see .. look

their inadequacies are crippling us.


try to move, but it’s like a weight.

their weight.

& its too hard to just drop.

needs to be buried?
like a death?
a dead body?

buried. properly.

not in anger. not in remorse. or hurt.

just respectfully buried.

dirt & grieving.


. .

hold onto everything loosely.




dead peeps ..

‘what? yous don’t talk to your dead people?’ is my new come back.
after a colonised lifetime of fighting to look “normal” re talking to the dead 🙄 this year I decided, fuck it, imma just listen & try & go with it.
so, this will be the first intentional setting of #matariki I have observed. what that meant for our tipuna probs looks way diff than my take on it, but with much debate & negotiation 🙄🤣 it’s ending up as a crossover of #poroporoaki meets #diadelosmuertos with a #hakari to twist it out .. I know, I know 🤣 negotiations included me highlighting to said dead peeps, that I am but one peep & resources & kai are limited atm, so no, your bonoffee pie is gonna have to make nek years menu geez lol & that yes, I hadn’t got my ass into gear & printed off the photos I was going too 🙄 but really, what is a photo but a memory ay 👀🤣 & they agreed, finally 😊
so this is all about honouring my peeps, making sure they are remembered, their stories (whether they be slightly stretched or not .. ) be told. that they know they are loved & missed. that I can shed a tear but smile at the same time.
cos at the end of the day, they are why I’m here right .. & yes, you are welcome 😊 🖤
#thebusiness 🖤😘

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


my will … simplified.

i had a long winded entry here … typically ‘me’, with all my requests & ‘hopes’ @ control after death.

somewhere over the last few months, i’ve realised, there aint shit that you can do after you’ve croaked. not for yourself & not for those that love you.

& for those that love you (if you’re lucky enough to have any of those), how they chose to grieve you is all they have in that moment after you’ve gone.

so i guess i should pretty much leave them too it ;)

see, i’ll always be where my babies are … where their babies are. in life or death, i’ll always watch over them as best i can & protect them the best i can.

i love them more than any thing in or out of this world. & i’m pretty sure they know that, which means: my job here is done!

oh, & practically, for my poppets … do whatever the fuck yous like with my shit. theres another post (search: my will or death lol) in here somewhere about practical shit if you actually want practical / cheap advise lol … you’re welcome.

oh, & i got rid of the hard copy, theres just this one. & the usernames & passwords to my shit are the same / combos of what they’ve always been … if you can’t figure them out … oh well lol.

love yous my darlings! see yous later! mwahhhh xx


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 ©


its a suicide related poem

i was seven

and he was 30 something, i think.

well, he seemed old.

but everything seems old when you’re little.

he was a whirlwind


but passionate

& safe.

but angry.

he was the funny one.

the loved one.

the crawl up into his lap one.

the one that should have stayed.

but his demons caught him

and his out was permanent.

and his body still, lifeless, asleep.

wanting to touch his hand

his face

to wake him up.

to take the bandage off

his face.

to wake him up.

and as their tears flowed

and i turned my head round, to take notice

it was grief, i saw.

but didn’t understand.

he would never wake up, ever again.

his life he took, his life was his.

his act of defiance and self determination,

it was his.

and the grief i felt

then, but not knowing

was in-compared

to the grief

that came later.

when i


that he wasn’t coming back.

or waking up.

or building.

or yelling.

or singing.

or being.

he was.



he wasn’t before, but

now is free.

and we are sad.

kpm ©



no goodbyes …

not a great ‘do-er’ of ‘new years’ celebrations anymore, but i like the marking of the end of one thing & the transition into another.

thats what this new years is for me.

a recap of what i achieved, celebrated, struggled with, came to terms with, let go of & paid the price for. it’s all growth. & its all good. & i’m still grappling with some of it both mentally & physically.  my tummy is still in knots & i can’t quite find my groove. but i’m trying to take it one little hour @ a time & not dwell on too much for too long.

so, i went hunting for a photo of our little mate that died just before the gregorian christmas period … well a photo of how i remember him anyways.  but i couldn’t find the one i was originally looking for, but found another of him & i found others too.

they reminded me of all the things & people that come & go. that time doesn’t stand still. that memories are all we have sometimes. that the good is always mixed with the bad & that sometimes you have to hunt to find where one starts & the other ends. that love never gets old. that loneliness is the loudest sound in the world. that pain subsides for some. that growth is inevitable. & that death is too.

& that its All all good.


