Boxed in, deliver me from sin. What’s this all about?

I started something new a week ago, and now I am going through the motions of trying to capture myself a new sense of sensations.

I can still see the lake, but the vantage is different, advantage to me. I have moved again, but this time I have moved somewhere that is permanently mine for the temporal season of niceties. This is very new to me, and I am enjoying it.

I have moved into an apartment, which is strange… to live in my home town, but to not live in the pa. It’s not normal in this world to ever move out of home. You are supposed to stay there with your family forever.

But yah, I just couldn’t do that anymore. It was no good for me, I kept getting trapped in a life of pasts. They would ascend with the mists that slither from cracks in the stones, from the boiling mud-pools, from the groaning earth beneath as she wends her pathway through the universe. Those pasts, they are god tohu, but unless I am able to view them with a perspective of distance, they end up as bitter tastes, disdain, stances of stubbornness that wallow like stains on the sidewalks.

I really love the pa. It’s the daily drama that I do not like at all.

There is a name for it these days; historical trauma. It’s the ticking timebomb that tickles the back of the throat when things are going great, berate berate berate the past and pastiche it into all future assemblages. Sometimes, histories stay lodged in the vocal chords. They fester like the fear that feeds them, and when the sour sound begins to crack the air no longer bound by a body, they bruise, they hurt and destroy.

I have been battered to death my whole life long, more often than not by my own fists. I have been trained, educated and encouraged to hate myself.

It’s an ongoing song that I do not want to sing anymore. I want to forget those words and the tune, I only want to learn the harmony that has always eluded.

I read something the other day.

There is an election happening in this country soon…not that I care because I do not vote. Why would I vote for a system that is so completely broken? Regardless of who I would vote for, I would always be tricked into voting for a system that hurts people. One of the leaders of a conservative party thinks that it is time for Maori people to stop living lives of legal privilege. He’s fucked in the head if he thinks that being discriminated against, every second of the clocks that tick backwards, is a privilege.

It really hurts to read sometimes.

In New Zealand it is ok to be racist, as long as you are a politician or have a government funded current affairs show. When you are a politician in New Zealand, you are allowed to speak, write and have racist words published by the mainstream newspapers. They generally go unquestioned by the masses. It is often only brave people who name it as such…”racism”… but they and we, are always vilified by the trolls. The papers call it equality. I don’t really know what that is because I have never really experienced it. Apparently equality is when people who are victimized only have themselves to blame for their suffering.

I wonder why we pay so much attention to what is happening in Gaza right now. People acknowledge that it is terrible when Israel drops bombs on civilians. It is…it is terrible, tragic, horrific and saddening.

But it is just as terrible and sickening to pour a relentless rain of evil words upon a small group of people daily…continually for nearly two hundred years. It is horrific to see Maori children with glazed eyes roaming the street in packs, with only colours to identify them. Their names have been eroded by the torrential onslaught of bad political weather. Many Maori children today have no identities…now they are just gangs of youths who apparently need to go to prison. It is tragic to see our old people, hunched with the burdens of berating that has haunted them their whole lives…the things that turn to cancerous tumors and heart-attacks. It is sad to walk the streets and see poverty everywhere, in the THC smoke that will never numb our bodies enough, in the beer that will never erase memories of the ongoing trauma.

Nobody needs love these days. Just one law for all.

It really sucks to live with the fear that everything of meaning, might eventually turn to dust when the dessert of mourning tears become acidic…like our lakes and oceans.

And so now I have boxed myself in, to cushion the blows, to throw caution to the winds of hail that get thrown into my fearless face.

I was born a colonised Indigneous person. I hope the government lets me just be a person one day.

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