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got.it.

Starting to get a grip on ‘being me’. Turns out, being me is slightly complex.

Go figure.

But the person that seems to make it more complex than need be…is ME.

Go figure again.

So I breath … and I don’t punch the wall (It hurts).

And I refocus the lens a little and go back to what is important. What the point is.

And like the photographs I like – I take – its all in the minute detail. The teensy weensy macroscopic zoomed in, thing. And when I can see that, I can zoom back.

I’m part of the larger picture.

I just see it differently than some.

And getting a grip on Me means, that this is perfectly and peculiarly, just fine.


#throwback Oct 30, 2015 @ 16:55


 

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“Pakeha Anger: Why Do They get Mad at Maori?”

Cognitive Dissonance succinctly explained.

For More Please Visit: https://kupumamae.com

Exploring the Depths of the Maori Experience


So on one beautiful Sunday arvo in downtown Auckland, I was out having a couple of catch-up beers with the cuz, when we unexpectedly got talking to a Pakeha, let’s call him Joe. In his late thirties, living in a predominantly Pakeha populated, small town in Southland, Joe has worked hard his whole life, made a decent way for himself and his family, which forms his philosophy and worldview towards living – work hard and reap the rewards. And so, according to Joe and his life philosophy, anybody that can’t make a life for themselves should suffer the consequences for being lazy and useless, which led him to offer opinions on Maori issues such as;

“Maori come from an aggressive culture and so Maori need to whiten up”
“The land is not Maori’s, as the Maori sold it and so Maori need to get over it”
“Maori/Pakeha conflict is a North Island thing…

View original post 657 more words

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so, I did it.

from #bnw series – Jun 3, 2017 @ 15:08

Another re-read and the #throwback of doom from Nov 28, 2015 @ 20:33. Yah know, it doesn’t seem that long ago but its been nearly 3 years. Although I feel slightly deflated cos its nearly 3 years, I also know thats it’s ALL progress … slow and steady.

When this bullshit first started, full-on, way back in 2010 or something like that … I thought it was gonna be a quick pill fix or a change of routine and regime fix. But No. It aint like that at all. Maybe if pts(d) had’ve been diagnosed way back when I was little … or even a teenager … or even in my twenties – oh wait, it was in my twenties … but not fucken treated … so yeah, if it had’ve been, maybe, just maybe, things would be different now. But I cant go down that rabbit hole … thats just depression-inducing.

So here I am, re-reading and noting all the things I did then and all the things I do now. Some of it’s easier, most of its the same. Which leads Me to the following conclusions.

  1. I’m not a people person.
  2. I’m not a social person if that socialising requires Me to ‘fake it’.

Things have changed slightly … I just hope that in the next couplely years they become even better ;)


I’m not sure that I did it well, but I did it…the birthday thing that is. And now I’m back at home in my safe little environment, hooked up to the breather thingy, trying to get my heart rate back down. Holy fuck.

I took my standard equipment…music, earphones, breather, stick, emergency meds, water and a piece of fruit. Next time I’ll take a bigger bag though lol. Yes, I looked like a complete freak and I could see it on the faces of peeps as I walked in. But not to be fazed…as I had a timeframe I wanted to achieve…I headed straight for the sanctity of the ‘nibbles’ table and waited for the paua fritters to arrive lol.

There were shitloads of people…way more than I expected. But I managed most of that pretty well. Even a couple of polite conversations. I struck 2 very lovely peeps…they had a nice aura about them…and I’m not really into the aura thing…but you get my drift. They ‘felt’ nice…and in my little world…that counts for everything. It was also these 2 that I felt most comfortable with. I could see they could see my slightly freaky awkwardness…but they weren’t focused on that…they weren’t overly nice or overly compensating or condescending…they were themselves. I liked that.

But all in all…I did it! Yah me. I’m fucking exhausted now but my heart rates going down slowly…at 78 now. And I was pleased with the partner…he was actually patient with me and didn’t try to talk me out of leaving and congratulated me for doing what I had…that’s progress for us :)

So i’m gonna go and find a nice movie now and make a cup of nanny tea and roll a ciggy and…

Sleep.

Congratulations ME…you achieved what you set out to do…and next time won’t be so hard…yes that’s right, there will be a next time :)

Love and light and lots of fluffy stuff to ME xxoo

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to.day

from #bnw series – Jun 21, 2017 @ 15:01

if the idea is to live

in the present,

like

Grand Master Oogway;

where are all

our fucken heads at?

really?

could this

actually mean,

that me forgetting

my shit,

all the time,

really represents

ME

living

in

the actual

present?

really?

