unfortunate chain of events , nei …

see

they aren’t talking,

cos it’s an unwelcome

uncomfortable truth.

& for some,

it’s just way more profitable that we stay killing ourselves & our own.

[ surely not you say ..]

[but .. yes ..]

it’s about more than talking.

it’s about patriarchy,

misogyny,

colonisation,

trauma,

intergenerational trauma ..

mash all that up with a tonne of booze & a pandemic

and tadah.

if we can completely change a societies structure in just over a year,

to include tracing people,

places

and households,

for the betterment of ‘communities’,

then we should have sorted the Domestic Violence shit storm years ago.

no?

yes?

But we haven’t.

why not?

go back to the top.


kpm©

Image

& then there was this ..

yah know how I been talking randomly about shit being hard, good shit I mean .. being hard to do when you in a state of panic or anxiety .. & that loving something enough to want to be doing it is like, level zero. cos you been wired to be picking up on multiple threats or deal with multiple layers of anxiety and trauma, all at once?
well …
it kinda pissed me off .. & got me thinking.
what do I love.
love enough to want to be doing all the time.
not a job.
but a thing, what you call it .. a hobby ..
anyways ..
after thinking a lot a lot one night lol the only thing I could come up with that I absolutely loved .. have always loved .. was, music.
specifically, playing music.
& as lame ass as it seemed at first lol I’m gazing round my room, looking at my records, & staring at my decks, & pondering on the meaning of motherfucking life and existence lol
& there it was.
my love.
the thing I’ve always loved.
playing music.
then I got nervous .. groan.
& my head says .. ‘you suck at playing those’ ..

& instead of entertaining that thought process, my insides said ..
‘fuck up. she been busy surviving & now she got time to do whatever the fuck she wants to in whatever capacity she wants.’

so that’s what I’m doing.

playing music.

going through all my records. figuring out which ones I love. trying to mix them. changing the BPM cos I didn’t know what I was doing way back when. listening. smiling. listening some more.

guess what.
I love it.
dunno for how long. dunno if it’s something I’ll do forever.
but ..
if I died tomorrow.
I’d be happy with what I’ve discovered.

Yeah.
that’s it.


kpm©

guess what i reckon ..

speed,

is a trauma response.

designed to make u respond impulsively.


when i think about our tipuna and the old school Hui on the marae .. not the new wananga ones .. the ones that have u yawning but sleeping with one eye open .. those ones.

those bastards went for days lol.


Why.


cos everything got looked at, turned over, relooked at, re turned and relooked @.

no motherfucking stone was left unturned and it was done on our terms at our pace.


im gonna let that simmer.


kpm©

? ?

Was tryna think bout what it is that I love ..

besides my kids and mokos I mean..
like what do I love to do ..


& I couldnt think of anything that I absolutely love enough to want to be doing all the time ..


& yah know what ..
That pisses me off.


kpm©

after the displeasure of having to go in.to the shop .. groan.

thoughtings for today :

there’s a distinct lack of empathy or willingness to see things from another’s perspective or position. now I dunno if this is a worldwide phenomenon, but I’d hazard a guess at it being so.

so I’ve had ptsd longer than I’d care to mention. during the emerging of said disorder / illness, whatever the fuck yah wanna call it, I’ve learned how to manage it. Well, me, with it. now that hasn’t been a pretty picture.at.all. but I’ve done / am doing it anyway.

what I’ve noticed over the years is the aforementioned lack of empathy, but that aside, I’d come to believe that I don’t owe an explanation of what or who I am, & that to be misunderstood, goes with the package.

you see, I don’t need to be understood entirely, to be treated as a human being that deserves basic decency.

by decency, I mean fairness.

diversity & inclusion have made their way onto the tongues of many this year. & With good reason.

however .. isn’t it really a crock of shit?

inclusion of all would mean that we allow for all, not just the majority.

and this time I’m referring to those with disabilities. all disabilities.

when you go into any shop, is it immediately apparent that it supports the wellness of all it’s customers? ie : are all isles wide enough for wheelchair access? are lights able to be dimmed for those with visual impairments? is shelving arranged for easy access for all range of heights? are thier spaces calm enough for the anxiety ridden to gather their thoughts?

or is everything & everyone so rushed and hell bent on making a dollar that to be disabled is to be a customer service ‘issue’? 

quite literally, that isn’t inclusion.

getting a customer to wait while you check if someone can assist them, or telling them to come back when it’s not so crowded, or asking that they explain more than twice what it is they mean .. isn’t inclusion .

