Moments, stretched into elongated epitaphs.

Urgh, this last stretch is a betch, as I wend my words winding up a good few years invested in one project.

The past two months have dragged, dredging up dissonance and doldrums, but encouragingly no depression.

Writing this last part of my thesis has been a struggle. I realised that a lot of that of the struggle was internal, where I created problems out of  the words I was making; minute details of expression exasperating me. Although, when I stand back I can see that context is everything, and perhaps my context has been frayed somewhat with the pressure of lots of work and impending deadlines … in this case I hope to cross the line alive…

Suicide – I have a new project focusing on rangatahi takatāpui suicide intervention called – Te Aho Tāhuhu. I’m still in prep mode for this particular project, because the delivery of the intervention doesn’t begin until December, but holy shit, it has felt like a lot of work already. The series of exhibitions showcasing my PhD is a grind, a bad grind. I’m finding it hard to coordinate all the strands I am trying to weave together and my inner-voice keeps saying, “stand back and let things weave themselves together”, which is what I am practicing. Every day I get a little something achieved but I feel swamped and on edge.

It’s important to me, and to others that I do not stop, that I do not give in to the negative self-talk, that I smoke a joint when I feel the desire, that I keep up with my detox diet and most importantly that I love myself. I feel tired, but for this time of year in the middle of winter my skin looks epic which tells me that I am well. HIV does this thing where you tend to doubt your capacity to be healthy. Of course, like most of the things I research, this stems from stigma rather than reality.

I need to call the printers and sort my fucking prints out.

I’m looking forward to the coming week. I’ll be visiting Sydney with a cohort of my PhD peeps and two of our high-power supervisors, but I am also taking two of my teenage nephews with me. We’re being hosted by Jumbunna, which the the Indigenous house of learning at UTS, and we’ll be sharing knowledge and being political in support of our Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander relations.

There’s lots of reasons to look forward to visiting Sydney … biceps, I love biceps🙂.

the rush

if you leave.jpg

Countdown is on, the song – music and rhythmic timing, harmonies and melodies crash into enticing tensions. Movement, momentum and drums – beating like the heartbeats of poi colliding with wrists, appendages, limbs and memories.

I’m in the zone and it feels like fire; it coalesces like frictional fibers as they twitch and switch it up with renewed vigor.

I only have a few more chapters to write and they are seemingly just waiting for me to wrap up a multitude of conversations and capacities, until they erupt like a fire-bomb from my fingers.

Its so weird, I still can’t believe I’m going to be a doctor. That’s a lot of potential right there and I suppose much of me lately is contemplating how it will ignite and sustain an energy of longevity. Goodness is the answer to that questionable pose. That’s what I am going to use my PhD for – goodness.

I had kōrero with my cuzzies, mother, brother and sisters over the weekend – the global future looks bleak and as I scroll through my Instagram, I wonder how much fragility all those pretty people will experience in realising we are living an unsustainable fantasy. It worries me that people have so much time to invest in their image, because no amount of imagination can halt the rising seas, the crumbling decay of Western politics and the scary situation of economic global resource plundering that signals stratagems toward war. Obama got the Nobel Peace Prize but that nigger’s admin has spent more money on weapons than has ever been spent in the white annals of history.

Presence of mind keep me constant to the flow, so that while the big world works its churning burn, I micro-manage the immediacy of my intimate reality.

It’s a rush.

CFP – Sexual and Reproductive Health and Rights Conference – Wellington, Aotearoa New Zealand

Check out the link for abstracts to this conference to be held 10 – 12 Nov 2016.

Abstracts can be for conference presentations, poster presentations, interactive workshops, art installations and performances.

Abstract deadline 31 May 2016

One of the conference themes is Trans Identities, the others are Abortion, Advocacy, Health promotion and sexuality education, Reproductive health, Sexual health.

33 partial scholarships are available through the conference website.





So I’m off crackbook for the next two months so that I can focus less on the constant stream of bullshit that is my newsfeed. It’s depressing – the wars – the increasing poverty and dependency – the abuse – and holy shit, some people are so full of crack, like asscrack really…social media for them is their forum to put nails in other people.

Of course, those people are just being ‘real’, ‘honest’ and ‘truthful’, defending others who cannot speak for themselves and calling out to their egomania. I won’t deny it, we’re all pretty guilty of being dicks on social media – there have been plenty of times in the past year when I have had to pm peeps to apologise for getting a bit lost in my head and forgetting that we’re all just people. Yesterday some egg tried to abuse me on grindr for not sending him a cock pic after his one word intro. When I explained that I don’t just send pix of my genitals to strangers with no profile pics nor details beyond 28 and white, he had a little tantrum.

