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& again, for those in the back

no. this time of the year isn’t pleasurable for me. it’s loud. it’s random. it’s expectations on overload. it’s pressure. did i say, it’s random AF?

& yet i’m managing it.

when do we get a holiday? those that put up with / manage the global expectations thrust up our asses because some cunt has pumped consumerism & now they ‘deserve a little break’? when do we get to tap out?

cos i am way the fuck over it.

JS.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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todays discovery & FYI

apparently, when one is annoyed @ moi, for not ‘being there … giving more … participating …’ etc … & when they proceed to not include moi, not invite moi, not speak too moi or not give any type of acknowledgement of moi being a. here, b. alive …

what it actually means is this:

“i don’t like it that you had the balls to follow you’re own path, because i didn’t & i’m stuck & i hate it.

i hate that you have the nerve to believe you are actually worth something & stick to your self care plans even though i believe you should be doing things My way & i don’t give a shit about your health & well being, because your health & well-being makes me fucking uncomfortable.

i also don’t know what to say to you anymore because you won’t do what i want you to do & i haven’t learned to manage myself or take responsibility for my own actions or in-actions & that also makes me incredibly uncomfortable, to the point that i’d prefer to be an asshole to you, than figure out who you are or what your health regime costs you, or how to participate in your life on your terms; because, yeah … i don’t like feeling uncomfortable; & truth be told, i actually don’t really give a shit.”

i’m pleased i’ve had this revelation on the first day of the gregorian calendar year … think it’s gonna save me a whole lot of time & angst!


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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no goodbyes …

not a great ‘do-er’ of ‘new years’ celebrations anymore, but i like the marking of the end of one thing & the transition into another.

thats what this new years is for me.

a recap of what i achieved, celebrated, struggled with, came to terms with, let go of & paid the price for. it’s all growth. & its all good. & i’m still grappling with some of it both mentally & physically.  my tummy is still in knots & i can’t quite find my groove. but i’m trying to take it one little hour @ a time & not dwell on too much for too long.

so, i went hunting for a photo of our little mate that died just before the gregorian christmas period … well a photo of how i remember him anyways.  but i couldn’t find the one i was originally looking for, but found another of him & i found others too.

they reminded me of all the things & people that come & go. that time doesn’t stand still. that memories are all we have sometimes. that the good is always mixed with the bad & that sometimes you have to hunt to find where one starts & the other ends. that love never gets old. that loneliness is the loudest sound in the world. that pain subsides for some. that growth is inevitable. & that death is too.

& that its All all good.

#When

#ThePermWasTiiiight #KingiWasABBoy #NanPouredTheRum #BabyGirlListenedToMotownOnCassette #FourGenerationsWasntNoThang #IkaWasCute #TheSkinWasFlawlessButYouStillWantedToBeDifferent #TheSmokeMachineWasLiiiife #RewaiWasInAllTheShots #MinnieStillHadDoggy #WeLaughedAtGrandadsHatAndNowWouldKillToSeeHimInItAgain #MySisterWasLittle #ChristmasWasAThing #IWasTryingToTeachThemBoutOurHistoryAndProtestAndTheyWereBoredAF #DollazWasAMidget #PamzillaWouldntSmileAtKoro #PookieKnewExactlyWhereSheWantedToGo #TheBigBabiesCouldSwingOffKorosShoulders #TheyWentToLiveWithTheirDadAndMyHeartBroke #GrandadsANZACParadeSeemedWayToEarly #PooksHadHerFirstPeach #MyBrotherWasShorterThanMe #PammyAlwaysHadOneShoeCosWhoNeedsTwo #MamasHadEnoughEnergyToRunAfterTheMidgets #MyMamaStillHatedPhotos & #ILovedCrowdsAndConcerts


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

i do love my grandfather. but.

today i heard my grandfather

in your voice.

not in a nostalgic way.

but a cringe, a recoil.

he spoke to my nan like she was a piece of shit.

a waste of space.

an annoyance.

he rolled his eyes @ her.

grimaced when she spoke.

if you weren’t a child with child eyes

if you weren’t a child with child ears

one would wonder:

why on earth he stayed around.

why on earth she stayed around.

is there a pain more stinging

than being in a place, you are clearly not wanted

or required.


kpm©


 

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tides turning.

I’ve been noticing an interesting shift. It’s been slow, but for me, has been noticeable.

Slight back story:

My partner has a horrible habit of being … a critical prick. I can’t think of a nice way to put that.

I understand why he’s like that. I don’t think he does though.

But what I’ve come to realise, is there is no real excuse for it and it’s not something I appreciate at all. In fact I could name multiple times it’s actually set me back … quite drastically.

Alright, thats the unexpanded back story.

