a story of colonisation ~ ‘imagine this’:

Sitting quietly watching a bit of TV on a Sunday avo, having finished the dishes and washing, and the lawns and gardening … time for a beer and a feet up.

Theres a knock at the door and upon answering it you find the family that lives 4 doors down, on your doorstep. Enquiring if they’re alright, as they appear a little disheveled, you hear that they have just been moved out of their abode. A little surprised you invite them in and offer them a coffee, getting ready to hear in great detail the escapade that is eviction.

A couple of hours later, you decipher that the family hadn’t exactly been evicted but had left because the house had become overcrowded. They are now asking if they can stay for a couple of nights until they can find alternative accommodation. You look around at the family of 6 (2 parents and 4 kids, aged from 2 to 15). Feeling slightly overwhelmed, but feeling for them, and knowing that it will only be for a couple of nights; you have an in-depth discussion about what they will do during the 2 days, when they will leave, what they will put into the house while they are here, where they will sleep etc.

With everything seemingly sorted, you show them the downstairs ‘sleep out’ you have, for when family come. They seem grateful and appreciative and promise they’ll be considerate of the space. They make themselves comfortable.

Day one rolls by.

Day two rolls by.

There’s been no movement in the sleep out and you go to check what the haps is. It’s then that you notice the family of 6 has increased to the family of 12. What happened you ask? Apparently the other family members had heard that there was a welcoming abode 4 doors down and had come to stay as well, just for a couple of days.

You say that it’s not really the dilly and they should have asked first; they apologise. 2 more days ONLY you say.

You are awoken by a huge commotion in the early hours of the following morning and when you get up from your slumber to check whats going on, you are greeted by the family of 12, and their friends. Apologising for the noise they state that they were hungry and thought you wouldn’t mind if they helped themselves to a feed, that they’d clean up and make themselves scarce very shortly. You protest and tell them they need to hurry up and that tomorrow they’d have to find themselves somewhere else to stay as this was becoming too much for you.

730am, you’re getting your rather tired ass ready for work, and father of original family of 6 calls you into your lounge. Waiting for you are the origin family of 6, the add-on 6 and their friends, and their families. They ask you to sit down because they would like to talk.

Thinking, ‘fucken ay, finally they’re leaving and they want to thank me for my hospitality’, you sit your ass down and gather your senses as the room goes silent.

Mother of the original family of 6 gets up, clears her throat and speaks.

“It has come to our attention that you have been complaining about our conduct. Need we remind you that there are more of us than there is, you”

….Hang on a minute….

“Because we are growing in numbers here we think that it is only fair that you take the spare room now and we use the rest of the facilities, including the kitchen, dinning and outdoor spaces. You are welcome to utilise these but it will be under strict supervision and we’ve put rules in place now to safe guard us all”

….ahhh, this is a joke right….

“So with that said, we’d like to know what you think”

So you get up, and state the obvious.

“This is MY home, I took you (the 6 of you) in for 2 days on the understanding that you would find alternative accommodation within that time. You have taken my hospitality for granted and have abused every kindness shown to you. You are now trying to dictate what happens in MY home. You all need to pack up and leave NOW. You have 5 minutes before I ring the police”

Then the father of the original 6 gets up with about 5 other men and says:

“You need to move on, the agreement we had originally doesn’t suit us anymore. This is how it is now. We won’t be leaving and it is unfair to expect us too as there is more of us than there is you. Ring the police, they won’t believe you anyway. Who in their right mind would let a family of 6 plus stay in their home right? We are here now, deal with it and stop bitching on about the past”

…Oh my fuck, you have got to be joking…

So, you ring the police, they show up and sure enough, even though you have all the documentation stating that this is indeed your home, they are inclined to note that the majority rules. They tell you to let it go, and if you don’t like it, find somewhere else to live.

So, next, against all advise, you lay a complaint with the police and file for a trespass notice on the 6 plus family and friends from 4 doors down who have occupied your space. There is a hearing set and its in 6 months from now. You state that is too long to wait, but they tell you … ‘tough shit, 6 months it is’. Six months roll past, you get to the hearing and your told it has been delayed for another 6 months as there are more pressing matters that need to be dealt with else where … apparently there are ducks crossing the motor way and shit and yeah, come back. You complain again, and are told again, ‘tough shit, see you in 6 months’.

