once upon a fucking time

from pts(d) expression series #154 – Mar 22, 2017 @ 08:01

once upon a fucking time.

yep.

once upon that motherfucking time.

I thought the grass was

green.

and the fucking sky was

blue.

I thought growing up.

meant growing better.

I thought being better meant.

being safer.

I thought, once upon a fucking time.

that when I got there,

and the grass was actually

gold.

and the sky was actually

silver.

all the little motherfucking things.

that little people have to do.

wouldn’t be any fucking more.

but as it turns out.

the grass isn’t green, or gold.

its burnt fucking amber.

the sky isn’t fucking blue, or silver.

its blood red.

and big people are full

of shit.

cos they knew it was

like that all along.

and pretended that it wasn’t.

they, you see.

wear rose tinted fucking glasses.

and didn’t want to say that

the glass isn’t just fucking half empty.

is fully fucking cracked.

---

#throwback Jun 14, 2017 @ 08:00

---

 

Advertisements

what was: 1981

#throwback Jun 10, 2015 @ 18:51.

And again, this whole write feels really detached and aloof. I guess when writing about your own shizz and sometimes the more painful shizz; aloof is the only way too go.

Recently I was talking to my Mama about this time in our lives. She recalled things I didn’t. The maemae (sore) that arose, that I still don’t remember, was Me waiting for my father to pick Me up.

I’d had sporadic contact with him and was still ‘hopeful’ that he had actually missed Me all these years and wanted to get to know Me. I guess thats young, naive hopefulness.

Apparently I waited by our letterbox, sitting on my little suitcase, for hours for the father of the year to come and pick Me up. He never arrived. There was no explanation. No apology. No nothing. Which pretty much sums up the relationship there ‘wasn’t’ with him.

Fuckwit fathers leave big holes in their daughters hearts when they can’t be anything but cunty.

I continued to wait for a semi – decent relationship with my father … for years. It’s only been recently that I’ve finally cut all ties with him.

My choice.

My maemae … and my way of dealing with it.

I realise now, he doesn’t deserve a relationship with Me. I’m one badass motherfucker who has strength, attitude, resilience and love abounding. Why waste any of that on someone who does not give a shit about Me.

---

I remember some of these…

This was the 2nd to last year of primary school. I remember Miss Saunders…her skirts were always way to short for someone who bent over in front small boys all day!

I think we moved houses around this time, and I went to a different school for awhile. Different kids. Different scene. The street we lived on was ‘the other side of the tracks’ type place. Not that we lived anywhere flash before hand … think we were in a flat at the back of a church for awhile after the big ass house burnt down. But this new place, was good … just different.

I don’t remember having friends as such…like ones that I really enjoyed. There was this one girl that just came with the church scene and I couldn’t get rid of her. She was an evil little bitch! She hung around and tormented the shit out of me for years…mutt…I’m working through letting the rage associated with her and her kind go … whew.

I was the little lead swan, in Swan Lake, somewhere around this time … that was cool :) I had a cute little white tutu and all …

I remember having my mouth washed out with soap for saying “shit” lol … I don’t think it worked long term but it certainly did the trick for the short term ;)

We had a goat. It ate everything … literally everything … cos that’s what goats do I suppose. I wonder what happened to him??

updates and tooting my own horn again …

This has taken a couple days to actually put together … not because it’s so detailed and in-depth and required tonnes and tonnes of amazing research …

No, it’s just taken ages to post cos whilst I am unbelievably awesome lol I also did my shizz in and am still recovering hah!

So, spur of the moment (which a. I don’t do and b. I don’t do ever …) I decided to go to my moko’s school assembly. I had been pondering on for a couple days and on the morning of, I announced to the partner I would be going.

He looked freaked out and rather stunned but to his credit, rolled with it.

What made Me decide to do such an out left field thing for Me? Because more and more I am beginning to realise that we only have ONE life and it has an expiry date. Whilst I know I need to do things at My pace and how it works for Me (and thats taking practice), there are certain times that I know it’s just fear that’s stopping Me. Not just the run of mill pts(d) fear, but the fear of the fear of the run of the mill pts(d) fear. And it’s those times that I’m trying my fucking hardest to conquer.