Sooooo … the shift …

Usually when the partner has something critical to say, I try and challenge a. his thinking on the matter b. get to the bottom of why he has such a criticism.

About a month or two ago, I decided to stop doing that.

Partially because he’s entitled to his opinions even if they are founded in nothing more than someone elses ideas and / or bitterness.

And partially because challenging him is not getting my desired effect. My desired effect is to get him to shut his dam mouth and not share his opinion of me, with me.

What do I do instead?

I am more direct with him.

For example, of late, he’s had an on-going bitch about my hairy legs.

My reply now is: “You don’t get to have a say in what My body looks like. Period.”

And then I walk away.

He doesn’t like it and if anything it can make him more septic.

Whats been interesting though, is the more I do this, whenever and wherever we are, other women have risen to my defence.

It’s been quite strange and I didn’t notice it at first.

This whole hairy leg thing unfolded the other day, at the kitchen table of a friends house. And as he was semi mocking me and I had said my piece, this woman chimed in: she looked him in the eye and cut him off as he was continuing to mock and said to him … ‘and yet you chose her … you choose to sleep next to her and wake up next to her … you have breakfast with her and lunch and dinner … you make plans and discuss issues … you cry on her shoulder when something doesn’t go your way …’

And yah know what … he shut the fuck up.

Another recent event, with the same ‘issue’ and a friend of mine piped up mid-mock and looks at him and says: ‘i’m sure she doesn’t need you’re approval to shave or not … none of us do …’

And it went silent again.

I think what I’ve loved, is having someone else stand up for me and for him to hear that it’s not just Me. That as a man, he has No right to my body or how it looks.

Period.

And this my furry little friends, is a huge turn in tides for Me.

And I’m loving it.

[watch this space]


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

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ewww hurt feelings …

It’s been a strange day and I was / am reluctant to be here, trying to express it … but here I am anyway.

I feel awkward … oddly enough … trying to admit I felt ratshit today. Not because feeling ratshit is bad per se, but because I don’t like admitting I had hurt feelings and that made me feel ratshit … hurt feelings for Me, feels like weakness.

Basically I feel like a little bitch … there yah go … arrghhh.

It’s so much easier to be angry or annoyed or even a bit frustrated … but hurt feelings? Not cool …

But Yes, I’m getting over myself … and … here I am.

To get to the point, today someone I know, belittled my non-ability to be able to go to the shop; to be able to leave the house; to not be able to handle the ‘crowd’. They know it can be hard for Me to go anywhere, but I am managing it … well I’m trying … and have been for some time. I have my ups and downs … I make progress and take giant plummets and try and take all that shit in my stride.

It can be embarrassing. A fully grown, once was fiercely independent and extremely capable woman, now whimpering at the prospect of traveling in the car, of having to be in a crowded space, of talking on the phone, of bright lights and loud noises … Yes, I find it fucking embarrassing, humiliating and diminishing.

But I suck that shit up and I try and try and try … and I don’t know any other fucking person who tries and tries again, as much as I do.

And I do most of this shit on my own.

I don’t have a team of experts guiding me through … or a cheer leading squad that encourages me to keep going … literally, I’d be lucky to have 2 encouraging things said to me in a month about progress or how far I’ve come, or just a friendly high fucking five and ‘can i help you at all’.

But that is the story of my life … and despite that, I still fucking get up and try again.

But today.

Today I may have just spilt a few tears.

Just a few.

It’s not that I haven’t been belittled or humiliated before … but today, it just hurt.

So I sat with the hurt for a little while. I’m not big on feelings but it seems like I gotta deal with the bastards …

And after a little while was done, I looked for something ‘good’ that I had done recently; that I could be proud of.

I got the last of my paintings out.

I smiled at them.

I smiled because they are my final 3 for the exhibition, and I like them.

I did them. I like them. And no-one can take that away from Me.


kpm © : ig @kpm-artist


 

And, we live to see another day

Near 24 hours have passed, and I’m happy to report no-ones dead, including myself … duh.

And this is where self realisation and a good dose of reflection are kicking in.

First and foremost, I’m glad I didn’t kick a hole in the wall. Fixing it would cost money, that I don’t have.

Hugest realisation:

I’m a simple gal. Believe it or not, I long for peace and quiet. To be able to lean over the neighbours fence and gossip about the other neighbours bloomers blocking out my sunshine … I long for simple food, simple laughs. I like the idea of vegetable gardens and plum trees … fixing shit myself … 3pm coffee breaks … weekends on the beach … I love the thought of all those things … and I’m trying to attain a whisper of that ‘thing’.

