sym-pathetic.

apparently i’m unsympathetic.

actually, it’s not apparent, its true. i am unsympathetic. it’s not something i understand. sympathy, as an emotion or action, is not something i’ve mastered.

it’s not the first time i’ve been told this. nearly 47 years old & i’ve been told this most of my life, not realising what that even was @ first & then when i did, wondering what the fuck it even meant.

you see, i believe i am one of the most empathetic people i know.

& thats not a gift. to understand or feel someone elses pain, is a fucking curse.

however, sympathy is not empathy.

sympathy is, imo, a platitude. it’s what gets waved around to make ‘them’ feel better about someone elses display of emotion.

empathy is feeling what another feels.

when asked, i’ve described my ‘story’ or memories. what people give in return is sympathy. i can appreciate the sentiment, but i know full well there is no empathy for my memories, story, how i feel or the results of it & what i deal with daily.

fuck, even i can’t handle how i feel & what i deal with some days.

what i’ve come to realise recently is: my darkness is too dark for most. my reaction to that darkness is too uncomfortable for most, if not for all.

& that is my plight.

to handle my business, heal my body, mind & soul; listen to the pretence & platitude – the anger & bitterness. the words: “we put up with you but we can’t support you”, as more of a piecemeal truth told as a means to an ends.

that yet again, my lack of sympathy or understanding, is not measured in terms of my life understanding, but in terms of what i cannot ‘give’.

that this feels much the same as being spread out on a bed i can’t get off, having shit shoved up my little vagina like i’m some kind of dead doll. that crying brought no sympathy that day. not the pedo cunt & not from the family who cued up @ the door to rescue my little ass. yeah right. sympathy is a nice thought but serves no purpose. what saved me that particular day, was me.

again.

not tears. not sympathy. not pleading.

logic. quick talk. analytics. thats what saved me.

but for today, i won’t die. again. i’ll live through my tears & discomfort.

again.

i’ve lived the worst that humanity can serve up in one dish.

so today, i think of my nan & all the times we misunderstood her. i apologise to her, again, & hope she shines some goodness on my ice cold mother-fucken heart.


kpm ©


 

none wot.so.ever.

Heard some interesting news today … completely un-related to Me. Well sort of.

And I was left feeling … unsympathetic.

I think a little sympathetic was called for, but I couldn’t scrape up a smidge.

And as a smidge was being sought, I realised that I had been in the very same predicament, not that long ago, that the ‘interesting news’ was the subject matter of.

And as I thoughted … just a little harder … I thusly recollected the ounce of sympathy that I dust recievith at that time.

Thats right … it was Nil.

Not a single fuck was given to Moi, in sympathy or anything resembling an empathic tone.

So there yah have it.

No fucks given then.

No fucks given Now.

The end.


kpm ©


 

Image

unfucking.thyselfs.

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

from pts(d) expression series #19 – Nov 7, 2016 @ 08:16

Yep, still finding ingenious methods to minimise my storage, and I must say, I’m actually doing bloody well and … wait for it … and … enjoying the process.

Yep. I said it.

I am enjoying the process.

Once I stopped with the timeframe bullshit and the ‘you have to get that shit down like yesterday’ bullshit … once I stopped making it into a fucking big deal (only to Me of course), it actually became enjoyable.

As I’ve been going through by 2000+ photographs, I can see my journey. As strange as it sounds … I can see my nervousness in them … the moments I thought I Should capture for preservation … the things I thought were soooo fucking important at the time … the things that I could see but not explain with words … the things I should of edited but couldn’t … the things I edited but shouldn’t have lol.

It’s a pictorial process of Me.

It’s done what I unknowingly thought it would, if that makes any fucked up kind of sense.

In so many of my pictures I see something most don’t. And somehow, I think thats how it’s supposed to be.

I don’t think we’re all supposed to see the same things the same ways. How fucking boring would that be right?!

This little fern was captured in Taranaki. It was the second ‘trip away’ I had taken in like 5 years and it was the first trip away with my Mama. Mama was taking arty photos lol and I was feeling the ‘earth’. We we at a place where a bloody battle had taken place back in the late 1800’s. The colonial bastards were plundering their way through Taranaki and on this occasion they lost great numbers of their army. A memorial was erected in their honour many years later. Which is pure bullshit as far as I’m concerned. They had laid siege (well tried too anyways) to a peaceful village … peaceful indigenous peeps, minding their own business, taking care of their own families. Standing in that place, I didn’t feel for the Crown’s army first and foremost … I could feel the strength and the blood of our people who fought off an invading army.

As a pts(d) peep, walking through that place, I could feel their vibe.

And somehow, even now, I understand more, that while pts(d) is a cunt of a thing; it’s given Me something I probably wouldn’t otherwise have.

Sight and empathy.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

wail.

wail.  like you feel it.

like you want them to feel it too.


kpm ©