#ThePermWasTiiiight #KingiWasABBoy #NanPouredTheRum #BabyGirlListenedToMotownOnCassette #FourGenerationsWasntNoThang #IkaWasCute #TheSkinWasFlawlessButYouStillWantedToBeDifferent #TheSmokeMachineWasLiiiife #RewaiWasInAllTheShots #MinnieStillHadDoggy #WeLaughedAtGrandadsHatAndNowWouldKillToSeeHimInItAgain #MySisterWasLittle #ChristmasWasAThing #IWasTryingToTeachThemBoutOurHistoryAndProtestAndTheyWereBoredAF #DollazWasAMidget #PamzillaWouldntSmileAtKoro #PookieKnewExactlyWhereSheWantedToGo #TheBigBabiesCouldSwingOffKorosShoulders #TheyWentToLiveWithTheirDadAndMyHeartBroke #GrandadsANZACParadeSeemedWayToEarly #PooksHadHerFirstPeach #MyBrotherWasShorterThanMe #PammyAlwaysHadOneShoeCosWhoNeedsTwo #MamasHadEnoughEnergyToRunAfterTheMidgets #MyMamaStillHatedPhotos & #ILovedCrowdsAndConcerts

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


sad news.

my eldest daughter is 30. i had her just after i turned 16. our lives were hard; slightly tormented, but i did the best i could & loved her like no other.

she has her own family now. a beautiful growing family.

today she messaged me to let me know that a friend of hers had died. he’s a friend of mine too, but not like her. i’m the mother of lol. i’m the one that got called ‘…. her mum’. i remember him from my girls school days & caught up with him in later years via facebook, as you do.

he took his own life.

he left behind  a little boy whose just turned one.

i don’t think i’m sad because he died this way … i get it … he had a tormented life too. i don’t think i’m sad because he left behind his son … he’ll be loved & cared for.

i think i’m sad because as i get older & as i watch my kids grow up & have kids of their own; i can see their pain as their lives unfold & as they make their decisions. as they lose their friends & make new friends. & it hurts me.

i guess that’s the mother in me.

the part of me that always wanted to keep them safe knowing that they’d have to grow up & make their own decisions: live their own lives. but still somewhere in me is that basic instinct that wants them to be safe from all harm.

& it sucks when it doesn’t work.

my girl is sad but realistic. she has regrets & wishes. i guess that’s all part of life.

but today: it sucks shit.

kpm ©



had 2 dreams recently, ’bout my biological father.

might check to see if the old cunts dead.


thats all. scroll on.






todays news:

I opened FB for the early morning updates and found an old work colleague had died last night.

He had been sick for a long time, but being as stubborn as he was, he had battled for years … won, got sick again and now his body had finally decided to rest.

So I’m reminded again, that life is a gift. And you only get one go. There are no do-overs.

I thank my tipuna for the beginning of my mokos life.

And I thank the atua for the life that has moved on and I had the privilege of knowing.

Rest easy my old friend <3

kpm ©


13 reasons why

So, I might be behind the times … dunno really …

But I did a binge watch of ’13 Reasons Why’ over the past couplely days. I guess it’s not for the faint hearted … but …


Now wheres that conversation at??

I’m guessing it’ll rattle a few cages … but the gutts I got out of it was this:

  • Be Your Truth, and respect the fact that it won’t look or sound like someone elses truth.
  • Don’t take whats Not Yours or you feel Entitled too. Period.
  • No matter the shit that hits You … Never stop fighting.
  • But if you should stop fighting … Make Your Final Punch, a fucking memorable one!
  • And bottom line … Stop being cunts to one another.

It’s not nice to be a cunt.  And unless you’re Trump, there’s no amount of money being paid out for being a cunt, that makes being a cunt, worth it!

Or worth someones life.

kpm ©


Im pretty pissed actually …

i’ve had my tears … done my semi tribute .

avoided my blog, perused everyone elses .

and in true Me form, i’ve done abit of processing

& i’m pissed.

pissed that this area of my life has been effected by

You exiting.

i’m not happy at all.

you see,

you’re supposed to show up with some quick witted statement

& put Me in my place.

you’re supposed to say all the things

that people in my physical life are too scared to say to


you’re it.

you’re the voice of sound fucking reason.

you’re the smartass that combats my smartass.

now who the fuck is gonna do it


[I don’t get it. As selfish as it all may sound … How do you think that Me is supposed to mozy on around this place, and not be affected by your absence??]


[I get that everyone else misses you too … I completely get it … and its a credit to the human being that you are … that you managed to affect so many peeps … but right now … I’m just thinking about … ME.]


I’m not happy.

Not happy at all.