I get clarification .. but to be willfully ignorant after a disabled person has explained they are disabled and need assistance in a certain area or instance , is cruel.

It’s also stupid.

cos 9/10, they won’t be coming back to your service centre, shop, or whatever.


kpm©


avail.

the feeling of always having to be available .

always being open, available, learning , grinding , selling.

then move to other spaces to heal, recouperate, create ..

that makes no sense.

everything constantly having access to you.

also ..

the old ‘god breaks us to remake us’ bs.

whats with that???


kpm©


. . .

Nothing permanent
Nothing heavy
Nothing like loose ends
Nothing non purposeful

Cos then I’d be a permanent .. attached .. i can lose.

Oh lawd.

Impermanent leaves room for being wrecked .


kpm©


access.

Ruminating on this for a long while but hadn’t quite put all the pieces together.
Watched a couple igtvs that resounded my internals and been reading similar shit for ages ..
Gist is ..
The only ‘body’ that should have complete access to me, in totality .. is Me.
Noone, nothing else.
Even a hoe gets paid.
Having complete access without consent is otherwisely called .. rape.

& letting that shit ruminate …


kpm©


cos ..

Sometimes I feel so fucken fragile it fucks me right off.

Like whhhy.

Why can’t I just be solid all the fucken time.

Yeah yeah ..

Rhetorical question.


kpm©


 

mov.ing.

you grieve.

grieve some more.

take notes.

let it go.

& then move the fuck on.

start by doing right by you.

that’s it.

.

.

.

.

#life #hacks

& #BS


kpm©


 

a quick peri menopausal moan ..

lol.

yup shes still rolling.

& yah know, just when i think i got it sussed .. like, ah yes, thats a hot flush .. it will pass   ..   or, ah yes, that is the walls of my uterus flexing causing pain right down through my asshole, it will pass … or, my personal favourite .. ah yes, its a constipated bowel routine even though you had the shits a couple days ago .. it will pass .. LOL.

my fuck .. its never fucking ending .. & im trying to remember that all this biology helped birth beautiful babies etc etc .. *eye ball roll*

but some days i get the curve ball & today is one of them.

hot cheeks.

thats it. flushed as fuck hot ass cheeks.

nothing else.

& it feels like those bitches are on fire. so much so i thought i had a fever.

yup i checked all that & nope i dont.

finally googled & guess what comes up. thats right, peri fucking menopause.

i dont know how to settle uncomfortable hot ass cheeks down cos i aint ever had them. fuck.

lol, i mean in the big scheme of things, annoying hot cheeks isn’t really huge, other than the fact that they’re annoying.

so today im doing ice packs on the cheeks with a jersey on so the rest of me doesnt freeze ffs. & ima taking it easy.

*insert the usual*


kpm©


 

a memory

‘raukawa’ (a place i once lived) was a time i loved, un-interfered with, parenting, loving, & raising kids .. but it didn’t last forever .. i wish it could’ve been slightly different etc .. but, i had a goal, a purpose, and the kids were it. looking back i not only made the best of that situation, i enjoyed it. i loved it. and the memories of it i also love x


kpm©


 

splayed out, splattered out .. me.

shes a messy bitch ..

.

i’ve realised every time someone has said, be in the moment ,  it makes me feel angry. And then, sad.

My moments have been for 32 plus years, have been something to brace myself for, they’ve been combatant, been a thing done to me that I haven’t been able to control. To be in the moment is to realise and embrace anger, sadness, being subjecated, controlled, it has involved deep loss .. to be in that moment in all that it actually is , would have meant absolute madness .. to be in a moment has always been about holding on .. 

So I missed it.

Missed large portions of supposed happiness? What? What did I miss? Perception, someone else’s perception?

