dear functioning kiddy fuckers.

the lawyer.










you lot have managed to stay hidden,

far away from the monster under the bed.

you lot pretend to reside in far loftier surrounds –

the boardroom, your leagues & gentlemen clubs.

it is a little more than amusing,

that you should categorise your dealings as normal.

pretty sure a kiddy fucker, is just a kiddy fucker.

like shit is shit.

putting icing on it, does’t make it a cake.

& your weaner is just as small as the rest of them.

the inadequacy that propels you to

surf for little prey, makes you inadequate.




you may have a blue collar, a white collar.

but you deserve less than a dog collar.

but i see you.


~ don’t leave your children unattended

~ don’t disregard our intuition

~ if you think that its dodgy; then it is

~ kiddy-fuckers don’t take vacations.




what does

did yah know that

sexual assault

or sexual violation,

whatever your feng shui;

does a number of things

to ones gig.

theres the physical act.

the physical results.

those scars can be permanent.




a womb, that won’t bear children.

just to name a few.

then there’s the psychological





dreams: nightmares: night terrors,

potatoe – potato.

whatevs: bitches are bitches.

then there’s the sexual effects.

we are sexual beings.

sexual violation, is an offence of the sexual being.

the results:

flashbacks –






to get it fucking twisted

a pts(d) fuck:

that those past violations

are present violations.

that they are re-lived

right here

right now,

even though you know with your head

they’re not now:

you body says otherwise.

kpm ©



and it continues … 1980 … more little fuckwits and then theres my love of dance …

where i was born …

I noticed with this post and with the previous (1979) post, that it ‘feels’ like I’m skimming the surface. Maybe that was because it’s all I could do … just skim … maybe it was because I couldn’t remember things in detail … or, maybe, as usual, I tend to do ‘things’ in a dissociated state when it comes to shit that creates ’emotion’ in Me.

Think I’ll fill in bits that I remember as I go through this post …

Primary school continued to be ho-hum, as far as formal education goes. I was a pretty good student. I listened, I learnt. I kept learning to read between the lines.

*The art of ‘blending’ in is what I aimed for, even though I stuck out like dogs balls. I was one of maybe half a dozen brown kids in a predominantly pale faced school. I don’t remember having a brown teacher; none of the ‘staff’ or ‘authorities’ were brown. But this was a reflection of my entire world really. At church I was one of 3 brown children, one of those was my brother.*

*Even though I tried to blend … * I remember being everyone’s bitch, *and by bitch, I mean fuck toy … I guess some ‘exploration’ is kinda normal, but I don’t remember this being particularly pleasureable and feeling ‘invasive’, but I didn’t know what that word was* … and I’m pretty sure that ‘invasiveness’ wasn’t part of the curriculum…but it came with my education anyhow. I don’t know if it was because I was already ‘damaged’ and attracted even the littlest of fuckwits, even way back then. I think I may have had some kind of neon sign attached to my ponytail…”take a poke, she’s used to it”. Various counsellors, in later years, seemed to think this was ‘normal’ child like behaviour. Maybe so in their over educated worlds…but from my view…it was shit. And no matter what I did, or tried to do, to avoid them…they found me. This sort of bullshit happened for years…right up until I took matters into my own hands and started ‘consciously’ fucking pfft.

*In hindsight … I wonder what ‘those kids’ had been through … because their ‘explorations’, I believe, weren’t particularly ‘natural’. They were things that had been ‘learned’. And in the wonderful act of hindsight, I don’t blame them now … or have any animosity toward them. They were just kids … like Me.*

I always did wonder where all those teachers were during these times?? Because I don’t recall even one intervening. Maybe they were practicing the art of turning a blind eye again, which seemed to be the norm for that era. I bet they made sure their kids were monitored at their schools though! Pfft again!

But in amongst all that…I found dance. My Nan loved dancing. She told me stories of being twirled around; of dancing till her feet were sore. She always glowed when she talked about dancing. Nan loved the old school musical theatre movies – I can’t remember the technical term for them – but you know, Gene Kelly and Debbie Reynolds type stuff. She loved them! And Opera…I didn’t share her love for that though ;)

But I did share her love for dance. She started me off in Ballet lessons. And I was good. I’m not sure how Nan was able to see that in me, but she was right. I loved it…and I danced my little tootsies off for a few years.

It’s the latter memories I prefer ;) However, they are all part of my story…part of who I am. I’m not ashamed of that anymore….still quite abit pissed off though….but learning to embrace the Ying with the Yang….and remembering that there is good shit with the bad shit…I just have to dig a little deeper to find it sometimes.

Love and light to me again….as I continue to unfold xo


kpm ©