpm ©


he infuriates Me more than most …

I conversed, sort of, with my father this evening. I knew about 6 minutes in, that it was a bad idea.

A really bad idea.

He is back in the country and is getting himself sorted for his big ‘move’ back onto his land on the coast.

Now I’ve talked about this quite bit in other places so won’t rehash all those details. But just to highlight:

  • I’ve told him I won’t be part of any Land Trust he sets up.
  • I support his cause as part of his own journey of self discovery.
  • I’ve told him he can’t tell Me what to do.
  • I’ve told him he doesn’t know who I am.

If you’ve read anything about how I feel about colonisation and results of it in this country; or how I feel about being cornered or manipulated; or how I feel about racism, sexism, homophobia or any cocked eyed view like those; or how I feel about having my choices made for me … if you’ve read anything about that … then you’ll know it’s shit I’m pretty passionate about. I believe peeps are welcome to their differing views, in their own corner of the universe. But Do Not slam dunk those views in my hoop.

My father breaks all rules of engagement for Me. In fact he reminds Me of an internet troll that just doesn’t let up. He’s ignorant; a know it all; a racist; a ‘phobic’ and narrow minded twat. He believes he is right and won’t hear any one elses view or opinion … including mine.

I’ve explained to him why I won’t do a Land Trust; be part of it, run it, sign up to it … I’ve explained to him that if that is what he wants to do with his parents land, then all good, that is his right and his journey … I’ll support that for him … it’s not my view or belief, but thats OK. But I won’t ever sign up to something I do not support.

So what has he done:

Thats right – he put my name on the Land Trust as a trustee and shareholder.

Oh my fuck.

Now I can overlook the fact that he doesn’t know the ‘real’ history of his people or his country; that it is probably way to fucking late to teach him or for him to even hear any of it. I can also overlook the fact that he is a perfect product of his generations colonial programming. He believes Maori are lazy, useless, uneducated and can’t get by without the governments help. He believes that we can only move forward if we become ‘white’, literally. He believes our cultural heritage is backward and uncivilised. While it revolts the living fuck out of Me, I get it, and can overlook it.

But to pull the old ‘I’m your father, you shall obey Me’ card is way beyond my overlooking capabilities.

As he was telling Me that he had signed Me up, I could feel my blood boiling. I tried to compose myself and respectfully say that I wasn’t interested in doing that, as he well knew.  He asked Why. For fucks sakes. I just repeated that he already knew why and shouldn’t have signed Me up to anything as I wouldn’t be doing it, at all. And he wouldn’t hear Me. He tried the convincing routine and the guilt routine and the ‘this is for the good of the whole family’ routine. Get fucked!

In the end, my partner pulled the wifi cable out and the call went dead! LOL … just as well! But it has grated Me something fierce. And what fucks Me off more, is that he fucks Me off!!!

Selfish cunt asked how I was and when I told him about the brother in law passing, he flipped that conversation around and back to himself and his land. I know, if he was someone I had just met (which he is really), I wouldn’t continue a conversation, let alone a relationship with him.

Which brings Me to this:

Do I cut him off completely? I don’t know if I have the patience or love for him, to continue trying to form some sort of relationship or lame ass bond with him.

I’ve managed quite well without him, so what do I have to lose.


kpm ©