I think so.

Namaste bitches.


#throwback May 5, 2016 @ 10:55


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

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trapped aversion

Well this was an interesting re-read of the #throwback, Jul 26, 2015 @ 01:13 … and kinda pertinent right at this moment … cos today is a fucker!

As I read and type and re-type, our house is vibrating to fuckery as a large digger is in our front yard, digging up the road to install a footpath. We were warned about it yesterday.

I don’t like diggers. I don’t like surprises. I don’t like my house shaking. I don’t like feeling trapped inside my house whilst my surroundings shake!!

So its been a tense fucking morning and theres been a couple panic attacks, hyperventilation and a shittonne of tears!! I rang my mama to get her to help me calm down .. and she did xo

And now I’m sitting on my bed, reading and writing and looking straight out my window at the road works fuckers lol … I think Me staring at them is making them a little uncomfortable and them seem to have sped up their digging lol.

Anywho … my point is … anxiety is a cunt!


I have a huge aversion to being put into a position a feel I have no control over. I’m working on figuring out what happens when I can feel it happening. But most of the time it’s here before I get whats happening. It’s anxiety and it’s not. It’s an overwhelming revoltion; a searing seething anger and a pounding headache…usually followed by a flood of tears…then more anger…so on and so forth.

It can be anything that I feel has taken away or seeks to take away my freedom…or freedom of choice. Or something like that. Anything or body that has the intent to manipulate for their own gain; my loss. Loss of anything…but mainly my will, free will.

Favours…I don’t like those. Technically speaking, I’m then indebted to someone or something. Just a straight forward transaction is fine. But a lingering…not so sure…possibly may come and collected on said favour anytime they please…not straight forward transaction…well the bites. Hard. I can’t do it.

I start feeling tight and suffocated.

Anything that starts to back me into a corner…I don’t like it.

Anything that makes me feel like I can’t get out…I don’t like it.

It doesn’t have to be actions…it can be words…or intent. Usually intent. Most people hide their true intentions. I think that’s why I like Autistic, Asperger’s, general mentally supposedly disabled peeps…and children…they don’t hide their intentions….they’re not able too. They are what they are. Beautiful and transparent…completely. Others, who have the capacity for bullshit…utilize it to their advantage…all the time. Their intentions are never quite what they seem. And I don’t like it.

I get that its PTSD and all that shit. I just don’t like it…being trapped.

I had my tubes tied just after I’d given birth to my second daughter. This was partially due to the preceding issue I have with not having a choice. The thing with pregnancy and child rearing is…if the other half decides to re-neg on the agreement, the load gets left with the child bearer. And I get that’s there’s always the exception to the god dam rule…but I didn’t want to be that woman with 50 kids, by herself…because the impregnator decided they…had other stuff to do…someone else came along…they had to help the guy down the road…and get left holding the baby so to speak.

I made a decision based on what I thought was the likelihood of a marriage failing; the history that I had lived and the possible future I was in for. For the now…not 50 kids later. I based that decision of what I knew at the time.

The choice gave me freedom…sort of.

I aborted, so I wouldn’t be trapped. I gave my kids up, so I wouldn’t be trapped. And for all the other prissy reasons…

I can’t be trapped.

When I feel trapped, I feel like what a caged animal looks like.

Pacing. I’ll rip your throat out if I can get out from behind these bars…kind of look.

The psychologist says it’s just a thought, a state of mind…that I need to realize it isn’t real anymore. I’m not trapped anymore.

Easy for her to say…shes not feeling trapped.

I get it though.

I just don’t like being or feeling fucking trapped.


photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

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shoulda stayed in bed

#throwback Sep 11, 2015 @ 22:41.

I had to L O L.

