& ..

“yah know, eventually we won’t be here ay.”


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.



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


good grief ?

grief .. is a funny old thing.

circumstantial, locational & has a timeframe all of its own.

no other can be in sync with yours or ask you to be in sync with theirs.

it is what it is.

its momentum loses & gains whenever it feels like it. 

yah gotta ride that wave.




in between all that rage ..

there was this ..

its not a very good shot, but aight for 5am out my window.

& this be the crescent moon on the morning of our summer solstice.

& then there was this ..


kpm © ig @kpm-artist


tr-ust ..

relationship reality …

when old wounds be seeping ..

to clean out ..

the memories ..

the old friends ..

the old bullshit ..

trust ..

is not an easy ask ..

kpm ©



letting someone else do their process without it impinging on mine & without me impinging on theirs.

oh the fuckery.

kpm ©



ps: the ACC cunts declined my request.


so its back to the drawing board.

to reassess shit.

fuck them.

kpm ©


how, to & why, i roll :

issuing abits of music:

thens a bit of writ. feels.

followed by 2 ounces of dissociative twat.

a pretty picture anyone?

a visual explanation of a meditative state?

then a sarcastic snap.

dumped on top of some intersectional stank.

& we have me.

the unfolding of, anyways.




i write, in the hopes, that one day my kids might understand completely,
who I am.

kpm ©


the thing with dissociation

Whilst the terminology is varied, we can agree that dissociation is detachment, in one form or another; Right?

So the thing would be, that the dissociative state is unhealthy? Right? Because it is an altered sense of reality; or Not reality at all?

Well heres my thing …

  • Dissociation is survival.
  • Dissociation is a very gangstah tool for survival.
  • Dissociation is in it’s completeness, a Reality.
  • Dissociation is key to mental, physical, psychological and spiritual health, at the time it is employed.

But I wish some psychological cunt had’ve pre-warned Me about this:

  • Dissociation has some cunty backlashes when one decides to Not be dissociative anymore.

I think I employed dissociation as a survival mechanism before I could speak. Does that mean my perception of Reality was off?

Hell No.

I knew what was going on around Me was shit. I knew in the pit of my gutt that there was fuckery afoot. Could I do anything about that? No.

I was physically incapable of ‘fighting’ back; of desisting or resisting; or fleeing the situation. I could hardly walk, let alone talk.

But what staggers Me now, is that I knew enough then, to know it was time to ‘leave’. And leave I did. For 30 odd years.

By the time life caught up with Me, and the nagging voices espousing “You’re so cold” “You’re so aloof” “You’re so distant” finally got to Me; it didn’t occur to me then, to tell them all to get fucked. It didn’t occur to Me to ask them Why they hadn’t asked Me Why?

Instead – I tried to feel.

Guess what comes with feeling shit?

Anxiety and Panic. Great buckets full of it … great big shit filled buckets full of it alright.


Because when one is devoid of emotion, one is also devoid of anxiety and its best friend, panic. There is No stress. There is No worry. There is only Nothing. Nuddah. Zilch. Sure it all goes on ‘underneath’ everything, and its the sick feeling you get in your gut or the persistent headache that hasn’t let up for years … but theres pain meds for that shit, and back to soldiering on.

So along comes grief and sorrow … and fucking anxiety about grief and sorrow. The gutts ache of wondering what or if that is actually what it should feel like. The same goes for love, peace, anticipation, excitement, joy, friendliness, waiting, contentment …. etc etc.

Up until recently, I could describe what all those things ‘looked’ like. It is why I understand body language, and the inconsistency of what is spoken versus what is non verbally spoken. I call it cognitive feeling. I know what it should look like, therefore I believe I know what it cognitively should ‘feel’ like.

The problem is, feeling feels very different than thought.

So before you ask someone to be present; to feel; to get a heart or a soul – just remember to ask these things first;

  1. Why don’t you feel anything?
  2. When did you stop feeling anything?
  3. What purpose does it serve you, to feel nothing?

If a person is happy in their dissociative-ness, leave them to it! Who are they hurting? You? Because you want them to be like You? All touchy and feely and shit?

Dissociation serves a purpose. A vital purpose.