I’m pissed at you.

It sucks ass.

Sucks ass totally


and I’m pissed.

Pissed as fuck.


kpm ©


another one bites the dust

I wonder some days, if I’m hitting that age that my Nan used to talk about … where those that you’ve known throughout your ‘energetic’ years, start to drop off. Somehow in my granddaughter brain though, I thought that was like, 70 or 80 years of age. Not that I was paying much attention I guess.

So, I’m nearly 45 – half of 90, so I figure (calculating my gene pool etc), I’m just over half way there ;) In which case, finding out another peep has been found swinging by the neck, is not really surprising.


I get that taking ones own life seems like a shit deal. I guess, I don’t view it that way.

Don’t get me wrong; I grieve … I feel slightly ripped and somewhat annoyed … mainly annoyed that yet again, I find myself staring down the mysteries of life and death and wondering; WT actual F?? This time the departed leaves behind 5 children and a wife and no ‘this is why i did it’ … which is also pretty ‘normal’.

So is the act of hara-kiri an act of cowardice? Of self-pity maybe? Of ill-health? A tip of the mental health balance? Or is it really the ultimate act of control over ones own destiny … demise?

I’m going with the latter.

We all die at some point and to think otherwise is just over zealous positive thinking. It’s a given. We don’t live in these vessels for ever. I believe ‘we’, as in our mauri / our spirits, live on, always … that we are forever in the minds and hearts of those we love … and those we pissed off ;) And that belief sort of helps me let go of the ‘person’ we knew here. ‘Cos theres so much more to people than what we can physically see isn’t there … and that’s the bit I usually can see without them saying a word.

So when they leave this world I believe they linger … their essence and our memories of them, live on.

I hope this newest statistic isn’t remembered as a statistic … I know their family doesn’t view them that way. I hope when we speak of them, their ending isn’t all that is spoken of.

For all of the family …

Tehei Mauri Ora.

kpm ©



‘sleep well my beloved sister’

I don’t know who to talk too.

I’m not sure what to say.


My heart, my insides

feel heavy.

But not.

Possibly regret.

Possibly grief.


It’s too late.

For everything.

Your dead.

I think they forgot

we are sisters.

Remember    …

the forgotten one.

Rest easy

the loved one.

Rest easy.

pai moe toku tuahine aroha

kpm ©


RIP little man

I haven’t been able to talk about this much, partly because it’s not mine to talk about. That’s how I feel about things that aren’t ‘mine’ or my story, so to speak.

But during the fortnight that was…the day we moved here actually…a little boy went missing from this community.

We didn’t hear about it for a couple of days…because we didn’t have power…TV…internet

and I’m quite revolted to say…we were fully self-absorbed with our own pathetic grief and misery over having to move houses.

We completely missed what was going on around us.

We found out when the partner went to the shop a couple of days later and the ‘community’ was discussing it. He came home and told me…and I gave it a moment…then continued complaining about our shit hole house.

Nearly 5 days later and the little boy still wasn’t found…and there were helicopters and cops and search and rescue, swarming the town. There was media on every corner…and there aren’t that many corners in this place! It was a bit like the twilight zone.

And I did, what I do…I analysed. Partially due to the over priced Criminology degree and partially because…well because that’s what I do.

And much to everyone’s horror…they found the little boy…a week later…dead.

Now, this is not my story to tell…so I’m not going to.

But I will say how all this has effected my world…my world view.

– I got scared. Not because he was missing, but because I knew what had probably happened to him…and this is my safe place…and its not safe anymore.

So purely self fish motives. Me me me. How this affects my precious little world.

Good lord…what a twat!

And then I have the cheek to get annoyed with the locals for worrying about their ‘land and house values’…’how is this going to reflect on our community’ bullshit.

Really, I am as self fish and self-centred as these assholes.


Me and the partner went to the memorial service they had for this little boy…and it was shit. A lot of trumpet blowing about how glorious the community is and how they all stand around singing happy songs in times of grief and we will rise again…blah blah, that sort of political bullshit.

But…during this service, ‘they’ (the white locals), let the local Maori, (who by the way, owned most of the land we live on here, until it was sold out or swindled out from underneath them) have 3 minutes to say a token prayer.

And to his credit…he took that token prayer and blitzed the living shit out of it…

He recited an ancient ‘prayer’…the kind that sends chills up your spine if your listening for it.

And me and the partner dropped our heads…and finally wept.

Wept for a 10-year-old little boy who had his little life cut short.

Then we left the whiteys to it and went down to the beach in the dark and washed our faces with salt water and said another prayer.