Friday was one of those days.

So I got my shit together and got in the car and we went.

I was nervous but reasonably prepared. And btw, I was planning on wearing shoes but decided last minute that shoes just make Me feel more claustrophobic so I was better off without them! So I rolled with that.

Last time I went to mokos school assembly I was more nervous (couple years ago now ..) and hadn’t really learned about my sensory freak outs, so this time I was better prepared.

I took the drugs. Just cos. It’s way harder without them and at the moment it’s all about desensitising my shizz and the drugs help with that.

I also had the earplugs! And thank fuck for the earplugs! They did the business alright. It took out a whole sensory element and I was able to just focus on smell and sight fuckery … oh and balance lol.

But I did it! I stood throughout the assembly cos for some reason, sitting on small awkwardly arranged chairs, crammed up next to a smelly somebody I don’t know, is not my idea of relaxing. So I stood right by the back door way and I managed to take photos.

The only fuck up … which was epic really … and I wouldn’t really call it a fuck up … but it certainly called unnecessary attention to myself …

When one is wearing earplugs, one can’t hear whats happening around you, which is awesome: one can also not tell how loud one is speaking. Sooooo, when I said “get out of the way dick” in what I thought was a quiet voice … turns out it was loud enough for my moko to hear at the other end of the hall.

So yeah … be warned … if you wear earplugs, you speak louder than you think your speaking. Lol.

Anyways … I had a great time watching the moko … I’m so proud of him :)

Afterwards, I went and hung out with my youngest daughter at her new home and caught up with moko #5 … that was cool :)

And then we all had dinner back at my other daughters house. It was so cool … I felt … calm … happy … included ;)

Moko #2 made Me this:

…which made my night.

I came home feeling full and happy and warm xo

And … it’s taken 2 days to recover lol.

But it was worth it!

365 reasons to smile ~ 62.

62.
I cant smile today. Refer to PREVIOUS post ~ that’s all.

---

Awww, I remember this and had wondered where it was at. This was (if I remember rightly) one of the only days in the couple years of actively finding something to smile at / about … that I couldn’t do it. I can’t even find the post it was referring to now but I know …

My heart hurt and I didn’t know how to make it stop.

And now …

I’ll embrace these days … these are the days that you find out what the fuck you’re made of <3

#throwback Mar 2, 2016 @ 10:05

sooo … I be slowing down a little bit …

 

---

It’s blogging suicide really, but oh well …

So, just a heads up lovely peoples …

I’m gonna take a week off’ve the blog next week so I can remedy my ‘storage’ solution. I am just about at my limit re space and because I refuse to pay for anything that I can potentially get for nothing … yes, thats right … I’m going to follow the advice of a blogging acquaintance and get that shit sorted ‘quick and dirty’ style lol.

And all it will cost Me is some patience … hmmm lol.

Also, June, July and August are notoriously busy months for Us … June has about 10 family birthdays, July a couple and August has about 4. The change this year of course, is the arrival of Moko 6 in August … Yah.

This year I’ve been trying to do what is in my best interests – within my boundaries – within my ‘lets not lose my shit’ sphere. I started off the year with a small list of goals and so far I’m doing alright and have even managed to do stuff not on my hit list ;) so I’m feeling pretty good about that.

However, my inclination, when shit is going well, is to then go completely OTT and fuck myself over.

This year … I’m working on Not doing that.

So after my week of sorting out storage issues, the following 3 months will be slightly sporadic.

Now I’m not very good at sporadic so this should be interesting.

I’m making No promises about how many posts I’ll do per day (yes, even the ones that I do do every day eeekkk), or even per week. I will catch up and blow my own trumpet every now and then when I think I’ve done something amazing or one of my mokos has done something amazing lol.

I’ll be around … just Not consistently around … eeekkkk again.

So, love and light to you all …

.

.

*buckling up for the next 3 month ride … yee hah lol*

unfucking thyself 101.102

Karakia:

Atua

Tukua

Homai to Aroha

Ae.