And just remember, when dissociation goes, there in its place, is a shit storm of unknown emotion … that We have to learn from scratch.

And that learning may Not look how you would imagine it.

For Me, happy is chocolate, coffee and the mokos. It doesn’t have anything to do with the weather, or my career, or what I bought. It’s the same for sadness and fear. What I fear and what makes Me sad, isn’t the same as my partners. He fears not having eggs and baked beans lol. I fear bright lights and loud noises. He gets sad when he thinks. I get sad when I see someone else sad.

So what does all this bring Me too:

Today I went and got my drivers licence renewed … I’ll update that debacle on another post … but suffice to say, I was nervous as fuck. New place, new sounds, new smells … I felt like throwing up, so downed a 1/4 sedative to take off the edge.

What was I nervous about?

In an ‘aha’ moment … I realised I was nervous about trying to do ‘normal’.

I couldn’t rock up to the counter to get the licence renewed with all my breathing thingees; I couldn’t take my blanky; I couldn’t sniff my orange … Why? Because I’d LOOK mentally ill … and in this country, you can’t drive if your mentally ill (and it effects your driving). I had forgotten how to ‘fake normal’.

Normal is polite … it’s also hurried and rude.

Normal isn’t chatty or truthful … its important looking; like you’ve got somewhere to be and something to do.

Normal doesn’t ask stupid questions.

Normal isn’t assertive.

Normal doesn’t blink a lot … it’s still and quiet … otherwise you look like your dodgy.

Normal is ticking the boxes, including the one that asks if you’re ‘Male’ or ‘Female’; Normal doesn’t ask why thats Normal.

Normal is beige. Not black. Not stripey.

Don’t believe Me?

Try it. Try looking around You at all the things that people do; the way they conduct themselves in public; at the counter waiting for service … people behave in a certain way … there are unwritten, unspoken rules of engagement. And I have been so long out of the game that I had forgotten how to play it.

On any other given day I would high fived the fuck outta myself … but when you need what they’re selling, and you need to appear Normal … it’s not such a cool thing lol.

Any-who … the up shot, is I have my renewed drivers licence, I am thankful as fuck that I managed to fake normal for 15 minutes, and now I am fucking exhausted and I’m going to have a Nanny Nap ;)

kpm ©


an end

my threads

are a hope.

a series,

of hopes.

the hopes

that I’ll have an answer

a reason,

as the time goes by.

that as i go through the process

i’ll end up with better



i be forgetting though,

that the process

is the answer.

that there is no beginning and end.

it just is.

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



getting to it: the unfucking of thyself.




Homai to Aroha


It’s been an utterly amazing journey up to Whanganui and back. I’m still tired but happy … or content … I’m not sure which one … or both … oh whatever … I’m good!

The River.

Me and my Mama went up to find our tipuna (ancestors). That was the mish anyways.

We didn’t find her.

But we found the start … or end … of the journey She took to end up where she did.

Slightly mysterious I know … but that seems to be the way. And talk about mess with my sense of ‘achievement’, ‘getting it done Now’ and all the pedantic shit!

Thats not how this is going to get done we’ve discovered.

Like the Awa (River) … it’s a slow, methodical, unfolding and emotional process. It’s not going to be a matter of googling it and it’s done.

We met peeps … we talked … we told our story … they told theirs … they talked about ‘the River’ and it’s people … which is Us too we’ve realised …

I did all the things that I usually can’t / won’t / don’t like doing!

Anywho … this photograph was at the top of some bad ass cliffs that lead onto the road that takes you up the River. Scared the living shit out of Me! But I got my pic … and surprisingly, many more after that.

To say the Awa is majestic is an understatement. It’s something I haven’t quite got the words for yet.

Over the next little while I’ll post the pics from our trip … the whole dam experience was one mindfulness mind / heart / emotion fuck! A good one though …


kpm ©




abstract art : the Need to paint.

thats the feels today … and paint I did … threw that paint onto canvas till I felt better ;) … 1st of 2018 and I reckon theres gonna be A.Lot of this sort of shit happening … good lord I’ma gonna have to get creative with the paint sourcing ;)

All I can say, is it was a good mess and I needed it.

