its a perception.

its a concept.

its an action.

#throwback Dec 8, 2015 @ 11:29

photography & art @kpm-artist 



being silenced.

produces a lump in my throat.

*current status*:

coughing that shit up.

thats all.




not entirely sure why im here:

Says a part of Me, whilst the other part rolls its eyeballs and says … cos its your fucken blog yah dick!

Lol. Yes I even speak to myself in that tone.

I know it’s been abit of a rough week, for sure; and theres a lot going on at home (house selling), but I think after the tonsillitis and trip to the hospital I came home feeling ‘different’. Not sick different, just different.

What I didn’t get into detail about in that post (because I was trying to do the high five Me shit before I let anybody elses shit take up room in my world …), but vaguely touched on in this post:

was speaking or voicing our / my truth, and not remaining silent.

Before I took my trip to the hospital, two things happened in quick succession to each other. And I don’t believe its an accident … shit like this never is. But I’ve been having a hard time connecting the dots.

The first, was someone sent me a screen shot of a post my father had posted on his FB page, with a photo of me, my (deceased) sister and him.

Heres the statement he made:

When I read it, with the photo, I was immediately angry. Not raving angry … just wtf type angry.

Being sick, wouldn’t let Me get into the repost and reply rampage I wanted to inflict at that time.

So I put it aside.

Not more than 10 minutes later, the second incident happened. I had someone ring Me and demand (no shit!) that I do such-and-such for them, Now. And when I told them No, that I wasn’t feeling well, they went into a tirade of abuse aimed squarely at my lack of nurturing and caring abilities. Not once did they take note that I could hardly speak or was clearly sick. I was so astounded I responded with my go too, and in an extremely pained and raspy voice said ‘fuck you and go fuck yourself’.

I was pissed though.

Annoyed at not being heard, understood … but more than that … different than that. I was just pissed. How dare they!

And then I continued to choke and then we went to the hospital lol.

The following day, as shit as I felt, I knew I needed to respond to my fathers bullshit.

So I attached my comments to the screen shot I’d been sent and let rip.

Now I figured one of 2 things would happen … yes thats how I WAS analysing it before I started writing it, and then something else kicked in, which was … fuck this shit … and fuck it.

So thats how this post made its debut; with no fucks given, just a gnawing in my gutt that wouldn’t go away … which is the Need to Voice … to speak the truth.

Theres plenty of posts throughout this blog referring to the biological douche-pool that is my father so I won’t go into that here.

What surprised Me, was those who actually replied. They had seen my fathers original post and thought I was dead. Another person had messaged my daughter and thought she was dead as we look similar in the photo. And this has been going on for a couple of days.

So, I posted in my comments the following:

One of my cousins posted it on my fathers original post.

The feedback for Me was awesome. I had cousins, relieved I wasn’t dead … and an aunty sent her love. I had my niece, who i haven’t seen for years, thank me, because she was over how this dick has treated her mama (my step-sister) for years.

Now those connections were well worth the post.

But still I am perplexed. And I feel different.

I think it has something to do with how I have been treated most of my life and that somewhere in me at the moment I have an amazing almost righteous indignation to the whole fucking lot of it.

How fucking dare he? How dare he!

I have no other explanations or reasonings that I want to fill the air with.

Just … how dare he …

More specifically, how dare he do that to Me.


Him and all his kind, that have taken and shat on and not listened and bullied and beaten and raped and manipulated and Silenced for complaining about their behaviours or questioning their behaviours or wanting them to take their behaviours some other fucking place.

All of them!

Fuck them.

I think I am done.

And if I am done, then theres going to be some blood-shed. Possibly more figuratively speaking than literal, but whatever.

I think this is whats changing. This is what is different.

That I am important.

I’m important because I am alive and here and I deserve to take up space.

Now this is new for Me.

I’m still unsure of all the logistics.

But I’m cool with that for now.

Note: of great interest to Me, was I felt not one shred on anxiety as all this unfolded. Now isn’t that fucken something.

photography & art @kpm-artist 




drivings shit anyway

#throwback Jun 29, 2015 @ 14:37, and a quick browse down memory lane to remind my shizz of how fucking awesome I am.

Decided to give driving a crack again. This time I had someone else with me. I was alright for about 4 minutes…then my passenger decided they wanted to stop…wanted me to go faster…take a different turn…pull over…OMG

I forgot to remind them that this is my exercise in remaining calm; concentrating; slow but steady progress. This is not an exercise in how fast I can get there…being polite to passer bys…looking sporty and fucking spiffing! So I ended up in tears…which fucks me off even more!…I got home, in one piece, in tears, and spent the next half hour bringing my heart rate down and self fucking soothing!

Oh how I detest this shit!

I wish I could drive like I used too…drink like I used too…go for a walk like I used too…catch up with peeps like I used too…go to the god dam mail box like I used too!

Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it.

Yes…I’ll try again tomorrow…aannnndddd BREATH…

photography & art @kpm-artist 



unfucking thyself 101.122




Homai to Aroha



Believe it or not, I’m still trying to find my voice.