102.

Ummm … what is this?

This, my furry little friends, is what happens when Miss Moko (grandchild) 4 (who is 3) asks … “do you wanna nail pool-lesh?” … of course, We say … “oh yes, that would be lovely” … lol.

So yes, as you may have guessed, I had the bestest weekend with our little darling.

Kids just seem to make everything alright. They so innocent … and so pure and good natured … they just are what they are … I love listening to Moko 4 laugh and giggle and I love watching her find the smallest thing absolutely fascinating.

Kids are perfect. They’re good for the soul.

My heart is full and warm <3

and it continues … 1980 … more little fuckwits and then theres my love of dance …

where i was born …

Originally Published on: Jun 8, 2015 @ 12:44.

I noticed with this post and with the previous (1979) post, that it ‘feels’ like I’m skimming the surface. Maybe that was because it’s all I could do … just skim … maybe it was because I couldn’t remember things in detail … or, maybe, as usual, I tend to do ‘things’ in a dissociated state when it comes to shit that creates ’emotion’ in Me.

Think I’ll fill in bits that I remember as I go through this post …

---

Primary school continued to be ho-hum, as far as formal education goes. I was a pretty good student. I listened, I learnt. I kept learning to read between the lines.

*The art of ‘blending’ in is what I aimed for, even though I stuck out like dogs balls. I was one of maybe half a dozen brown kids in a predominantly pale faced school. I don’t remember having a brown teacher; none of the ‘staff’ or ‘authorities’ were brown. But this was a reflection of my entire world really. At church I was one of 3 brown children, one of those was my brother.*

*Even though I tried to blend … * I remember being everyone’s bitch, *and by bitch, I mean fuck toy … I guess some ‘exploration’ is kinda normal, but I don’t remember this being particularly pleasureable and feeling ‘invasive’, but I didn’t know what that word was* … and I’m pretty sure that ‘invasiveness’ wasn’t part of the curriculum…but it came with my education anyhow. I don’t know if it was because I was already ‘damaged’ and attracted even the littlest of fuckwits, even way back then. I think I may have had some kind of neon sign attached to my ponytail…”take a poke, she’s used to it”. Various counsellors, in later years, seemed to think this was ‘normal’ child like behaviour. Maybe so in their over educated worlds…but from my view…it was shit. And no matter what I did, or tried to do, to avoid them…they found me. This sort of bullshit happened for years…right up until I took matters into my own hands and started ‘consciously’ fucking pfft.

*In hindsight … I wonder what ‘those kids’ had been through … because their ‘explorations’, I believe, weren’t particularly ‘natural’. They were things that had been ‘learned’. And in the wonderful act of hindsight, I don’t blame them now … or have any animosity toward them. They were just kids … like Me.*

I always did wonder where all those teachers were during these times?? Because I don’t recall even one intervening. Maybe they were practicing the art of turning a blind eye again, which seemed to be the norm for that era. I bet they made sure their kids were monitored at their schools though! Pfft again!

But in amongst all that…I found dance. My Nan loved dancing. She told me stories of being twirled around; of dancing till her feet were sore. She always glowed when she talked about dancing. Nan loved the old school musical theatre movies – I can’t remember the technical term for them – but you know, Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds type stuff. She loved them! And Opera…I didn’t share her love for that though ;)

But I did share her love for dance. She started me off in Ballet lessons. And I was good. I’m not sure how Nan was able to see that in me, but she was right. I loved it…and I danced my little tootsies off for a few years.

It’s the latter memories I prefer ;) However, they are all part of my story…part of who I am. I’m not ashamed of that anymore….still quite abit pissed off though….but learning to embrace the Ying with the Yang….and remembering that there is good shit with the bad shit…I just have to dig a little deeper to find it sometimes.

Love and light to me again….as I continue to unfold xo

---

#mystory

celebration ~ kool & the gang

Celebration ~ Kool & the Gang, 1980

being seven…1979

---

I’ve been awake since like 430am, with this irritation in my gutt … not the physical kind, but the ‘wairua’ kind, so just trying to roll with it and not irritate myself even more ;)

Been thinking bout this post … and old friends … fuck ups … parenting … but i’ll address the latter somewhere else another time and just stick to this shit for now ay … not like it’s not enough!