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist



When I was particularly depleted, aka sick as fuck … there were long portions of time, where I thought I might never ‘get up’ again. But even in those times, I was looking for a way to manage my shizz whilst flat on my face. And while I’m not a lover of that ‘down but not out’ shit, this is my version of that.

The way I see it, we are all dealing with shit, and thats usually made harder by the train of thought, or pressure, put on Us to ‘get better’, ‘be better’ … To get ‘Normal’, again. I’ve certainly had my fair share of this thinking process … and still struggle with it occasionally.

But by in large, my struggle is more with the practicalities of how to re-shape my world so I can manage it. Not re-shape it to fit what someone else thinks it, or I,  should look like.

And throughout all of that, I’m finding Me.

This years biggest struggle, although there has been a few, has been with my father. Theres many a post on Me trying to understand, process, analyze, let go, summarise and respond to the relationship that has and hasn’t been, between us.

Strangely and quite poetically I suppose, the last of my ‘letting go’ process with him, came out within my art. My art actually helped Me fill in the missing pieces and unfold a few other bits and pieces and let go of the last of it.

Which is why I ended up with 13 pieces for the exhibition. It’s also why the exhibition itself, became so important for Me to attend. It’s also why I posted the names and meanings of each piece over the last month. It’s also why I refer to it all again here.

I discovered, that my persistance for self honesty and transparency … a light soul pretty much … is part of what drives Me. It’s not money, or status, or importance, or intelligence …. or any of those surface bullshit things …

It’s living ‘light’.

I don’t do well with a heavy soul … and mine is somewhat naturally heavy and leans to the things that are heavier. But can be made even heavier whenever ‘unreal’ bullshit is taken on.

kpm ©




dissecting, processing and clarifying : Me styles

Bullet points on ;)

  1. hey [Me]
  • by disabling the relationship, an air of maturity and authority is thusly donned.

2. I don’t mind you hating me you got every right,

  • affirmation and confirmation = I’m about to fuck you over … wait for it …

3. but

  • said after the initial ‘grooming statement’

4. when it effects my mokos

  • classic, ‘what about the children’ routine

5. to see your hatred towards me

  • classic blaming tactic … *yawn*

6. it hurts them and thats not fair,

  • ‘the children, the children … what about the children’

7. especially when they miss their mum,

  • ahh yes, the thick layer of guilt
  • ‘remember your sister died, you heartless bitch’

8. you can do whatever you like to me,

  • just to reiterate the opening statement whilst dusting off the super hero cape …

9. this is the second time you have done it,

  • just to add a touch of intellectual mystery … before …

10. you are nearly fifty and you still have a chip on your shoulder that I can’t help

  • oh, a big slathering of  …. the obvious!

11. just for the record

  • ahh, getting authoritatively technical now …

12. i didn’t abandon you, your mother left me,

  • ahh yah … strong women tend to do that after their husbands have beaten them and they’ve had enough of being treated like shit
  • aunty google said abandonment is waaaayyy different in definition to NEGLECT. JS.

13. if you don’t want anymore contact thats fine by me

  • *says whilst hitting the messenger ‘block’ button*

14. my mokos don’t want to come home to hatred like that

  • taadah!! All the patriarchal misogynistic controlling classics, straight from the ‘How To Shut Women Up and Keep Them Silent and Submissive’ Handbook.
  • Now to commence sulking.


kpm ©





to smooth

the plan was simple persuasion.

then forceable persuasion.

the bonus was natural depopulation

by imported disease.

Christianity smoothed the way.

Assimilation smoothed

“… their dying pillows”.

as one dies, the other spreads like a virus

which wore down the hanger-on’ers.

with the indigenous soul disabled,

they invaders spread their disease.

kpm ©


explanation, of sorts

when I want to write…

its like a wave…

like when I

want to paint…


Its Art.

when art happens…

the feeling…

flows…then floods

I need to do what I need to do.

I need music.


To soothe.

to soak up the energy.


That’s Art.

It’s a beautiful, strange and almost uncontrollable,

kind of thing.

It’s cathartic.


And that’s, Art

kpm ©