My big fucking moment yesterday, was induced by stress and interrupted by the realisation that that was my Grandparents era. And I fucking miss it! It seemed simple and comforting. Even though it was rife with sexual abuse and underlying passive aggressive goings ons …

I guess I miss them. They are my version of Home. That feeling anyway. But it’s gone. And so’s the era. People aren’t like that anymore. There aren’t ‘gentle-men’ agreements: there isn’t idle harmless gossip over the mailbox: there isn’t biscuits and hot coffee at 3pm, paid for by your boss.

What there is plenty of though, is stress.

It’s fucking everywhere.

And it made it’s way into my safe haven and feng shui.

My partner (yes I said it grrr), is a half full kinda dude. But he too is besotted with the grandparent generation … Nice ideals … but not realistic anymore.

I’m more of a ‘fuck your glass and your water, I’ll make my fucking own’ kinda person.

Yes, we clash.

Usually when theres a third party involved.

Another of our differences: I have no problem with telling someone NO. Whether thats a straight out No, fuck off; or a No Thankyou … it gets said if it needs to be said.

Partner on the other hand is more of a … ‘ohhhh but I said I would so I’d better now … ‘ kinda person. There’s No such thing as a No.

As you can guess theres been some god almighty clashes. It fucks with my boundaries, my sense of safety … my sense of calm and peace and fucking stress-free quietness.

So, he’s discussed an arrangement with our soon-to-not-be landlord. Why? Because thats what he does …

But this discussion led to ‘a gentlemans arrangement’ whereby we would pay more rent for the remainder of our tenancy and be reimbursed the increase, weekly. The idea was that by having it look like we are paying more rent on the paperwork, makes it eligible for them to put the house on the market as a potential ‘rental investment’, at current rental prices.

Seemed simple enough. I smelt something fishy though, because I’m a deficit type bitch like that  …

As a side note, the partner had said he’d do some work on the house to bring it up to a sellable standard, in lieu of cash payments, and at slightly better rates than a tradie, of course.

So we get the paperwork from the rental agency.

What it says, in flamboyant technical language, is we have agreed to a rent increase and until we finish doing work on the house, will be reimbursed up to said amount, until such and such a date.

I balked immediately, seeing nothing but big holes in this arrangement.

And all I said to the partner was: How is this beneficial to Us?

And the rest turned into a shitfest.

“Why you gotta get all ‘that way'” (meaning, why you gotta get all man hating, pakeha hating and protesty).

I balked again.

In my opinion, the landlord, who seems like a nice enough dude, has re-written himself a good deal. Increased rent before selling and free work to his house.

In my opinion also – this is a deal only white priviledge would even have the audacity to ‘offer’ after agreeing verbally to something completely different.

And also in my mother fucking opinion – it’s the type of deal only a down trodden maori slave would consider as being a good deal!

And the angst that comes from being shown otherwise is what is causing the stress. Because like I said, partner does not say No.

I even offered to do it for him.

He’s still in justification mode and is having a hard time getting his mermaid headspace around the fact that this dude is trying to fuck him up the ass.

It’s a harsh realisation, I know.

But it’s fact.

I don’t have any ill feeling toward the landlord. We have an arrangement with him that works for us at the moment. Changing that, is his job. Not changing it, is ours. Simple.

But to dress it up as anything other than what it is; or to try and shame me into believing that I have a ‘negativity’ issue is bullshit.

And it’s bullshit I almost fell for.

As a reeled around yesterday trying hard not to put my fist through anything, I could hear the ghosts of years gone by … ‘you don’t know what your doing’, ‘your not a good mother’, ‘you just need to shut up and listen’, ‘ you need to obey …’ and the list went on …

Once I’d let them have their say and I found somewhat of a centre again … I could dismiss them as the bullshit they were then, but I couldn’t do anything about it … Now I can.

I’m not any of those things that were said about me; to me, against me. It is not my problem if ‘they’ don’t get me and it’s not a discussion I need to have to try and persuade them to see me differently.

Really, they can all just jog on.

If, however, I choose to stay with my partner, am I going to let him put me in an inferior position to make himself comfortable? And if the answer is No, how do I calmly combat that … cos holes in walls is way too stressful now-days.

And thats where I’m at.

I’m trying to figure out how to do the next bit.


kpm ©


 

 

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sooooooo …

Todays wondering:

What becomes of

a relationship

based on a lie?

Not big fat lie;

Just a lean, dieting lie.


kpm ©


 

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i had it all along <3

An interesting day so far … I forget that some of my most ‘profound’ moments come when I am alone. Yes, I am an introvert who likes my own company. I always have but have only just come to grips with that and started to embrace everything that that is for Me.

