unfucking thyself 101.99




Homai to Aroha



The other day I did a long shot of ‘the house I’d been waiting to photograph for like 5-6 years, and decided that that day was the day’ … yeah, well this is the same house, just up closer.


You’ll see :)

I spoke with my daughter last night. Not a nice conversation really … one of those gutt wrenching fuck with your sleep kinda talks. But this is how I chose to be as a parent … open and fucking honest. It goes both ways … I’ll be as brutally honest as I can, and I expect them to be brutally honest with Me.

Well my girl had grievances about my parenting. *groan*. Yah know its so much easier to have a standard that you don’t have to apply to yourself …

Any way …

My girl is a bit of a ‘late bloomer’ I guess. As in, her sister had vented and vexed most of her frustrations at Me by the time she was 18. My youngest is nearly 25 and she’s only dripped out a few morsels over the past 5 or so years but not too much … until last night. Yep, she had grievances … and they were all founded … all real … all horrible to hear …

What ripped my shit the most was hearing the pain in her voice as she cried. I hate hearing her hurt.

But I listened … and listened … and I wanted to justify myself … give the reasons for being a cunt of a person back then … but I listened, cos I knew she needed to be heard. And when she was done I didn’t apologise, or give justification and told her why I wasn’t giving either of those things … that she was right. That No parent including my blelf, was perfect and that if I could change my ‘mistakes’ or do better, I would … but it is what it is … and it was no slight on Her as a person … just Me, an adult, being a dick.

She got it and I know she felt relieved for being able to vent and be heard.

I felt better for her … but came away feeling like shit lol.

Oh the shit we go through … I would love to be able to say I did everything right … and that everything I experienced was just peachy too … but that aint the truth. It just seems that the older I get, the more I understand that there is No right way to Life … Not at all.

We’re all running around trying to minimise the damage somehow … when in all reality, sometimes theres beauty and growth in the damage. Not that I’m wishing for damage, for anyone … but we all call this shit ‘damage’, we see that shit as ‘being damaged’ … when really … it just is what it is.

Like this house :)

Would I clean it up if I could? No … cos then the photograph wouldn’t have that ‘thing’ to it that I like. Some would see ‘damage’ … I see worn, lived in, loved.



re write ~ twenty eight

“at least its not as bad as what happened too …”

oh cool …

*generally used to minimise any and all feelings you may have that make the ‘others’ feel uncomfortable*


unfucking thyself 101.98




Homai to Aroha



Strange old times … shits good … but shits strange. Good, strange lol.

My art has always been a bit of a love hate relationship … but I think thats because it’s my emotion … and it’s about the only way I know how to do emotion.

I can bullet point emotion … and possibly even explain it from a cognitive point.

But I don’t feely feelings.

And up until recently I thought that was ‘wrong’; because the ‘quo’ will tell us that we should be less compartmentalised and all balanced and whole and shit.

And … then I figured out that that is some bullshit.

Don’t know whether it’s more colonial bullshit or just bullshit made up by some wanker who thought they were right.

How do I know its bullshit?

Because none of Us is the same. Not even slightly. We all process experiences differently … even hear differently lol … thinking of the latest Yanny versus Laurel debate haha.

None of us Do the same … doesn’t it then go figure that we are going to do emotion differently?

Well it does to Me now … and I’m Ok with it.

My art is my ‘feeling’, and embracing that has made Me appreciate my process more, instead of dreading it.



re write ~ twenty seven

“you just have to get used to it …”

really? because you got used to it? or cos you think i should be just like you?

Or … is there another reason?

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 ;)]]


unfucking thyself 101.97




Homai to Aroha



Still celebrating the wins …

Funny … when you’re looking for them hard out they don’t seem to ever come. But when you’re just plodding along doing your thang, a lot of things seem to become a ‘Win’ ;)

Today we found out that we’ve got till the end of the year before our landlords put the house on the market.

On it’s own it sounds very unlike a Win lol. But it is … believe Me.

Last time a rental house we were living in got sold, it was an utter mess. We had only just settled in at the beach; I had just been diagnosed; my partner had just discovered a lump in his back and our landlords were fuckwitts lol. In hindsight though, there was no good time for any of that shit to happen! On a personal level though, it completely rattled my nerves having people come through the house whilst it was being sold … yah know, the whole intrusive buzz.

But this time round with this house, we’ve made a tentative plan, had a little freak out, had a little moan about it and then ‘actively’ relaxed. Because last time it worked out just fine … Not as I expected or in the timeframe I wanted … but it worked out. So this time, I didn’t see the point in getting my shit worked up about something I couldn’t change or do anything about.  We have lovely landlords, the kind that aren’t greedy or overbearing …  so they’ve partially renewed our faith in humanity lol, so thats another Win ;)

So we contacted them yesterday just to check to see where they’re at and if they’re still selling in June, and they told us they’d decided to wait till the end of the year. It would have been great to hear … ‘we’re not selling at all …’ but that didn’t happen … and it kinda feels like it’s time to move on …

But the Win Wins, are we don’t have to move Yet … which is cool because it’s turning out to be a busy fucking year … well for Me anyways. I feel like I’m just starting to get a handle on my shit and get some momentum going and it’d be nice to keep that going and not have to move as well … just yet. It also gives us abit of time to organise our shit better, figure out whether we want to stay in this town or move on, and save some money. Rents have sky rocketed round here … actually all over NZ really … like by nearly 50%, so we won’t get something for the amount we’re paying now; but I figure that just means we get to look at alternative options.

And in it all, I feel Ok.

Today I feel Ok.

Thats a Win … and I’ll take it :)

the visit

#throwback Jul 2, 2015 @ 14:46 …

Jesus, mary and joseph .. just found this .. an attempt at venting, poetry, getting that shit out .. I did aight ;)

mum said you were coming to see me

I was in labour

but it might be nice to have a visitor,

‘don’t you think?’

I looked at him for help


useless bastard

inside my head I said


outside my head I said

“sure, that’s nice, it’ll be nice to see him”

so you came, with your girlfriend

you pedo cunt

you sat there

and told me about your trivial

disgusting life

fuck I hated you

but I didn’t want all that hate

to touch my baby

I didn’t want you to touch my baby

you sicko freak

I listened to you

I put up with you

but guess what fucker

I don’t have to any more!

I hear your rotting away in some

god forsaken town

with god forsaken low lives

like yourself

I hope you all infect one another

and die slowly



and when your dead

I’ll come visit you

that’ll be nice won’t it?

like you did me

when I was in labour

but I’ll be knocking on the box

flicking that lid up

giving you a big prod with a big stick

just to make sure your dead

and then I’ll nail that bitch shut

with big ass nine-inch nails

and then I’ll follow that box to the cemetery

I might even dig the hole myself

and once you’re in there

I’ll offer up a prayer of thanks

to the gods of justice and peace

I’ll fill in that hole

and take a dump right on top

don’t worry

I’ll come visit every year

just to make sure

your still rotting with

the pedo hell hounds




re write ~ twenty five

“oh, it’ll be alright …”

you know this, how?

*said by those who have no reliable evidence but want the recipient to Stop Asking Questions”