It is cruel to ask someone to be in a moment that they could not bare themselves. 

It is judgemental and belittling of their pain. It is dismissive of their survival.

This decade has been about rest. Space. Realisation.

So i can be in a moment without having to bare it, but to enjoy every little intricacy in it.

At the same time I feel like I am mourning .. grieving.

Nearly ready for more.

.

reassessing what a decade ‘did’ .. thinking that it was a waste or a rest .. actually it was ..

figuring out what happened.

what i suffered.

remember details.

trying to find good pieces to go along side those stories.

reassembling the stories.

dropping some.

remembering what i wanted.

dropping what i wanted.

trying something else.

dropping something else.

whilst aging.

the body changes.

the hormones. learning about them. and touch sensations .

figuring out what i dont like.

what i dont mind.

what i like.

what is necessary.

what isn’t.

.

someone once had a dream about me & a broken hand .. the interpretation was that was me, that i needed re breaking to reset the bones to heal properly.

.

i had a dream recently, that the femoral artery in my leg had been ‘knicked’, & it was bleeding out with my pulse.

i found the bleed, not the site of the wound. i stopped the bleeding. .. by wiping it clean and keeping still.

.

theres practically no-one saying that i cant do something anymore. there are the odd criticisms but its not a literal, ‘no you cant go here, say that, do that, voice that, parent like that’ etc etc .. theres no-one. so why do i continue to hear it? do it?

.

so i should, Stop .. telling myself I should be doing more! 

Berating myself for resting.

Beating myself up for supposedly not knowing better.

.

I am allowed to rest. I done did 32 years of being beat down, and yet I still survived. I done 32 years of torment and abuse. I suffered. And I still survived.

I survived 32 years of being groped, raped, suffocated, belittled, not believed, changing tactics, self healing, moving, managing, changing, learning and being degraded and still survived.

I did all that and still managed to achieve shit.

My kids are my greatest achievement.

And then I did more.

I am allowed to rest! Recoup. Heal.

Recalibrate, ponder, soul search, get angry and heal some more.

I am allowed.

I am allowed to manage illness in my own way, finding solutions, getting what I need.

And I’m still allowed to rest.

“Cut yourself some motherfucking slack girl!

Geezus!” is what i keep telling myself. 

Watch the sunsets.

Gaze out the window.

Sleep.

Breathe.

X

.

by 11, smoking was my way of silencing my pain and anger and giving the finger to anything that said I couldn’t. It was harm done at my choosing.

And now I’m trying to let it go like an old toxic friend and I can feel its roots pulling out from the base of my spine, my puku.

Like im not in control, but I am. That this is my choice. 

Never to be forced again to do what I don’t want to. To bow for the greater good. To listen for the greater good.

But I feel like screaming, crying, smashing and sleeping, all at the same time.

.

its some deep rooted fuckery. but better out than in, right ..

.


kpm©


 

yep ..

sometimes i just need to put my thoughts somewhere.


kpm©


 

today .. was ..

i remember when i first got vertigo, just over 10 years ago now .. i hadn’t linked it to anything else other than having a bad case of the flu and my sinuses being blocked ..

i was about 36-37 then.

i also knew my health wasnt right due to the amount i was vomitting and shitting and the amount of weight i was losing .. oh as well as my hair .. again.

so, i did what we all do.

i went to the doctors.

i got a med cert. i tried to recover and move on.

that was the start of something larger that would suck my energy something fierce.

but at 38ish i had more energy to fight.

im 48 now and i can feel my energy depleting.

sometimes i turn myself inside out to find solutions cos thats the kinda bitch i am.

im solution focussed.

in finding a solution i’ll shred the evidence i have to source the suitable solution. if that dont work ill try something else.

but, i still get chronic vertigo.

& its seems like it worsened with the onset of peri menopause .. insert eyeball roll.