After a shittone of years of being silenced in a shittone of ways, I am still unravelling who I am and what I have to say.

Some of it is necessary.

Some of its not.

Some of it is pure and utter rage.

Some of it is not.

What I’m learning, is that it is ALL alright.

We all need to find our voice. Find what we want to say and say it. And voicing shit is not always something that comes out of our mouths. But it is emotion and emotional and it needs to be told.

Our stories, the good and the bad … the mundane and the horrific … all need to be told … some way.

Today I found more of my voice.

And now I have a sore throat.

But thats Ok, because my throat was sore-er when I was actively silent.

photography & art @kpm-artist 



what doing on yah evening out?

don’t get too excited: aka was a trip to the hospital.

how-the-fuck-ever … I did awesome! and thats what I’m partially here to brag about lol.

I had started feeling ‘off’ the other day and in true ‘me styles’ i tried to fix myself. lots of vit c, rest, veggies, home remedies etc. and a lot of this is because we have a shit healthcare system which now costs a small fortune to access if you want adequate and prompt medical treatment. our healthcare system is now the proverbial ambulance and the bottom of the cliff, like the rest of our ‘systems’.

any who … 2 days later nothing was really working and i could feel it getting worse, os last night i decided to go to a&e. 1. because it doesn’t cost 2. cos if i left it any longer i’d be in the back of an ambulance anyway 3. this is how you utilise healthcare when you have no income.

we sat in a&e for 6 hours. i had a temperature spiking 39+ and then back down, cold sweats, nausea and a throat that was swelling shut. from my experience of this form last time i knew i needed antibiotics. 6 hours was not to bad a wait for a&e, and all the gripes aside, heres the reason i was fucken awesome – sick – but also fucken awesome.

i don’t wait. But … I waited. now this may have something to do with being slightly delirious from the spiking temp and low blood pressure … oh well, it worked lol and I waited. 6 hours in a room full of strangers ; of strange sounds, smells, lights and movements.

i was pretty dam proud of myself actually. so proud of myself i forgot to tell them my pain scale was a 10. Note: if your in a&e, your pain scale is always 10. a 5 gets you a 6 hour wait. JS.

so that was me.

today i rest and dose up on penicillin and ice cream.

speaking of ice cream … the ice cream gods sent me this gorgeous specimen and i’m wondering where the fuck its been all my life!

anyways … was gonna write about the rest of my week (s) but cant be bothered now and no-one likes to read to much shit in one go .. i fill y’all in on my other shizz later.

in the meantime … cheers to the #wins !!



i did good

before i forget to celebrate the wins:

sunday was the first of the infamous home invasions aka open homes, for the house to be sold.

i had been dreading it slightly … ok, alot.

after the fucked up week and flashbacks and repercussions, i decided to take saturday ‘off’ and recalibrate.

i did my romiromi and was generally ‘kind’ if not kinder, to myself. it was fucken hard i must say. through it all, i managed to let go of alot of the angst i had been feeling and carrying and got back to the basics.

my wellness.

with that done, i made a new plan for future home invasions.

this morning, implementing my new plan – i started my day slow. absolutely no discussions of the week that had been or what i might do next; no thoughts of flashbacks … they can wait. i did my coffee … on purpose lol and sat in the sun for half an hour. had a couple tears for our cat … he would’ve usually been smooching around my legs and then heading off to one of three sunny spots. tears were fine i decided … they were rememberance, and thats ok. must have been, cos i smiled when i was done.

then i did breakfast. slowly and on purpose. no intrusive thoughts just me and my stomach lol.

then i picked out clothing that was comfortable and started packing my little bag of tricks. i included everything i needed and then added what i wanted.

coffee. my favourite sandwiches (banana and brown sugar – ikr), my music.

i had my shower, just abit longer than usual and dressed in my comfy clothing.

i got my coffee ready and put it in the thermos.

i went through happy photos and checked the good stuff on fb lol, it was a short list ;)

half an hour before the home invasion woman was due to come i finished off my last bits for my bag, donned ear phones, sunglasses and a jacket, got my walking stick and headed to the beach. i went the back way cos i didn’t want to run into said bitch face.

i walked slowly and stopped at all the flowers that have started to bloom along the beach walkway. i found me a possy in the dunes and parked up. i left my music going and settled into the sand.

once i’d got rid of my shoes i made my self comfy.

coffee first.

then another.

then a sandwich.

then some photos.

then alot of singing to one of my favourite songs.

then another sandwich followed by another coffee.

and before i knew it,  an hour and a half had passed.

i hadnt thought of the home invasion once and if my clock was correct they’d already have been and gone. i decided not to go straight home away and took a few more photos and then went for a walk along the sand.

it was beautiful and restful. then i made my way home. although calm, i was fucken exhausted, but nothing a nap didn’t fix.

next week im gonna change it up abit – still including coffee of course.

i did good!

photography & art @kpm-artist


a ptsd day





























































#throwback Sep 29, 2015 @ 21:14



afraid of.

am i afraid



theres alot going on back here.

in my head,



that is:

unfold time.

thats all.

for now.