The partner was away for the day and night and this has given Me enough time to reflect and get to the gist of my gistnyness – Yes, that is one of my awesome made up words ;)

After pondering on the relationship between myself and my biological father, I woke with a bit of an unfolding of a revelation. On the third cup of coffee (good quality, heart warming coffee that is) whilst watching a ‘comfort’ movie – “Guardians of the Galaxy #2”, yes, I know … I’m sooo deep I stun my own self sometimes – that unfolding revelation completely unfolded and hit Me in the frontal lobe; or there abouts anyways.

I published a post the other day regarding “family”, and what that means to Me. I described in there, that family, for Me, is sometimes more than blood. What I didn’t expand on in this post, was who those are for Me.

I shall do that briefly now.

I grew up with my younger brother; as in we shared a mother and a house. Our experiences however, were completely different. I guess I resented him slightly for that over the years but have come to recognise that he has had his own hurdles and he, like Me, has found his own way of dealing with his shit. We were never ‘close’, as in, in each others pockets constantly; and I only recall ever having 1 argument with him, and he was pretty young then, maybe 9 or something. And in retrospect, he was just trying to assert his place in the world. And he has successfully managed that! He is an awesome father, musician, friend, lyricist, scholar and Man. And he is self-taught in all areas, which I admire and can relate to on all levels. Because we had different fathers, he had his own demons to exorcise with his father and their family of origin. And he has manoeuvred that beautifully. He has a wonderful relationship with his sisters and brothers and makes sure they are all connected to him and his son, so every one knows everyone. His father passed away a few years ago, but not before he had reconciled, as much as he could, the relationship between them. He was under no illusions though, about what he had missed out on; good and bad. And as the years have passed, he’s been able to let most of the angst of that go.

So while I came to admire and respect my brother, that closeness that I kinda sorta craved, that I now recognise came from not having a connection with my sisters, lingered for a good part of my early years.

What I had forgotten though (as I do, and have done, quite frequently), is that I made some extremely close and lasting friendships of the brotherly, sibling-ly kind, with other people throughout my life. One such friend was my brother, friend and drinking partner from hell. We had an extremely close bond. One that came to a close quite a few years ago, but never the less, it had existed; and I loved and depended on it. It held Me together through some extremely rough times. We would talk all night, drink all day, laugh at each others lame ass jokes, lend money, borrow money, argue, yell, disagree, agree … I became his daughters godmother when she was born, and was even at her birth. I suck at being a godmother though lol.

My gist is … while I hadn’t had a ‘close’ relationship with my biological brother … one that I somehow ‘thought’ we ‘should’ve’ had (which is bullshit by the way) … I didn’t miss out on what I needed. It only got added to by other people in other places.

With respect to my biological father; I realised whilst watching my comfort movie, that I had always had a ‘father’. One that loved Me; provided for Me; cared for Me; was interested in Me; was proud of Me; he tried, at all times, to protect Me; he connected with Me and my children. He was everything that a good father and dad should be. And he is my maternal grandfather <3

While I have believed somewhere within my being, that I had somehow missed out by not having a biological father ‘take care’ of Me; I really hadn’t! I had actually had a better version / the best version of a father that anyone could ever ask for.

When he passed on, I held his hand and stroked his head while the light in his big beautiful blue eyes went out. I told him that he was a good man; a beautiful man; a successful man, and that We all loved him; that we would miss him but that he had done his job impeccably and we were eternally grateful. I was able to do that for the most important man in my life, because he had shown Me love my entire life.

That is the essence of a father. It is also the essence of a father – daughter relationship.

So, you see, I didn’t miss out at all. I had just forgotten – well semantics fucked up my feng shui for a little while – that what I had hoped for from my biological father, I had actually gotten in abundance, from my grandfather father. I love that that happened to Me. And I wouldn’t change that for all the feng shui in the world! I wouldn’t even change it to have a better relationship with my biological father.

And so my peace with it all, came in this recollection:

That I had the father I always craved for and wanted. I couldn’t have had anyone better. My biological father, is just that. And I don’t owe him anymore than that recognition; I don’t even owe him anger, because with his absence, someone greater and better and more lovely, was able to fill those shoes.

<3


kpm ©


 

my babies.

I speak of my daughters often throughout my blog, but not alot, if you get my drift. And thats mainly out of respect for their privacy … little bitches ;)

But as I recently had a big dose of them, they are next up on my agenda … because they are my essence <3

They are like a split of Me with an extra dollup of chocolate and gelato on the side ;)

They are both ultra sensitive and completely gangstah … but different.

… I started writing about how beautiful they both are … but that wasn’t actually the reason I thought of them both for this post today … so let Me get to the gutts of it ay.

I’ve also written alot about not knowing when and how We will stop being here … in this world. Whether it be those that take their own lives, or those that have lived a long plentiful life, or those that are so dam miserable they probably should be dead … the jist is, We never know when our time is up; but it is a guarantee of this life. That we will all one day expire.