& im still trying to find solutions.

but some days .. ohhh some days .. its all i can do to stand. walking is near impossible. & anything above those 2 things is draining af.

but i take notes.

so that when i have a steady day i can find alternative solutions.

today is one of those days.

its actually about day 3.

and i was reminded of stumbling up stairs back in my 30s, trying to hold on to the railing and not topple over. i decided in that moment i needed to find alternatives to how i did things.

that if i couldn’t drive to get the groceries i could utilise online.

if i couldn’t sit on a chair without feeling wonky id sit on the floor.

that id minimise and reorganise what i needed so it was on hand and i didn’t have to make 10 trips downstairs or bend over and stand up a tonne of times.

& that was the start.

i still sit on floor.

i still utilise online services.

& im still trying to find solutions.

still.

today im tired.

tomorrow i hopefully kick ass again .. hopefully.


kpm©


 

just some more thoughts on deep ass shit ..

covid? sure thing .. let it ride was my thing. & sure, the global reactions fucked me off, but hey .. let it ride.

& it did, & here we are in Level 1 .. better off? fuck knows.

.

& now the world is imploding, again. but this time its seeping what has been brewing there for eons.

the reactions, not the death, are overwhelming. the ignorance is mind boggling but not surprising.

.

today i was reminded that for me, racism has been juxtaposed with assault. the covert & overt acts are seedy & similar. the reactions are the also similar. the ignorance is also similar.

paralleling these 2 atrocities have always helped me understand the both.

but here & now, this is about the one. its about me & its not. its about all of us & its not.

to feel the black world screaming at its oppressors is a mighty thing to witness. its also painful af.


kpm©


 

i slept under the stars ..

wondering .. again .. if living in a moment, or rather, enjoying the moment, is just as simple as it sounds.

so instead of regretting something, or thinking that you should be doing something else ‘more productive’, is actually counter productive and full of shit.

that enjoying the movie, sitting on your ass watching the sun set, reading a book or just watching tv, can all be done to its fullest enjoyment, without regrets or second guesses .. if we actually embrace the moment?????

.

so do i reframe what the ‘something’ is? .. eg: i slept under the stars ..

does that have to mean outside in a tent, or on the grass, up on a mountain top, with company or without, does there have to be a photo op for IG, proof of a sunset, stars, moon .. 

or can it be something completely different whereby it is just what it is.

in my bed, under my roof, under the stars <3


kpm©


 

tis been a brewing ..

which isn’t really usual for me,  right.

but i haven’t quite been able to get my head round it all .. so this, as usual, will tumble out as it does.

as a fore-mention .. apparently the hormones dont care if the world is struggling with some kind of epic pandemic proportionalities .. they will still fuck wit cha lol.

sooo ..

the last couple weeks have seen our country move from a full on level 4, which included a tonne of fear & complete lockdown – no travel or delivery services except for ‘essential services’ .. which also meant ‘essential’ was subsequently, redefined .. then just like that, apparently the worst was over & we moved from a 4 to a 3 .. & that included non-contact services could re-open, peeps could go back to work (non-essential) as long as there was social distancing (yes, that also got redefined as an actual thing) put in place .. this also included the re-opening of shit services including Maccas .. & good lawd did we fall for it or what!!! ques for miles, rubbish for miles.  .. then all of a sudden, & i say that with the attached drama that is intended lol .. we’re moving from 3 to 2. & this is where our country be atm.

i’ll pause that bus here ..

.

i’ve watched the world, literally, display some fucked up behaviour over the last month and a half. the ‘good’ upshot, is ive been able to compare my pts(d) with the anxiety & symptoms being readily displayed on social media, & find an unusual balance / comparison / reality.

for me, life over the last decade, has been about adjustment, utilising resources & finding resources i didn’t know existed .. learning .. fast & slow .. trying to process @ a pace that suits me & then recalibrate for a world that, as a whole, doesnt give a shit about me or people like me.

i’d come, or was fast arriving, prior to the covid, to a place of trying to accept me for me on a deeper level. that anxiety exists .. pts(d) is a symptom, healing takes place @  levels & is continuous, & getting stuck isn’t always a bad thing. i’d also started to embrace the beauty in it all. that being ‘stuck’ meant quiet .. quiet appreciation for whats going on right here & now .. what nature / life has to show you even if you’d rather be doing something else.

