yep i am a self confessed minimalist.

[funny how they haven’t got some kind of retard mental illness name for that *insert eye ball roll* considering the amount of flack i’ve gotten over the years for being like this … until … apparently, it became one of those ‘new’ things that every cunt was embracing … taking up courses to learn … & paying a trillion dollars for someone else to rearrange their fucken homes …

ohhhh, & then its aight.]

any.way …


i’m a minimalist.


do i require everyone else to be a minimalist?


but here’s the thing … which isn’t a new phenomenon in my life, but has made another round and re-presented itself forthwith, so i can re-deal with another layer of it ffs …  … … like religion, i dont require you to be like me. like the way i dress, i prefer you do you & i do me. like the way i laugh, smile, eat – you do you, i do me.

so whilst im doing me, all minimalist & shit … the hardest part of that, is holding my own space!

believe it or not. someone sees a clear space (physically & emotionally) & feels to obliged to dump their shit there. whether they think i need the empty space filled up, or whether they think im poor, or whether they believe i could utilise the extra junk … they can not hear my NO or Fuck Off.

the whole idea of being a minimalist & embracing nil shit, is … get this … NOT having extra shit cluttering up my clear spaces.

amazing right.

so im guessing this round of fuckery has to do with a new layer of boundaries & not letting mine be crossed. another level of saying no & holding that no, even when the other cunt doesnt hear me. another level of owning my space & letting them own theirs.

it seems to be (like i said) a never ending cycle in my life.

cos i’m quite content to be left alone to play in the sandbox by myself. i’m also alright to share that sandbox. but you do you over there, & i’ll do me here. i’m not interested in collaborating with your bullshit or your glory.

i just want to be allowed to be. period.

kpm ©


too brown?

i am officially done with trying to ‘brown up’ the space.



it is my body.

ever watched a movie, where only certain bits of it stick with you & by the time you get too the end you know you gonna have to re-watch it to understand the whole thing?

yeah, well that’s what i feel like at moment. actually, what i’ve felt like for quite a long while now.

i know i’ve been trying to slowly unravel my own mystery & at times i feel like i’m succeeding; @ other times, i feel like i’ve lost the plot, quite literally.

well over the last few days a few more pieces to my ‘owning my own space’ story, have become a little clearer.

following on from my last couple of posts, i’ve become quite aware that who & what i am @ present, is pretty much a shell.

thats not to say its a bad thing or even a bad place to be; but i guess i haven’t quite understood my own feng shui entirely.

but as i’ve started piecing together the life that has been mine, i’ve realised how detached i’ve been from all thats gone on around me & the deleterious effect of the things that had happened to me. i get that i have pts(d) & that comes from child sexual assault.

what i haven’t entirely grasped is the amount of time i had struggled to feel safe & that any amount of absolute ‘body ownership’ & safety in my space, has only started to come about after my grandfather died & i no longer had to see the person who had assaulted my personage & my personality for years.

that has only been within the last 11 years.

i started completely losing my shit about 11 years ago.

i had been kind of aware that the 2 events collided. i hadn’t really realised just how much they collided.

when my grandfather died, we were all there. by we, i mean the only people i have ever really loved besides him. that is my daughters & my mother.

the afternoon leading up to my grandfathers death, we had to put up with that pedo assailant cunt being present with us, making a fucking menace of himself as usual. a few hours before my grandfather died, the pedo cunt left. well he ran away actually. & none of us stopped him & none of us cared he left.

i had put up with him to a certain extent over the years because i wanted to be with my grandparents. but in the years after my 2nd daughter was born & i cared more for my kids safety than my own, i had culled the amount of time we spent at my grandparents & tolerated the company of the pedo. they knew what he had done to me in the years following the birth of my kids, because i told them. i was tired of the lies & tired of putting up with his bullshit.

that confrontation had an unusual effect on our family. which i have since learned, isn’t really that unusual at all.

my grandmother went into denial. she made excuses for her son but at the same time tried really hard to be consoling of me. i could see she was torn.

my mother was much the same.

my brother was possibly to young to understand but I’m sure it effected him.

my grandfather cried & apologised & treated his son with more disdain than he had prior to learning this piece of information. it would be fair to say he hated him. i didn’t care.

what has all this piecing together come too?

i’ve realised that my body, such as it was, never felt safe … or mine, until i no longer had to be around the pedo cunt anymore. & i have felt so detached from it i barely know how to stay in it. my body that is.

i’ve protected myself with detachment. but now that that isn’t necessary & the threat of having him in & around me, is no longer there, i still don’t feel safe in my body.

a few weeks ago, i read the follow piece from an article @ afropunk.com.

“This is why I love the Ta-Nehisi Coates quote so much: “my spirit is my flesh.” Historically, we have had to disassociate ourselves from our own physical bodies as a form of resistance and survival. When you are forced to stand naked on a auction block wearing nothing but shackles and chains while having your body sold into slavery, your flesh becomes a property and the only thing you could possibly retain in that moment is your spirit.”

its stuck with me but i haven’t really got why, until today.

my spirit is strong. its what kept me alive. i’ve called it my ‘fight’ or my determination; which is also my spirit.

my spirit, or fight, is strong, because my body & my mind has never really been my own. its been manipulated, twisted, contorted, destroyed, violated & broken by cunts who are quite happy to take & destroy.

now i have a chance to reassemble myself as i see fit. as i desire.

& it feels like i can take with me what i want to, from my past, & i can completely dump what i dont want. its not mine. its something that was ’caused’ in reaction to anothers harm … & it was my survival.

i dont need it anymore.

my body & my mind, is wholly my own. no-one elses.

i’m not owned or too small or too malaible to be contorted anymore. & i have nearly rested enough to understand this.

so now its time for something new. something different. something wholly mine. something empowering. something stronger than what i have been.

& i’m just a little bit excited i reckon ;)




the same space doesn’t exist.

time changes it.

kpm ©



create what you want,

where you are.

kpm ©


its hot.

literally clearing space,

is my version of ‘hot’.

i’m simple like that.


kpm ©



photography .186

#bnw #dark #spaces #photography #kpm©

kpm © : ig @kpm-artist



apparently there are delegated spaces.


stuff designed for those certain spaces.

also turns out, you don’t have to conform to any of that bullshit.

the delegations are more like: ‘suggestions’.

so if you don’t like it the way it is,

clear that shit out & re-inform your spaces.




photography .16

#cistercian #monastery #architecture #photography #kpm ©

kpm ©