I know this. And its strange, because the closer I get to digging Me and digging life, the more urgency I feel to love every little bit of it because its been so fucken hard for so long … I think I’ve done my hard times and down times enough for a couple life times.

But as I was hanging with my girlies the other day, the youngest (shes 23) had learnt that her friend, who is a little younger than her, had died. She leaves behind a 3 year old.

I think I was kinda in shock, but felt for my girl and could see her grief; and her love for her friend.

Today it kinda slapped Me up side the head. That my baby is feeling the grief of loss that we associate with older, having lived some more of life type age bracket. And that this girls mama would be completely gutted … to have lost her baby girl; her child … the child, growing into a young woman … who now, is no more.

My heart kinda skipped a bit of a beat. Not because I know this lady or her daughter … but because my girl was is in pain and that pains Me.

And because my girls are my love and life. They always have been. Because I am eternally grateful for them; for having them here – still; for being able to watch them grow from beautiful kids to even more beautiful young women … and I’m not just talking outward beauty (they are stunning looking girls though!), but what makes them extraordinary is what they exude … their essence.

They make Me so proud … but more than that … I have always been in love with my kids, and I’m pleased that they have loved Me back :)


kpm ©


 

Thinking of you, Johanna Stahl …

That was a title she’d use when she most eloquently would remember and honour the passing of someone. From the least to the great of them … the Vet who had been forgotten by his country – and the Legends who gave us music to cry and reminisce too. She honoured them all.

And today, fresh warm tears that I can’t seem to stop for the fucking life of Me … have plagued my day, as I remember a most bodacious woman who has left a most bodacious mark on Me.

Strangely enough, I never thought I would find it such an emotional thing – to lose a blogging bud. You know – never having met in person and all. But the strange thing with this blogging routine – you find the loveliest of people in the strangest of places.

Johanna has a way with the sarcastic and profound. And I think these are two of the things that I admire the most about her. She shot straight, and I mean straight, from the hip. Not to wound, but to kill.

She’d show up on my sad-ass posts, right at the beginning of my blogging career ;) … and to begin with, I thought she was some kind of freaky stalker who was looking to sell me a set of ginsu knives or religion or something.

But she came to encourage; to challenge; to take the piss out of something; to cheer up; to deliver information.

I came to look forward to and smile at her Gravatar; knowing that there was bound to be something I needed to hear or didn’t want to hear, all wrapped up in one huge fudge brownie, Trump dissecting comment ;)

And I’m going to miss her; terribly and profoundly. And I know I’m not the only one <3 She means a shitload to a shitload of peeps.

I know she’s an atheist and doesn’t believe in the religious concept of heaven; but I hope that wherever she is right now – she’s chilling with Prince and George Michael – oh and Carrie Fisher – smoking some delectable bud and eating some homemade brownies ….

Pain Free At Last <3


kpm ©


 

 

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father.

As you know, my relationship with my father, has been … tentative … estranged … different. But it is what it is …

I’m grateful for life … and have to thank him for a certain portion of that.

It’s hard to know what to say about it him, because I don’t know him that well. I am pleased, that at 45, I get the chance to get to know him just a little bit more.

I know his life was pretty shit … he endured some hard times and inflicted some equally hard times on others.

Out of everything … I hope he finds some peace. Just like Me … I hope he finds some contentment within himself.


kpm ©


 

moko #1.

Moko #1 will be 9 this year. What a little man he is :)

He’s taught Me so much about being a child … being who we are …

He rocks the boat most days and has questions for miles! And both of those things, I absolutely love about him. He has the questions that no-one asks, because its ‘improper’ to do so; he’s the one who is somehow able to put things into questions when we can’t quite figure out what the question is, that needs to be asked … he’s the one that challenges everything that would appear to be right or normal, and stretches the imagination and the perception … i.e.: “who made god then???” … he’s 9 :)

I was there at his birth … and remember well the overwhelming feeling of becoming a grandmother … and the sheer joy that also came with becoming a grandmother.

And I love being a grandmother :)

He has big brown eyes and a beautiful smile. I love his nature and his way; his talents and character.

He is part of Me. I am part of Him.

And I absolutely love him to bits xoxox


kpm ©


 

 

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my rat.

This is Wayne. Wayne is a female rat.

She was one of the only little creatures that I actually loved. She used to live in a fish tank next to my bed, and when I’d come home, drunk as, at 4 or 5am, she’d come trotting out to greet Me. She loved beer and chow-mien.

When she was about 2, she got pneumonia. I ended up having to take her to the vets to be put down. On the way in the car she snuggled into my shoulder and stayed there the entire time.

I cried like a baby.