So this was First Published on: Jun 6, 2015 @ 20:03.

As I read through it I can feel and see my ‘dissociative’ self (gangstah woman that she is ;) ) doing the ‘facts’ … the bullet points … and I tell yah what, that shit has got Me through hell’ah tough times … not always to my benefit, but I live to tell the tale.

Seven wasn’t a shitfest I guess .. but I’ve come to learn, theres no right way to do a shitfest … you just roll through it and hope not too much sticks to yah. Unfortunately a lot of this shit did stick and I am still washing it off … The adults around me (i get this Now), did the best with what they knew and what they had, at the time.

I mean really, is their a right way to explain death let alone suicide to a child? And is there a right way to meet the father of your dreams only to find out his a douche?

Love and Light xo

---

I don’t know what seven is like. Small? From my view point now, yup.

But, I do remember stuff.

The good uncle topped himself. There was lots and lots of crying. I could feel the tension….I remember it very clearly.

He hadn’t come home. They couldn’t find him. He had been at the pub.

‘if only’….heard it a lot.

But he didn’t come home. They found him…

…..I remember….

….by the train tracks….down the side….the train had stopped….it stopped cos it hit something….

I remember the funeral. We viewed him before the service started.

He looked asleep.

From where I stood – he looked quiet…too quiet…and very very still. He wasn’t usually that still. Or that quiet.

And he was clean. Clothes that I hadn’t ever seen him in. He had a big plaster looking thing on his face.

I wondered if we were going to wake him. I thought …. we will with all this crying. And it’s such a strange place for him to go to sleep.

I didn’t really understand. Not death. Not the tears.

But I felt their sadness…their heaviness.

And he never woke up. And he never came home.

And I missed him. And I still do.

And when I get to see him again, the second thing I’m going to do to him after I’ve given him a huuuu-mungeous hug….is slap him! How dare he be so sad that he take away his life from us….from me. How dare he.

I still love him though.

So being seven kind of sucked….

but I also remember moving to a really big ass house, with other people in it…some of them were freaks! There was a little girl there…I couldn’t stand her…tormenting bitch.

But I remember her mother…who was a drug fucked freak…rehabilitated supposedly….enjoying a new life with the church…amen ….well she took me somewhere with her kid (the annoying bitch), in their little car…and we ended up over the side of a cliff…I remember blood on my leg and feeling really tired…and I remember my little gumboots….and walking up the hill…and to a strangers house…where ‘Planet of the Apes’ was on TV. I don’t remember getting home. But I must have.

I remember wanting to meet my father at seven. And I got too. He showed up with his wife and my sister. I thought he would love me and love me even more because he had missed me.

Apparently not.

Turns out he was a drunk. And still a wife beater.

The holiday was ratshit.

I learnt about looking after myself some more. But this time I had a younger sister to take care of. We were alone a lot of the time. And when they were home…they were fighting…and then he’d leave…and i’d wait wait wait till he got home. The only reason I knew it was late, was because all the programs that I was never allowed to watch, were on. He was always drunk. And when he wasn’t drunk, we were waiting for him to get out of the pub, or waiting for him to finish golf. = wonder if this is why I absolutely hate waiting! And hate golf! lol

And when I got back from that ‘holiday’…our house had burnt down and I lost all my things.

I remember my ears aching a lot. I remember crying. I remember not sleeping.

So seven…abit shit I suppose.

I’m beginning to think…

“no wonder your a little fucked up” –  hhhmmmmm genius lol

But, I remember my Grandfather too….he loved me…I loved him.

[[As a side thing….’Seven’, is my favourite movie ;)]]

photography .41

#BeachDay in the Rain <3

#beach #beachday #rainyday #mykindofday #mokos #mokoday #arting #photoart #bymokosandme #fun #love #nopeople #lol #photograph #photoblog #photography #kpm©