I do enjoy how I express myself sometimes ;)


  • one of ‘those’ days
  • dizzy as fuck
  • anxiety raging
  • shaky
  • hyperventilating
  • I found another patch on my head
  • cringe
  • not this again
  • tried to walk down the road
  • the world spun
  • I cried
  • upset, angry
  • home I go
  • home for now anyway
  • WTF, I like feeling good
  • YES, I fucking get that life has ups and downs
  • BUT, cant the ups be just a bit longer
  • For fucks sakes, please
  • Then, ass I caught my breath, just for a minute and stopped the world spinning
  • my father rang…
  • blah, blah, blah
  • me, me,me
  • I haven’t given a fuck about you most of your life…but I want you to listen to me grizzle on about my shit (write a Blog you old cunt!)
  • Yes, tiny bit harsh
  • Yes, I feel momentary guilt
  • Yes, I’m over the selfish prick
  • For now
  • And just as I caught another breath, and made the world stop spinning again
  • My partner rang
  • ‘Guess what’
  • What?
  • ‘You know how I had the MRI the other day?’
  • Yes
  • ‘Well the surgeon rang’
  • What at 730pm?
  • ‘Yes’
  • Wtf
  • ‘Yes, I know. He’s going on holiday’
  • Cunt…my new favourite word btw
  • ‘They found a tumour in the spine’
  • W T F …
  • really, what the fuck?
  • ‘They found a tumour in the spine’
  • Why? How?
  • ‘They said it has to be surgically removed, but explains the pain’
  • ‘They also say it’s not ‘covered”
  • Silence….
  • ‘Dad says hi btw… I chopped their wood cos they’re all sick…and they are cold…
  • he says hi and shame about the house ha-ha…yous can go live at auntys haha’
  • Oh My Fucken God
  • So we are broke,
  • near homeless,
  • near bald,
  • stressed
  • and now tumor-ised…
  • and You are getting them warm?
  • And he’s taking the piss out of our situation?
  • Old cunt.
  • If the tipuna can hear me
  • ‘Make your fucken point already because I am near over it
  • I really shoulda stayed in bed with my pillow and blanky.

my comforts

photography & art @kpm-artist 


 

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1987. beginning of something else

to remind me, that theres beauty in the world

The epic #throwback from Jul 1, 2015 @ 12:07 … and I still can’t read it all in one go. I’m not sure what this says about my ‘progress’ … whether I’m becoming more ‘in touch’ with whats really going on in my head / heart, whatever the fuck it is. I’m hoping that this is a good thing … that the pain I get from reading more own shit, is because I can actually feel shit now. Hmmmm, sounds pretty plausible lol.

I did enjoy reading the old comments … I miss Johanna and her encouragement … but am also profoundly grateful that she was around for these first few steps into the past and into recollections, that this time, I wasn’t really alone for.


I started 5th form back at college. As I recall it had been a rocky summer vacation time. I had decided I didn’t want to ‘go back home’ for Christmas after telling my mother what had happened to me. It started a sort flood gate for me and a feud that continued for a LONG time. I didn’t want to go and sit in the mix with the cunty pedo uncle doing his typical bullshit and ruining Christmas celebrations for everyone; and nothing was going to happen to him for what he had done to me. I was still scared of him and I knew everyone around him was scared of him.

To put him into perspective…he wasn’t just a straight-laced looking guy. He was scary as shit. Looking and demeanour. He was unpredictable and violent when he wanted to be. At this stage he had limited tattoos, but what he had screamed ‘i’m fucked up’. He would froth at the mouth when he became angry and that was at anything that didn’t agree with him. At this stage he was aligning to the white supremacy movement and skin head logos adorned his personage. What a two-faced cunt. But it wasn’t this that scared me the most…it was that no one every stood up to him. In hindsight he was a spoilt little shit really. But I hated him with every fibre of my being…and I was scared of him with every fibre of my being.

I had asked my mother not to say anything about what had happened…to anybody. I guess I was still grappling with the whole thing myself. I was peaking when it came to nightmares…having extremely vivid and horrific repetitive dreams. So when it came to going back to school, I wasn’t up for it.

I went reluctantly but gravitated more towards friends who didn’t want to be there either…for whatever reasons. And theirs were as legit as mine. I’d found weed by this stage and alcohol had become one of my best friends.

I had a part-time job round here somewhere. Working in a fruit and vege shop. I didn’t like being alone in there all the time, but I enjoyed the pay. It went towards the aforementioned!

And I got my driver’s licence at this age! This was the era when 15 was the age to get your licence; as long as you passed the 20 something questions and were able to perform a hill start and a 3 point turn, you were good to go. The guy that taught me to drive, was a genuine sort…and patient. We lived in a small town surrounded by open land so he used to take me out the back of this place and get me to go 140ks on the straits. His reasoning was that if I could manage 140ks without wobbling then I could handle anything. Fair enough. I got my licence, so his theory must have held some validity.