I hadn’t ever been so attached to an animal before. Not even the cat we owned when I was a kid … but this little critter made me smile … everyday.

I never had another pet or got attached to another animal after Wayne. Kind of sad I guess, but I couldn’t deal with the loss.

And it seemed pointless.

What I did learn, was I was ‘capable’ of loving something … but have chosen not too since.

Strangely enough though … this little furry friend, made my hellish life at the time, just that much more pleasurable :)

Thanks Wayne :)


kpm ©


 

heres a little something, ya’ll should know …

well here’s a little ramble that’s been digesting in my psyche for the past 48 hours or so … and i think it probably, actuals, started after my ‘discussion’ (tentatively termed) with my father …

I write as I speak … I speak as I write.

the dots in between my written words, pretty much represent the pauses I take when I’m talking

duly noted …

it would seem (as i have pondered many times) that this is not the ‘norm’ (once again, very tentative term).

or polite societal norm’, anyways.

thank fuck i don’t do polite societal norms, i say to myself, and anyone thats left to hear me …

but … (theres always a but … or butt ;) )

the ‘norm’ gets uncomfortable …

who cares right?

apparently e-very – one, except Me.

There are rules of engagement, apparently, in polite society. They are, loosely … You ask a question, I answer, followed by, Me asking a question and You answering. In there somewhere there’ll be a few opinions and niceties … but generally (whilst avoiding politics, sex and religion) we discuss and exchange pleasantries. Those pleasantries don’t include ‘vulgar’ language or expressive references pertaining to the forbidden trio.

Now, I can’t do this.

Not won’t, but Can’t.

It isn’t in my construction.

And the more I’ve gotten to know Me, and the more I’ve let shit go … the more offensive, it would appear, I am becoming.

I reiterate:

I write as I speak … I speak as I write.

I don’t have an – ‘other’ persona. I am what I am. Shitty when shitty. Lippy when lippy. Calm and peaceful when calm and peaceful.

Is that due to shit happening? Possibly.

But who really cares?

Do THEY need an explanation for the reasons I am what I am?

Fuck No.

…….             according to the partner,  ……

previously (before being assaulted with my theories and getting abit of insight into the minutiae of who I am), he ignorantly stated that I should ‘forget about it’, ‘go with the flow’, ‘suck it up’.

And the response he got (well, has gotten for many years) is: “remember that guy that gave your father a hiding? how about forgetting that ay?” … No? …

“whose flow? your flow? why can’t you go with My flow?” … No? …

“suck it up??? Suck It Up? Really … you try juggling a pair of rotten nuts in your mouth when you don’t even know how to tie your shoe laces yet … and then you can have an opinion on whether I should ‘suck it up’ or not … until then … get fucked”. Got it? Got it!

Yeah … so he doesn’t go to those places anymore … he thinks a little more before he opens his trap to respond.

…………      so,

when this latest fuckery comes up, the partner, quite thoughtfully and wisely, I might add … says …

… “you know what dear … its a rare thing to find someone that says and does the same thing … that doesn’t do one thing at home and then change when they leave the house”

… duly noted dude.

So why am I surprised when a fucker backs up when I speak to them … not looking at my face, but my highly decorative, tattooed arm?

Why am I surprised that I get a different response if I put all the letters from my credentials after my name when I sign off? Or if I open a conversation with … ‘When I was studying for my undergraduate degree ….  ‘, the person I am conversing with straightens up and looks me in the eye?

Why am I surprised when I drop a few social science-y psychological-ised terms on someones ass, their pie hole stops flapping and they change the conversation to something more ‘weather related’?

It’s bullshit.

Today, …. its utter bullshit.

And I’ve had a cunt sized gutts full of it.

Yes see … if I espouse an opinion, it is mine. Not because of my quals or because I can read a fucking thesaurus … but in spite of them!

How is ‘not using vulgar language’ productive?

Pretentious bullshit gives me hives, cramps, thrush and a headache.

And I’ll be fucked if I’ll do it.

For anyone.

Especially, Not, my Father.

… …. … … .and there it is … …    …… … ….      …

Part 1 decision, is made! Cunt …


kpm ©


 

Image

really?

Me: “Um, my camera isn’t working … have you been using it?”

Partner: “No”

Me: “Really? Cos theres sand all over it …”

Partner: “I said No … geez”

Me: “Are you sure? Because theres photos of you on the SD card … looks like your … cleaning the lens??”

Partner: “Ahhhhh … Ok, I may have dropped it … but it was an accident … ”

Me: “Your worse than the bloody kids yah know that … ”

Last pic, is the distorted, sand encumbered look of Guilt!

