Pākehā new yeah

This is a Pākehā new year apparently -we have to go by the new dates that some random megalomaniac in Italy devised for y’all a few thousand years ago. It’s a fad that won’t last cos it’s out of synch with the reality people are finally starting to wake up to.

There’s no such thing as time.

In writing that, I’m glad that one phase is coming to a natural conclusion. I’ve been focussing on finishing my thesis…I mean, for the past four years I have been saying that I am focussing on finishing my thesis, but now I’m nearly finished…26 more days and then I am sending it off to my supervisors for final feedback – print and then submit.

These past few months have been intense so I am enjoying wiping some slates clean and moving on with life, it’s time to let go and be free for a welcome change.

I have started doing some very low key performance artwork in Rotorua, where I live. An old man physically abused me even though I was only writing a story about our polluted lake with chalk on cobblestones…he even tried to push me in the lake before I turned into an angry Māori betch. Really, this series of performance works are the winding up of my PhD creative works. I’ve realised that my PhD project has been a process of stripping my artwork back the essentials, where my voice is no longer trapped and enslaved by the expected layers of thinking demanded by academentia in contemporary art. Screw ‘contemporary art’ and ‘art theory’. Fuck art, I’m into the creation of taonga. I enjoyed making taonga about taonga yesterday…it made me free again.

Anyway, back to the thesis at hand xxx

highlife

I am a different person

A million miles in the sky, the stars, my ancestors, they talk story with me, cradling my existence into a blissful mourning.

Morning is near, this night has lasted half a day, amongst the clouds. Severed from the Earth below by a reflected sea, it’s me and my dreams.

I used to wonder why I always struggled so severely with jet-lag, and now I know. Sowing seeds of the universe trickle into my mind, they find place and pace into fully formed constructions of vapour, pour the memories of a wing flap back to the whenua; the land beneath.

I can never sleep on planes because my mind loses all sense of the hardened continuation of concrete feelings. In the sky I am nowhere, and yet everywhere.

On this night of a thousand lives already lived, I thought through the circled web of whakapapa. To me, whakapapa is the universe’s map, where I am myself and every other thing imaginable, intermingled and singing songs of peaceful manoeuvring.

I am a spiritual warrior, my battle cry a yearning to alms, the forms of healing forces that surrender to a selfless self, all materials and senses sprinkled like sugar through fields of blue, green and yellow.

I await the shimmered rays of the sun, where after the darkness has burned away all aspects of sorrow, sadness and tears, my new day has begun.

I cannot wait till this hurtling molten tube of metal arrives me at my home. I feel incredible.