I guess I just don’t understand what it’s like to be in my 20s with the privilege of whiteness – thank fucking christ!

That’s one thing that is shithouse about antisocial media, it highlights the selfish center at the core of the human condition slash illness. Conditioning right there. Words are funny. Sham – poo – condition. That’s the real honest truth.

I really love Instagram at the moment because its all just pictures of pretty people and cool art. I have to keep on clicking on the thing that says ‘see fewer posts like this’ whenever I am confronted with boobs and bimbo hair because they don’t inspire me the way pecs and biceps do. Why have I only just discovered Instagram in the last year?…I can’t be that disconnected – although maybe I should count my blessings that I am. Wow, one thing I am appreciating on Instagram is all the young peeps doing some hella things with make-up. I get inspired by how creative this genderfluidgenerationabcdefghijklmnopqurstuvwxyz can b.

Pretty young things with money to spend on expensive product for Instagram pic lifestyles.

So yah, I am writing today and tomorrow to meet a good goal. I need to get these five chapters fedback on and then in the next two months I am finishing this fucking PhD thesis so that I can focus on my final creative works and then be Dr. Trannylegs. I really do love what I am writing, I just wish someone else could do all the work for me while I play with makeup and get my nails did. Luckily, I have a bit of a reprieve over the next month. Paid work has chilled out somewhat and so really, I have my own kind of privilege that allows me to just write.

So yah, shower and then into it. That’s me on a Saturday.


serious time

let it buuuuurn

I have been working a lot lately – more than usual. My blog has certainly suffered for it too, although there’s lots of reasons for that other than work.

Generally, even  though I make art and write through many different platforms and in a range of media, at the moment all of my energy is going into my thesis…and then paid work, in that order.

At the moment I am listening to 90s house music. Holy shit, it is for the most part quite trashy – which more than anything reminds me of just where my head was at when I was a kiddlywink.

Serious-time, grind to the stoner no more, flaws out the door and domestic bliss is getting out of bed in the morning at the crack of day to jog it all out in my head – before putting fingers to keys to free the thoughts that have accumulated in the midnight mindset. I have a way to work that is specific to me. Weaving is life and I practice it in every essential reference to this and that; I hold on to all my thoughts and then just do what I do. Somehow it all comes together through my body and I surprise myself by the time I go to bed at the things I manage to achieve.

There are politics at the moment, as there always are … and as always they are pissing me off.

We live in an age where more and more people are realising how trapped we are in the makings of madness manipulated by mindless men and women, hell-bent on hierarchies of hypocrazy. We pay our taxes to these fuckers because we don’t have an alternative choice, and with our hard earned hours these monsters monetise our reality as collateral to secure debts, which ultimately they make money from. Our entire being is actively liquefied and traded through banks, they wank on and on about the greater good whilst ejaculating a sticky mess all over our lives, suffocating our pores and infecting us with dependency.

We can’t breathe and that’s what enables the primesinister of New Zealand to be a shady rich cunt, because to clear our lungs of his disease, we must submit to the big pharma he has in his back pocket along with numerous other ‘friends’ in ‘high’ places – we live in stress and anxiety and hunger, and all of these things contribute to our ongoing illness that will never be healed as long as we live these structures of democraycray.

We cannot afford food, because that too has been liquified through trade agreements. Even though the majority of our food is grown in the soil of our dead, its forced trajectories through stupidmarkets add the flavosr of toxic wealth, engineered by corporations, and in that exchange we simply keep losing our minds as well as our physical health.

Stealth, there is a web of deceit that we are in constant receipt of whilst never really receiving back even half of what we put in – in years, loss of time with our families, loss of happiness and addictions to superficiality.

The minister of Māori development has just delivered a bill to parliament that allows those entrenched in corruption at the upper-levels of our Iwi untrustworthy boards, to siphon away what little we have left so that he and his friends can line their pockets with dreams of being better than everybody else. The Māori party are colluding with those who seek to silence, subdue and alienate. Individualism at its worst. There is no sense in sitting at the big white table of fat politicians just to remove the things that make most sense to Māori people. Māori party, you continue to hurt us, your own relations. Thanks for your work on the reo bill, but WHAT GOOD IS LANGUAGE WHEN THERE IS NO LAND TO SPEAK FOR?

