Intentionality – intense

International incursions, forays that inspire intentions.

I’m right at the finish line, panting with pace to ace myself…finally.

I figured I found aroha in the form of another, and I did. Our encounters are encouraging, Earthing me to my connections that reach beyond the stars. Starting each day with him/her in my mind and heart is warming.

Warning – do not get lost in love.

I’m listening to Elton John’s Tiny Dancer on my 60s 70s and 80s Pandora mix – this radio station reminds me of that guy in Hawaii, what a cute fulla – uncomplicated and chill. He must’ve thought ‘what the fuck’ when we did our dash.

So many different energies being bound up in this thesis, sometimes I wonder who lived all the lives I describe in its pages…in part they are mine but in part they belong to huka.

He’s a good kunt huka, but he does limit me within the pages and projects of my PhD research. I’ve enjoyed performing him sometimes, other times I have hated his guts because in performing him I lose bits of myself that have always been important.He’s more human than I – he’s quite primal in fact, a fiction though he really is.

I’m letting go of him as I write this other body of text where the words count, have deep meaning and will ripple outward with integrity.

Strange to have to perform a trickster to trick myself back into living.




Heat beats heartily, my heart beats fast…

To contain desire so that emotional stability and spirituality can flower and flourish, can fuck with your head.

Making its madness, creativity is a curse, love is lurid, sex is second guessing and thinking is thirsty.

I am full…

Sing to me but be in pitch – I cannot bear the rising and falling of notes that don’t hit the mark on contact, sounds that scrape the senses of my sanity.

This is aroha sometimes, maybe forever, maybe it will be good, maybe it’ll kill me…I think I am in it.



“U know I love you, even when you don’t try, I know that our love will never die” Nu Shooz

And yet, in the middle of that aroha there has been a storm of late, irate emails and hails to pull your damn head in you motherfucking hori.

You are lucky that you have me in your life.

But I can’t be mad forever and I most certainly won’t drag my heels waiting for you to sort your shit out, because I have a hell of a lot of work to do. You work on your stuff, now that I have pointed it out to you, and I will work on just being myself, as always.

I have been in Aotearoa for just over a week.

I can’t believe that the government has been so active in trying to eradicate us over the past few years. I feel like governance is completely threatened by the ways we are able to create pathways for ourselves and others. Maori people really do have some incredible ways, and they are ancient ways, times left for us by our ancestors, so that we can remember new beginnings in the winnings that so often feel like losings.

Snoozing’s for other people, we have no time to bite the bullet when a major battle is about to be won.

Fun and memories. This week I have been lucky, really lucky to spend time in my village hosting manuhiri from Vancouver, BC. Musqueam people, the tangata whenua of that place, have been staying on the steamy streets where I was raised. When I spent time with Musqueam people in August last year, lots of unexpected things surfaced in my personal like, strife that has kept playing out like a broken swoon, a jagged step, a wrangled nuance…but I feel like things have now come full circle. I am about to blossom again. Everybody has been telling me how beautiful I am, and so I have been trying hard to listen and hear and see the things that I so often am in denial about.

It has been nice to be home for a brief moment enshrined in steam and bubbling volcanoes which murmur beneath the ground, to a halt, the fault is no ones, it’s life and that’s just the way it is.

And yet while life is happening for me, some of my nieces and nephews and cousins are not in a good state. Synthetic weed is the new seed of social control. I smoked some on the day that I arrived and nearly passed out. It is full of tranquilizer, and now the government has legalised yet another yearning toward genocide. They can’t hide it though, because it’s equally killing the white kids too, and so people all over the country will march to have the crown commit to sorting their shit out.

In Aotearoa, we have a treaty which was an agreement made between the crown and the “Natives”. For nearly two hundred years, one party to that treaty has been making a hegemonic power structure accountable for its actions through the treaty’s use, now it is time for the rest of the country to realise that Te Tiriti o Waitangi, can protect everybody from oppressive forms of power.

Shower me in the rain, again and again, let it wash me to the bone and hone my electric senses so I can remain sensible and sensitive to the attempts for sanitation of my humanity. I don’t need to die needlessly so that an out of control economy, an out of control ministry and an out of control sinister synergy of disparate democratic dictatorships can wipe me from the face of the earth.

My hearth burns with the passion of life, and that passion is today even more fervent knowing how loved I am, how much love I give, and how much aroha there is in abundance.

Dance for me and make me smile.

Time to spread the love.

Dare me

Dare me

I have been wondering, as I wander the beach at night in search of the core, listing to and fro…what does aroha look like? I listen to the waves; sometimes they have an answer or two, but I have to drown out the poi rhythms that fill my head so that I can let the perpetual push and pull me into a breathless imagining…am I crowning joy or just a little boy again?

I don’t know for sure because that river looks like it is flowing to a whole other ocean’s boring me to tears the hair from my head as I shriek and howl at the moon to wake me up in a hollow shell that I remember being familiar.

I’ll never find heaven in my aging body.

But yah, gender issues aside, or maybe not, I feel like I need to find the answer, because I feel like I should know the shape of aroha. I know so many shapes and I can tell what they mean, but this dream is elusive. It slips through my fingers as I sip the grains of blackened sand through my toes. The throes of love? Throw them into the waves as they crash, a placenta of seaweed and life on speed burning my nostrils of breathable air, suffocating the life that I once had out from the cracks, plunging myself awake as I shake off the fading memory.

“It’s all in the past” I keep thinking, as I sink into the grains of glitter. There is no future, and if that be the case then the shape of aroha must be in the now. But I can’t see it.
I keep turning my head because I imagine it must be somewhere, buried in the shallow quicksand that laps at my feet, drawing me ever into the void, where I wander in wonderment.