I found another couple of really good friends during this time. They were both a lot older than me. One lady had 4 kids, she was about 28ish. Single parent and trying to do the parenting and church thing. She was judged harshly but the church peeps, but she was a good lady. I used to stay there when I’d had enough of home. We’d have long conversations on inequality and music and where she came from and what she wanted for her and her babies. The other good friend was still ‘in the closet’ around this time. He too was trying to do the religious thing, hoping it would bring him peace. It didn’t. And he tried to top himself a few times; unsuccessfully I’m pleased to say. He’s out of the church now, and out of the closet.

I found another friend at this time. I ended up ‘flatting’ with her for awhile…it was more like we drank copious amounts of piss and took shitloads of drugs in a flatting situation. It wasn’t really much more than that. Her and I were inseparable for a long time. She had a couple of kids and from what I know she went on to live a pretty good and full life. She died at 42 though, I think; cancer.

Well it was in this flatting situation that I first had ‘consensual’ sex. Well as consensual as it can be when your off your face. As you can imagine this worried my mother. She had taken me out of school as it didn’t seem to be working there. And she’d put me on Correspondence. I did well, again. Academics wasn’t my issue really. When I put my mind to it, I did it well. But I had other things going on, internally, and school was not my priority. Being numb was.

So midway through my 15th year I became pregnant with my first child. This was inevitable really. And at the time there was huge horror and disbelief…but what were they all expecting really? My Grandmother was the only person who was thrilled. Her first great-grandchild, and I guess she could see beyond all the not so important bullshit to what was important…another baby to love :). She called me regularly and told me what I should be eating and doing :)

My ‘in the closet’ mate and his mother took me under their wings too. He made sure I was eating and resting and not doing what I shouldn’t be. It didn’t work of course but his love for me was evident and I appreciated it.

The father of my unborn baby, was an asshole. But hey, that was inevitable too really. He didn’t start that way, and I had all the 15-year-old romantic notions that we would have a little family and go on picnics and go to the park and love and take care of our little bundle of joy and we would eventually get married and live happily ever after behind the white picket fence in our lovely little house with our pretty flowers and washing drying at the back and blah blah blah. Yeah, well it didn’t quite work that way at all.

His family was drunken violent fuckers. I’d never met any persons like these ones. They didn’t eat. They drank. They didn’t buy food. They bought alcohol. They didn’t talk. They yelled, and drank more. I’d never met anyone that appeared to detest their kids as much as this lot. They had two boys living with them and they treated them worse than mutt dogs. They didn’t bring food home for the kids. In the two-ish years I was with him, I saw groceries being bought once…and it was like Christmas for them. Most of it was junk food but they ate it up like there wasn’t going to be any the next day…and there wasn’t. In its place, were crates of piss.

He was 16 when I got pregnant and he had started taking harder drugs in there somewhere. As I was giving it up, because I was pregnant, he was revving it up. And as he started loosing his mind, literally…so my white picket fence dream started to go up in smoke. I hung on hoping that it would all change once our baby was born. But it didn’t. Instead, he became violent. The first beating came while I was in the hospital after having my daughter.

I guess I had hoped that escaping home, escaping church, escaping what I thought were suffocating situations…I would find freedom; and peace. What I didn’t get then though, was it was never going to go away…these were my demons. They weren’t going anywhere. I might not have put them there…but 40 years later, I’d still be exorcising them.

Love and lots and lots of light to me as I continue to unfold xoxo


 

fake.ass

i know
your faking it.


#throwback Feb 15, 2016

Link

I am Racist, and You Probably are Too

A realistic, refreshing and informative read on Racism and what I essentially call, white privilege and a reality check.

Comments are turned off here. Please visit Peas and Hominy for more.

 

Peas and Hominy

“Hate and ignorance have not driven the history of racist ideas in America. Racist policies have driven the history of racist ideas in America.”

– Ibram X. Kendi

It is quite disheartening to realize that the people that need to read this will not. I assume that if you are reading this, you probably already have an open mind and are willing to engage. I think I have come to terms with this because we have to begin somewhere. We cannot keep sitting on the sidelines waiting for the world to change.

Now, you may think that racism is not truly an issue, or at least not an issue in your immediate context. You may claim that you are not a racist because you avoid hating others because of their skin color. I have believed both of these things, and I was wrong on both accounts.

I can only really…

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i knew you were waiting for me ~ aretha & michael

I Knew you Were Waiting For Me ~ Aretha and Michael, 1987

“So how many can duet with Aretha?

Not many – If any”

<3