henny penny money maker

henny penny money maker

One of the things that I am really interested in at the moment, is what the future might look like.

I wonder, is there a place for me and my blended relations? Will we persist, or will we vanish, banished to the histories of buried empires?

I get scared for Americans.

I like American people; the ones I meet are open, friendly and they have good energy. They are nothing like TV lives.

I get scared for them, because all empires eventually collapse. Not one single empire has ever stayed beyond stories.

I get scared for America, because sometimes I feel like it will implode, and we will continue to watch it on our screens. Really, it is already imploding.

So again, that makes me wonder?

What will history look like for people whose stories tell them that all empires fail, and that time is just a snapshot of memories; orated images of people, their deeds and the places they visited. When the empire collapses to the extent that we can no longer deny it, will we persist, or will we vanish, banished to our own stories.

Global climate change is happening. It’s the middle of summer here in Aotearoa New Zealand, and there is no snow in Anchorage, the bears can’t sleep and so they will starve, waiting for the salmon. It’s the middle of summer in the southern hemisphere, and the cherry blossoms are starting to bloom in Washington.

What will happen when we can all finally acknowledge that the empire is falling, the sky is falling and there are too many people to feed? Will the child soldiers feed us, or will they eat themselves and their military masters; maybe they will be too traumatised to care about the fallen sky, the rubble and the dusty acres of desert, frozen over with the snowy blizzards of nuclear winters in summer?

Chicken Little and Henny Penny have no answers, they have been cloned, irradiated and genetically modified. They’re only interested in hormone therapy these days.

They’re too busy fucking each other. Plus, they’re too A-list to care about reality anyway.

I wonder who will tell stories when the media is dead, squashed by the fallen?

the fire the champion the island

The fire the champion the island

I came home today.

I had been overseas for the past 28 days, in San Francisco, then Woodland/Davis, then all over Oahu, then Southern Puget Sound, back to San Francisco, back to Woodland and Davis, and then finally San Francisco again.

Tomorrow I fly to Sydney in the morning, and then I will catch a bus to Woollongong to present at a conference. I will be there for four days, and I will spend time at the beach for sure.

For now I am in Auckland. I spent the day thinking about where to sleep tonight. When I tried to find somewhere online, all the hotels, backpackers, inns, barns and empty garages were full, no vacancy anywhere. I have been hosted too much lately, I just want to sleep.

My trip was really good, and I am excited to begin again and again again.

I used to always wonder what it would be like to peel back all of the layers; the layers of my colonised and unhappy self. I feel like I don’t have to wonder about that anymore. I am my own champion, and on the island of my being, I am on fire.

On my new island, there is abundance and no more crying. I feel lost in the boundaries that no longer mark out my existence; I used to know them so well. If they no longer exist, what will stop me from floating?

I spent the day at the Auckland Uni Library. A cute Indian guy cruised me. We made out in a toilet stall and didn’t really clean up the mess we made. A few hours later another guy cruised me, but I was more interested in going to the park to lie in the sun. I love summer. I love that I make guys horny.

My supervisor in Hawai’i, he reckons I should try some new things and mix up my aesthetic.

My supervisor in Woodland and Davis, she reckons I should read about visual sovereignty and send her notes.

My friend in Southern Puget Sound, she is amazing and we inspired each other through knowing our ancestors.

My friends in San Francisco, they let me be stoned, continually for days on end. If there’s one thing I love about San Fran, it’s being there stoned.

Everybody fed me. I feel loved.

I don’t smoke pot at home anymore, nor do I drink. I have stopped watching porn too.

I don’t want a life of addictions, because for the first time ever, I can imagine that I am not an addict.

I don’t mind smoking, drinking and watching porn when I am holiday, because rather than coping or copping out, I am just having a holiday.

I have new tricks, and I wear them on my sleeve.

My relation, friend and brother from another mother phoned. He offered me his hotel suite while he is away for the night. I will sleep feeling full of aroha, and I am smiling. I bought him a gift in Hawai’i, so I will leave it as a surprise. Both of us have overcome some life-long obstacles recently.

Time to get outta this library.