UkknowIluvU

UkknowIluvU

“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.

summershine

Far out! I have totally had the most relaxed, and yet full on summer.

Maybe because I am unemployed, maybe cos I am good at being superchill.

Where to start… I feel like I haven’t blogged in a million years. I dunno. It’s weird being in Aotearoa, sitting back, watching the cogs turn. Burn me like a joint, there’s often no point to reading the news, same old hues, black and white, constant fight. I live another day and yet die in other ways. The media is killing me. I watch Justin Beiber and I think to myself, “poor kid, super-rich and yet empty on the inside”.

His life is as fucked up as everyone else’s.

How do we die in this world? We’re all feigning fantasies.

My little bro has been going through a rough patch. It’s lasted his whole life long. He’s a special person with a big heart, but like most, he doesn’t fit the daily roast. Over the festive season I had to staunch him out while he threatened to smash me over in the middle of the street in my village. I didn’t like being so scary to him that he backed off.

Illlage, spillage left-overs. That’s who we all are, even Justin Beiber, when pharmaceutical companies milk us of our hives; we’re all the same mind these days, terrorism ingested when we’re basted like fries, eating the havoc that has been poisoning our dirt. No shirt on my back, just the sunburn that the ozoneless sky could not protect me from.

I still can’t believe that it is normal that we have no ozone layer over this country. Skin cancer-county, come and live in New Zealand if you like skincancerscars, and cheese filled with superfertilizer.

My little bro has been on the fries for years now. Meth. P. Sometimes, more often than not, he has been a scary someone else. He had been terrorising the kids, and bullying our mother.

It’s hard to deal out the tough love, in the middle of the street, in front of all your relations, when you’re scared shitless that the person who has transformed from your brother, is going to kill you with his drug induced fists.

A few days later he drove around town with my thirteen and fifteen year old nephews in the back, BB gun in hand. I am glad we have good gun laws in this country… even if as Indigenous savages we have little else. He decided it would be fun to shoot tourists.

I love it when the armed offenders’ squad turns up at our house.

A day later he nearly bashed one of our cousins to death. I haven’t gone to see my Aunty yet because I feel ashamed that I wasn’t a good enough, or tough enough earlier in my brother’s life.

I feel sick… sick to death of the drama.

But everyone is sick these days.

I had to move outta my whare in Piha. It sucked. I loved that place, peaceful platitudes to the dude who got kicked out by his crazy landlady. Poor betch, I really like her, but the government denies all responsibility when a person stops taking their pills and goes on a six month long psychotic epic. I’d write psychotic episode, but I feel sad for her that the short and sweet episodes are the tiny amounts of time when she is medicated, sedated and ‘normal’. My friends and I got kicked out because her illness made her start to think we were bad people. I suppose she had nothing else concrete in her life except the home we were renting, and so as a victim of something, we became the source of her fixated pain.

I should go to bed.

I have been staying up late till the early hours of the morning a lot over the past week. I have been working on a job application for over a month. I sent it off today. I still can’t believe that I am able to apply for good jobs. I never in my life really believed that I would be anything but dead by the time I was thirty. Now I am thinking I am going to be a Professsor.

WTF?

As part of this job app I put together a power point of about a twentieth of the artworks I have made in the last seven years. I also wrote down the kinds of research I have been doing. Then I reworked my CV.

I shocked myself.

How does a person who got kicked out of school, somehow manage to get into university? Then, how does that person scrape through with just passing grades for ten years until they find something interesting, and ways that finally make sense? After that, it’s another five years of study to get over the drug addiction, the alcoholism, and the dying from the inside out that HIV brings.

That’s twenty years of just getting by, bar jobs, building jobs, juice bar jobs, jobs in clothes shops, lugging pallets of coke through a supermarket at 5am every morning before uni starts, and a one hundred thousand dollar student loan.

Servile death.

If I get this job and save for two years, I will no longer have a student debt.

I think that’s fucked, to live and die for twenty years, just to pay for the pleasure of the abuse.

I can’t believe I live in this world. When I read about it in atlases, it seems so much better.

Yay, awesome.

I get a reward and I can perhaps be happy about having something I worked tremendously hard for. But what about my brother, what about my landlady, what about Justin Beiber? I’m being dead serious.

How can I ever be happy when so many people around me are so sad? But yah, at least my CV looks great, it’s fate, to deny that everyone is simply a slave to abandonment, heaven sent, meant for someone else, but deliverance for all, fall, slip, bruise, bleed, feed, weed. I need it to numb my thriving strife, this can’t be life, rife with misfortune, missed again, wane, weep, sleep, snore, bore a hole into my head and fill me with sawdust. I rust, but I must keep turning and going through the motions. Emotions, dead. Dread, driving me to drink. Don’t think, sink…

No more.

I am beyond feeling fear, ne’er again will I pretend that I can’t do a goddamned thing. I am going to sing, swing my poi, this little boy/man/lady/tranny/makeup wearing dude is past the point of feeling grim.

I am going to swim, cos that’s the way the old people used to get rid of feelings of weight, hate, hope waits in the wake of the wave, the ebb of the tide, the rush of the river.

I have a plan, cos I am THE TRAN…

I am going to Australia in a week, for two months. I haven’t been back there since I left ten years ago. My thinking has changed a lot since then, but really, I must still be the same person. Perhaps?

I plan to keep on relaxing, cos it’s good for the soul.