And that’s where we have left it. That’s where we have let him and what happened to him, rest.

I’ve learnt more about myself in the last week than I think I’ve learnt in the last year. That life is short…too short for some. And while I am ‘unwell’ at present…I’m not going to let that define me the way I have for the past 4 or 5 years.

Because life is short.

And I don’t have a heads up on the expiry date.

So RIP little man. Rest well.

I’m sorry the world is full of self fish assholes…like me…like them…like those that took your breath from you.


kpm ©


and the dead dude is still here…literally

As we pack up…well actually I pack up, and the partner moves around the house making it look like he’s packing up…yes, I know your steez! lol…we came across ‘the bro’s’ “box”. Well, not really ‘came across’ either…we know exactly where he has been…in our house! We’ve had him here with us for nearly 2 years. And he’s been dead, nearly 3; and me  and the partner got to talking, as we do.

‘the bro’ is one of the partners very bestest friends…I call them BFFs, but that’s apparently not very manly…so ‘bros’ it is. There were 3 of them in their ‘pack’ and they’ve been friends nearly all his life. Each one of them make up a very quirky whole. And whenever they got together it was beyond funny to watch…but quite a mesmerizing blessing to be part of.

Anyways, the bro in the box, topped himself nearly 3 years ago. I’ve written about him before, and generally try not to delve into his story…as its his story, and he can’t tell it anymore. But as it pertains to me…well, that’s different. And as it pertains to my relationship with his ‘bro’, my partner, that’s a different thing too.

When the partners bro topped himself there was the disbelief phase, the tears, the grief, the anger…all in circles and roundabouts they came. He left behind 4 beautiful children; then nearly 3 all the way up to nearly 17. The kids had their dad for a year…and is the ‘custom’ (loosely said…), he was supposed to be put in the ground after that year had passed.

There was disagreement about where he should lay…whose urupa (family cemetery) he should be at. But these disagreements were just the tip of the ice berg(s) really. Some of the family said he shouldn’t be buried anywhere because of what he had done to himself. Some said he shouldn’t be cremated and left in the box to be sitting on a shelf somewhere (that somewhere is our house btw!).

But what prevails really…is denial, grief and anger.

And me. My point of view. For the family…I get it. Both sides. His and theirs. But he’s dead now. And he’s gathering dust on our shelf. How respectful is that to anyone?

Then theres the ‘my’ opinion pertaining to ‘the partner’.

I watch him wrangling with denial and disbelief…and then swinging into anger and grief and disbelief. He asks himself ‘why’ and ‘wtf’ in the most manly of ways lol. And that hurts me. Seeing him hurt.

And then theres the ‘mine and the partners’ view of the whole thing.

When the bro arrived here, I blessed his box and gave him the rules (yes I believe the dead can still hear us). I told him if he played up he’d have to go to the shed. Then we made room for him on the shelf in our lounge. The partner put his bros photo up and a few mementos. A miniature shrine is what we ended up with. But it was only going to be for a year…while the daughters decided where their dad should be laid to rest.

We deal with the grief differently than most I suppose. Don’t get me wrong…we’ve done our fair share of ‘why would he do that to himself…to his family…to his BFFs’. And then we talk to the bro…usually call him an asshole or a fuckwit followed by generally taking the piss out of the whole situation…we’ll tell him he can pick his task for the week…door stop…or foot rest…or cup holder…then we say to him, ‘hey if you’re gonna stay here, you need to pull your weight…’, all with a bit of a tear and a laugh. But under all that jest…it hurts the partner…more than me. I hurt, because he hurts. And laughter helps him to process all that stuff that he can’t explain sometimes…

But now, nearly 2 years have gone by and the bro has gathered dust on the shelf…and I wonder why they haven’t asked for him?

And that’s what me and the partner got to talking about.

For all the family’s disagreements about where their son, father, uncle, nephew…should lay to rest…none of them have actually faced that he is still here. That this dude topped himself. He thought to do that…because he was sad, because he couldn’t see a way out, because…we don’t know. Yes they may feel that it was a self fish act of violence against himself and against them…but we will never know…

And leaving him to gather dust on the shelf…

Well, now that’s sad.

For whatever his reasons were, he was a loved friend of the partner. And I get the family’s grief…but I think we get a say now…

So my real opinion, as it pertains to me…and my experience with suicide and death and love and depression and feeling sad and being trapped and…

I think its cruel to leave him locked up in that box for this long…when what he was looking for to begin with was…freedom.

Who are we to keep it from him now?

kpm ©