12 months later, your house is completely overtaken; the 6 plus original family from 4 doors down have renovated, expanded and are planning on digging up the back lawn for a ‘decorative feature’ relating to their heritage. You complain bitterly, and they concede and note that you can have a small plaque at the bottom of said decorative feature. Just so future generations know you were there.

This is getting fucking ridiculous you decide, and as you head into the hearing after 12 months and are greeted with another delay, you decide more aggressive moves should be taken to get rid of this lot out of YOUR home.

You buy yourself a semi automatic and head home; you know that place where just over a year ago, you were quietly sitting, having a beer, minding your own business and watching a little television.

You kick the door in, semi automatic pointed straight ahead. It’s occupants look somewhat startled, but don’t move. In a loud fuck off voice, you order them to get the fuck out of YOUR house. They don’t blink, instead father of 6 family gets up and says, in a quiet, slightly patronising tone:

“Why the hostility? We’ve made your house better than it was? We’ve added on and extended its value? We’ve let you stay here and we even gave you a plaque. You really need to stop being so angry and definitely not be so aggressive, you know its unbecoming. We said you could stay, but you really need to let this go … it doesn’t make for very good living ‘relations'”

And as the frustration builds and the indignant ‘oh you’ve got to be fucken kidding me’ tightens in your chest … you can see you popping a cap in all their asses … some cunt has rung the police, and as you turn around there are a multitude of guns pointing at you and they tell you to hit the floor.

And as your being carted off in a paddy wagon, your told you are being arrested under the anti-terrorism act. When you get to the police station you are given a speech about your kind being ungrateful and inconsiderate; about how you should have embraced the people around you and done things their way more often and maybe you wouldn’t be in this position; about how pent-up aggression can do you more harm than good; about how you should have just let it go; how the consequences of your actions would cost you dearly.

Really??? you think … more than what its cost you so far?

Sitting in your cell after court, and knowing you’ve got at least 15 – 20 years inside, you wonder, what the fuck happened???

Moral of the story …

Don’t answer the fucken door on a Sunday afternoon!

*And that right there is the arrogance of colonisation at its finest*

kpm ©







Homai to Aroha


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


so it finally occurs to Me …

… how outrageously angry I am at the moment. And when I say ‘at the moment’, I mean for the past few months at least.

To begin with I thought it was the hormones and possible pre-menstrual rage (it’s a thing yah know lol); and then as it lasted a little longer than the usual few days, I thought it might be pre-menopausal rage (yes, also a thing I made up lol). And while the latter may be feasible or at least the fuel thats keeping the rage fire going, I don’t believe it’s entirely the cause. And I’m not sure if I’m entirely disturbed by it all really. Our puke filled society has a wonderfully fucked way of discounting women, which we are taught to do and end up doing all by ourselves. So embracing the rage sounds like a better option; for now.

But it occurred to Me, whilst scrubbing the toilet bowl this afternoon – due to a pending house inspection tomorrow, by the property company that ‘take care’ of our rental house – that I find these inspections extremely intrusive. On a ‘good’ day, I can deal with what I deem to be intrusions – door knockers; phone ringers; spam; salespersons and the like – reasonably amicably. Over the last few months, this has not been the case. One such intrusion by the Mormons, made them privy to  a ‘Me’ response. It left them silent. Yes, believe or not, I managed to Silence the Mormons.

Anywho – the house inspection is an intrusion that we have to deal with – amicably – if we want to continue living in this house; in this area.

But I don’t like it.

Which got Me off onto another train of thought. One that I’ve had multiple times over the last few years.

I hate being made to do anything.

Not just gently dislike it; but loathe beyond all reason.


Because it is something that is forced upon Me.

And while I can reason most of these away, and look upon the proverbial ‘bright side’, by saying “I want to be here. I choose to be here. And this is part of being here”, routine … I still loathe it.

And when I say loathe it, I mean my stomach churns, my heart pounds, my chest tightens. Now to begin with, I thought this was one of my freaky pts(d) panic attacks. But this loathsome rage, while feeling similar, is distinctly different.

And while I feel like running I also feel indignant and fucked off.

I would prefer that it had nothing to do with being sexually assaulted, but it doesn’t. It has everything to do with it. It has to do with feeling forced, invaded, having choice taken away, being encroached upon.

I’m hoping that the resolution comes quickly. That I find my feng shui in it all and settle. That I don’t end up causing grievous bodily harm on some poor Mormon or sales rep.

But I can’t promise anything.

kpm ©