& then when the world ground to a halt & toilet paper became scarce & toilet paper jokes became the thing *eye ball roll inserted*, i realised how un-ready & un-prepared people were for being ‘un-well’. i’d spent the past 10 plus years grappling with something they all had approximately 3 days to adjust too. at that point, i hoped there’d be some kind of cosmic shift *inserting another eye ball roll* & a universal awakening of some kind.

instead, they made tik toks, decided that supermarkets workers were actually worth something & took up hand washing.

it all disturbed me, but i couldn’t put my finger on the why it disturbed me. people are freaks & really, did this behaviour surprise me? nope. so why be disturbed by it?

because .. as i soon discovered .. it was in my hood.

what does that mean?

because ive cultivated ‘alternative’ resources, avenues of support etc & they’ve all been via the internet .. i’ve also learnt how to wade through the sometimes ses pit and bullshit that is the internets .. & then to have millions of peeps, all new to the game, get up in there and disturb its flow … wellllllll, that messed with me feng shui.

so what was my point again …

ummm ..

i dont know that we’ve actually actuals learnt anything.

now that the internets (round here anyways) have died down & everyones returned to their ‘normal’ lives, its become apparent, to me anyways, that they were quite content with the pollution, the humdrum, the bills, the raucous, the lame ass-ness .. the complacency. yes, thats it .. they’re quite content with the complacency that comes with ‘normality’.

but im not.

im not now, nor have i ever been.


kpm©


 

&

i dont like WP reader layout. at all.

JS


kpm©


 

Image

what she .. was

@ 16, walking home from the ‘dance’, just like you had done a tonne of times before. 

& as you stroll down the road reminiscing on the events of the evening, the thrill of freedom that comes with dancing and singing, the rhythm & flow of the music ..

& you feel something hurting your head & then nothing.

you wake later, when its darker .. & you are bleeding. you feel woozy but cant recollect anything. youre sore all over. particularly around the genital area.

you get home & are told off for being late .. way too late .. reprimanded for the possibility of being ‘loose’ …

anyway, time goes by .. your aches & pains dissipate & then, your belly starts to swell. you periods have stopped & your mother is telling you you are getting fatter …

& you are sent away with your swollen belly.

cos girls like you aren’t welcome here ..

neither are your babies.

you have your baby.

& it is taken from you and adopted out .. well, given away.

post war .. you meet a man .. you are married .. you become pregnant.

you are happy and content & full of life .. this is a second chance .. to love ..

& when he is born ..

he isn’t breathing. 

you cry ..

& cry silently.

on & on.

then stop.

cos this is not the time for tears. this is no time to cry over spilt milk ..

time passes & you become pregnant again .. this time he is a healthy baby boy .. a beautiful bundle of love.

you sing to him, dance with him, love him fully & completely.

then another pregnancy & again,  youre filled with joy .. another child, another chance to give all the love that you have.

she is born and she is just as beautiful as you had imagined .. you dance and sing her songs .. rock her and cradle her .. love her to bits. 

& then life happens, as it does ..  in between all of that beauty .. & you have moments of immense sadness & grief .. 

you become pregnant again .. filled with the joy a mother feels when she desperately wants babies .. 

& then she is born.

& shes not breathing.

another. not breathing.

you cry. deep deep tears. the tears & grief that a mama feels when her babies are hurt, but this feels empty.

they take her. & bury her.

you dont speak of her again.

then, life. life continues.

the ups & the downs.

& you become pregnant again .. he is sick but he lives, & this is your last chance. so you love like no other.

then life. life continues.

& your living children dont love you like you thought they would.

your first grandbaby is adopted out.

& lifes heartbreak seems to be repeating itself.

but their are more grandchildren coming & life keeps going.

as do you.

you have so much love to give.

& with each heartbreak, you rise & continue to love.

and then ..

your first living son .. takes his own life.

& the world stands still.

well, it does for you.

you can feel your heart cracking & breaking & the blood flowing where only tears once flowed.

how do you mend?

how on earth do you mend.

slowly.

so very slowly.

how do you keep on loving anything ??

.

i dont know .. but you did.

.

This is my Nans story. well part of it.

today i remember her & all her babies & all the never ending love she managed to give us all.

Love You Nan xx


kpm©