Humbug ;)

img_8545

img_8546

fullsizeoutput_1146


kpm ©


 

wottup?

i means, seriously…

don’t spread em enuff

don’t cook em enuff

don’t ‘get the feels’, enuff

it aint eva enuff

is it.

guess wot tho –

i aint yor mama

i dont need to pick up on shit

or pick up your shit.

i was invited to

co-

thats rite

co-habitate.

if yor wantin a mama again

best get to steppin

back to the

homestead

where all yor wants and needs,

‘cept for the first,

will get met.


kpm ©


 

Video

moko one & our shared love of music.

Moko #1 left yesterday :(

I so enjoyed having him here … he’s a little darling … and sooooo smart.

He’s abit of a musician, so its a love (of music) that we share. He has a set of drums and has just become the proud owner of an Amp for his electric guitar.

We did abit of discussing of ‘genres’ … as in he’s still finding his groove … and what he likes to play too versus listen too.

Now Moko is also a bit of a know-it-all (dunno where he got that from lol) and he wanted to know why I was singing along to a song he’d been singing most of the week. This song:

  • I’m Still Standing – Elton John, 1983

Apparently it was a ‘new’ song and had I ‘seen the movie’??

Well, this started a 2 hour convo on music. With YouTube in hand, I took him on a very long journey looking at where his ‘new music’ originated from … that ‘Sing’ didn’t make up these songs, but they were in fact ‘covers’. Nothing wrong with covers I said; but plugging that he needed to know where they came from. Just like family :)

Then we did a check of music genres, as he was certain that he should be playing his other ‘grandfathers’ music. Little bug bear for me … his ‘other grandfather’ (my ex-husband), is a critical twat; and he’s told Moko #1 that he ‘hits the drums too hard’, ‘can’t follow the beat properly’ and ‘needs to listen better’; which has quite successfully, taken Moko #1s joy away re playing the drums … or anything for that matter. My mission is to give that back to him ;)

So, I proceeded to play him this, for abit of inspiration ;) :

  • Alien Weaponry – Raupatu, 2017.
  • No copyright was found, however, because I’m down with promoting Tangata Whenua, the following is on the YouTube blurb:
  • Published on Jan 31, 2017
    Produced By Tom Larkin
    Mixed by Samuel K Sproull at Studios in The city Melbourne.
    Recorded at Roundhead Studios New Zealand.
    Videography by Dave Thomson & Piotr Ziomus.
  • You can also follow Alien Weaponry here:
  • https://www.facebook.com/AlienWeaponry/
  • What is ultra ultra brilliant about this band, is that they are all Tangata Whenua, and they are all young men :)

Now not a thrash metal fan myself, I wasn’t too sure how he’d take this … but much to my surprise … he loved it! And the reason, I figured … was because if nothing else … thrash is pure artistic expression! And Moko #1 could feel that!

So today, we have an old friend of ours …  and a thrash metal drummer … going out to Mokos house to show him how he plays the drums ;) Excellent!!!!

So back to the lessons: Moko #1 was insistent that this song:

  • Don’t You Worry Bout A Thing (Cover) – Tori Kelly, 2016.

… came from the movie ‘Sing’ … again … and again, a long winded disagreement ensued, until I found this:

  • Don’t You Worry Bout A Thing – Stevie Wonder, release 1973.

And now we have a new Stevie Wonder fan in Moko #1 … who is also apparently impressed that a blind guy can play the piano like that!

Which got us back to the topic of

“Feeling the Music”

Big smiles as Moko got it, finally !!!

Yuss – my job here is done!


kpm ©


 

Image

my grandad.

me and my grandfather <3

me and my grandfather.

The most important Man in my life.

My Grandfather is my Father and Grandfather all rolled into one. I knew he loved Me. Not by what he said, but by how he acted. And for Me that has always been more important than words. His actions toward Me always spoke volumes, even when I wasn’t really aware of it; or became aware of it, after the fact.

It’s been … a long while … since he passed … and I miss him ferociously … every day.

But I am grateful … forever grateful … that this mans influence has been my ‘measuring stick’ of what protection and love look like. I am forever grateful for the love he gave me and the lessons he taught.

From this beautiful man came my love of building … concrete … music … Italian cuisine … poppies … bacon and eggs and fried tomatoes in the morning … structure … cup of tea and super wine biscuit breaks (very important when your a builder ;) ) … vegetable gardens … good tools …

I think he influenced nearly every good aspect of my life.

He always wanted me to go to University and study politics and eventually go into government. I never really understood his reasoning … as he never really gave reasons. In later years I understood that he wanted us to change the system from the inside out. He didn’t believe in War; as he had fought in WW2 … and I’m pretty sure the effects of that were embedded in his being. He barely talked about it, and when he did, he’d talk about ammunitions and that they shouldn’t be made … and as long as they were made, there’d always be War.