Those with power are turning back the clock to a time when exclusion was the norm, where people overtly hated each other, where progressive debate is not allowed, where god and the church are the same as the government (because really there is little difference between these concepts as they play out) and were anything that is not part of the trend is a problem.I read daily about police in other countries shooting people because they are society’s problems rather than people, they ask questions later and then get a pardon because ultimately, the problem gets fixed. In the center – the empire, those with power kill all those who stand in the way of progress towards accumulated wealth, liberty and the merkin dream, because these days there is no more hair down thurrr … everybody needs to look pubescent to maintain the facade of beauty. Merka, where as long as you look young and innocent, you can get away with living stupidity.

The landmasses are going to the dogs and the ocean is awash with our dead relations, they are being poisoned and bombed to extinction. It’s stink alright … that’s the smell of being surrounded by rotting.

So yah, busy writing my thesis and thinking about finding a husband as per usual.

Simple life me🙂.




a bad name

I haven’t blogged in ages.

I have been saving all of my words for my thesis, which is slowly manifesting not fast enough. But it’s ok, even though the words stick, my fingers find ways to untangle them so that they can be strong on their own.

I have a lot to feel good about, but I acknowledge that I am just a person. It’s difficult wrestling with the two very different identities my body in this lifetime manages to surface. I still can’t figure them out and sometimes I listen to them argue over my parts, my face and my right to live in peace. This week I have struggled to look at my reflection without repulsion and today, I am going to put makeup on so that I can snap myself back out of negative self-image-land.

The day before yesterday I got emails to tell me that a publication has gone live, but I am still too scared to watch it. There’s a piece of writing, an interview and an edited version of an hour long academic presentation. I very seldom have seen my own performance work. People tell me it is powerful, which is probably why I don’t record it nor watch what I have done – it scares me to know what can come out of me when I let go and live all of my lives without restriction. It’s different when I make visual art, I can see what I am doing as I respond to my inner-feelings. The performance art I make is not the same. I often go into it blind with a set of rituals to form a pattern upon which I emerge from. When I perform I am somewhere else.

One time when I performed, the ritual became so meditative that I left my body and began to witness my own words. They made me cry, but it wasn’t me crying, it was the robot I had turned myself into.

This year has been a lot of emotions for me, a lot of confusing emotions. I am no good with my own feelings. I can acknowledge them but don’t really know what to do with them half the time, so I just make art and hope that’s where they’ll end up so I don’t have to deal with them.

Emotions are for people, not alien robots.

I am in California again. I’ve been blessed this year with emotions that I don’t know how to resolve and wings to fly. It’s Christmas back home, and I know that right about now, all the kids in my village will be opening their prezzies. In about an hour they will start riding around to each other’s houses to show them off, while my cousins and aunties start getting the kai ready for the feasting. This year, my whānau are all gathering at my Aunty Tuhipo’s whare, because this will be her last family celebration. I checked my facebook messages this morning and one of my cousins had messaged to say that it wouldn’t be too much longer before Aunty dies.

I have already said my goodbyes to her, and even though I am sad that she is dying, I feel blessed that my ancestors gave me an opportunity to actually say goodbye. Everyone else died so suddenly that there was no time to mourn, feel blessed for the sacredness of life and let go in peace. Instead, there were decades of anger without resolution. Everybody will miss her and her tangi will be huge because she was such a fierce fighter for the rights of our people – when being a radical Māori was fringe, she was on the frontline, screaming with passion against the bully police, our colonised relations, the unjust government and the thieving british crown.

I fell in love this year, which is something I am not altogether familiar with. It was fun while it lasted but as an excellent communicator, I need to fall in love with someone who can match my mouth. It was good to feel passion again and to realise that even though I act like a robot, really I am quite a loving person. He was such a beautiful guy and I still see his beaming smile when I feel gorgeous. I also ended a relationship prior to that. It was a strange one because it went on for years, like a game where one person manipulated that other’s sensitivities. Advice to beautiful hearts, avoid narcissists, especially when they are confused by their sexual desires. He was such a beautiful guy too, for all his faults which I recognised so well because they were the things I had resolved and grown from. I can bend and contort to suit my surrounds because I am a shapeshifter, but I cannot lie to my mind, it is too clever for its own good.

All that glitters is plastic. But it’s good to finally realise that I truly am a catch. From now on I will aim high – true love is just around the corner, I can sense it.