But instead I went University and did Criminology; and in his last hours with us, he told me he was proud of me. It made me cry. That even in that moment, as he could barely breathe; he thought to tell me he was proud of me.

And that was the kind of man he was.

I love you Grandad … and miss you every day … thankyou for everything you were and thankyou for your constant presence with Me.

I hope I continue to make you proud :)


kpm ©


 

me and my mama

My relationship with my Mama has been tentative and sometimes extremely volatile over the years.

When I was little I wanted a Mother that was like all the others appeared to be. I wanted love like everyone else seemed to get. I wanted understanding like I thought other kids got from their mothers.

I pretty much wanted my mother to be different than she was. Not all of her, just the bits I didn’t like.

As the years have gone on, and I had my own children, I still wanted her to be different. I still wanted her to understand me differently.

I also despised her for not protecting me.

Little did I realise then, and have only come to realise recently, that I am guilty of doing to my mother what I don’t like others doing to me.

Wanting me to be different than I am.

And you know what … when I stopped wanting her to be different than she was, I got to see her real beauty, not just tokenly appreciate the things she had done for me.

You see, my Mama is quite an amazing person when I stopped wanting something else … when I actually took a step back and looked at her properly.

Not only did she raise 2 children on her own in spite of the hurdles she had faced with both mine and my brothers fathers … she chased, exorcised, actively sought after and conquered her own demons whilst raising us.

I’ve learnt over the years, that theres a huge difference between parenting well and seeking out the ‘better’ … for yourself and your children … whilst you are nursing your own wounds. And we all carry wounds. No-one is immune to that. And that is what my Mama did. She strived for better, from herself and from us. From me. All her, what I perceived then as criticism, was her way of getting me to think about what I was doing and where I was going. She wanted better for me.

As for not protecting me … I’ve also come to realise that she did all she could and all she knew to do to protect me. She is not accountable for another persons filthy wretched being. She’s not accountable for another persons actions. They are.

I recently helped my Mama move from her little house to another. She’s just retired and her new place is about 15 minutes away from me. In another lifetime that would have been horrid. But now, I embrace it. In fact I absolutely love having her down the road and round the corner from us.

Over the last few days I’ve helped her unpack and de-clutter / re-organsie her living space. I’m good at that sort of shit. Really good. But what was even better was spending time with her.

As we went through all her things, we did this process I do so it’s easier for those that don’t want to let things go, let things go. We look at every item and do a practical count of things; if theres more than 2 things we have to look at what they’re all there for. Usually its got to do with memories. With each item, my Mama had a memory attached to it. I heard all her stories of all the things she held memories of. The things that were the most memorable, or that she absolutely loved, those things she kept and put on display instead of hiding them in a box. I think she enjoyed the process instead of it being painful. I used to criticise her for her clutter and disorganisation, because I didn’t like it and I wanted her to be different. But by the time we were finished, I got to see the beauty in all the things that she loves.

I love my Mama. I appreciate her deeply, now, for who she is.

She is amazingly intelligent; holds a degree; has completed some brilliant research; has gone back to study to pursue her love of art; she is a beautiful artist; a gritty activist; she’s a devoted and loyal woman with a deep deep passion for what is just and what is right; she abhors injustice and greed.

What more could anyone want in a role model and in a Mama?

Lastly, my Mama has always lived on the bones of her ass. I didn’t realise how much so until I lost my income and had to look at how I spent money; what I actually needed versus what I wanted; what was really important. Mama always fed us and clothed us; she always paid her bills and still had money left over to give to others. She sewed and bottled; baked and cooked; she saved and spent less. She was always careful about where every penny went. But I don’t recall her ever complaining about being broke … she just got on with it.

And while I have always heard people complain about the amount you receive when you retire and how little it is … because my dear dear Mama has learnt to live on virtually nothing all her adult life … retirement looks like manna from heaven. Most people would sniff at 30 or 40 dollars ‘extra’, but my Mama is living large … for her, she has hit the jackpot. Mama has never drank or smoked or eaten exotic foods or bought exotic clothing … she’s never gone on expensive overseas holidays or ordered overpriced gadgets to ease her ego; she’s never bought a brand new car or a brand new anything for that matter … she’s always lived minimally. And now … she can buy an extra block of cheese, and her favourite fruits, and some raw milk, and a steak … she can go for a coffee at the cafe if she chooses and buy an extra pot plant if she wants … she can even give the mokos a few dollars if she wants.

For all these reasons and a shitload more … I am forever grateful that my Mama is my Mama. That she is the perfect Mama for me. That I still have her here to enjoy. That she is close enough for my crusty anxiety ridden ass to get to every week. That I’ve figured out how important she is and can enjoy every moment with her, now.

Love you my Mama xoxo


kpm ©