And now for the moment there is just me again, watching over my body as it comes to terms with the massive shift in terrain, that is just my mind evolving.

I live an enviously free life. I have always floated like a flower on the surface, or a feather on the breeze – sometimes like garbage in the gutter too.

But that’s me all over, what shall be shall be.



drink on my mind 2

I have been home for about three weeks now…

Time here goes slow, so slow in fact that it often seems nothing happens, nothing changes, and nothing inspires momentum.

I was on such a good roll whilst away, but place sets in a particular kind of pace, and all of a sudden I am just another broken person again, trying to find a fix. The mix is monotonous.

I went to the public library yesterday and got told to take my hat off. I refused. I was asked to leave. When I questioned the library staff they got all uppity and decided to call the police. Apparently it’s not about race…nothing’s about race these days, and yet that doesn’t change the feeling of being singled out.

Bout’ time to reboot I think.


you'll never find

I know what to do.

I woke up this morning and reluctantly got out of bed, got dressed, strolled to the park across the road and worked out. I have been working with a new program that a friend devised for me whilst I am travelling. I have always been pretty good at being fit and active, although sometimes I completely fall off the radar. Those are the times when I loathe my body, almost as if the loathing makes me deny my own presence to the point I become absent.

I am used to running and doing circuit-type training, but I don’t have running shoes whilst here. I left my running shoes at home with the intent to buy new ones… nak the one, I haven’t found any I like. But yah, algudz because I have this program which does not really require shoes. It’s a combination of tabata, mobility and lengthening exercises which I feel is an effective all over conditioning regime. I am nearing 40 and rather than try to maintain the exercise habits of my youth, I think it makes more sense to find pathways toward sustainable longevity. Running can at times be too jarring, weights too contracting and swimming too boring, so this program ticks a lot of boxes for me.

I really know what to do, and now is the perfect time to intensify my commitment and move forward in the direction of a peaceful warrior.

Worries, they sift between the fingers of upward facing palms, open to the world in acceptance and offering. Give and take, break my heart no more, sore to the core of being alive. I thrive, thrashing in the smash of the crash that did not kill.


Patience and urgency collide and I levitate to an imaginary point above, I love the looking down at myself to see the context of the living I tend to ignore and dismiss.

Kiss me and lie no more.

Today I plan to work a few things out with my thesis. I had some great feedback from my supervisor in Hawai’i and I feel like I have ways and means to construct what I have envisioned since that first time I prayed to Pele. There have been lots of signs, signalling my way forward, but as always resistance. I barricaded my potential and left it lonely, isolated into insignificance, instant gratifications giving into gaps where not only was I missing, I was in denial that I could be as lost as I knew I had made myself.

Today my task is to put myself back into my thesis. As it has formed I had fallen upon swords and silenced my true self in deference to the dominating knowledge production discourses. That has to stop.

Plans for prosperity.

ceiling fan

I am inside today, mostly because it is too hot outside, but also because I am a little tired. I smoked pot over the weekend and I am suddenly realising that it really does make me feel tired once it is no longer numbing my brain.

I am making a real effort to address some things that I haven’t been able to resolve before in my life. Now is the right time. I used to be such a stoner, but not anymore, I don’t want to not feel the life I have been blocking from my receptors. I want to connect and I want things to make sense.

I am in California for the next four weeks and already, I am glad to be back among friends, home away from home.

I spent the past week in Hawai’i, on Oahu. Pele has been evolving something beneath the surface there for me. It’s something that I prayed to her about a long time ago when I was much younger, though the prayer has been a constant commitment in my daily life. All paths are leading somewhere and I can feel energy about to envelop what I once considered ngaro space. Something is happening in Hawai’i and although it is focused in there, it is less about Hawai’i and more about me; the individual searching for collective meaning. The presence of Ruaimoko sends forth steamy missives of heat and motion, hidden energy waiting to sear the surface with sensation.

I had an uber driver in Oahu tell me about the aloha spirit. The major part of me did not like a non-Hawai’ian speaking to me about Moana knowledge, but I am a fair person and what he said, although watered-down by Americanisation rang with truth. I like aloha because unlike love, aloha has a clearer intent and purpose. Love is crazed, irrational and fragmented. Aroha is meaningful and expansive.

The ceiling fan is going around and around and today, it represents the psychic space I have occupied for some years now. There are circles within circles and they cycle in constant rhythms.