​Spit

And it’s too hot to sleep 
And there is a lone fly in my room that seems to multiply in the night
And I’m so frustrated
And the neighbourhood cats are in heat 
And I wanted to spit on you

And I resent the sound of cicadas
And the chickens croak in the morning
And I wanted to kiss you

And I thought about what a round the world trip would be like if you actually went to every
single country on Earth
And I hate the sun when it burns my skin 
And I wanted to hold you

And my friends ex lover liked a photo of me in a bikini 
And I wish u liked photos of me in a bikini 
And I wanted to fight you

And I hate the ‘Chaka bro’ emoji 
And I hate it when you say ‘hahaha’ 
And I wanted to spit on you

And I didn’t wear this red dress on Valentine’s Day (because I didn’t want you to see me
throwing a dewy romance look and get the wrong idea, but then I also thought I wouldn’t see
you and then I saw you and regretted not wearing the dress) 
And it’s a nuisance to feel so deeply but be unwilling or unable to show it 
And I wanted to kiss you

And I wore tino rangatiratanga colours to show I at least had sovereignty over my own body 
And I watched a video last night called ‘passionate threesome’
And I wanted to hold you

And you saw me but I didn’t see you 
And your skin melting together  
And I wanted to fight you

And you perform basic kindness 
And it seems revolutionary but it’s the bare minimum 
And I wanted to spit on you

And I don’t want to be an emotional tampon anymore
And I contort the insides of my body when I’m in the same city of you
And I wanted to kiss you

And I hated the art opening 
And I don’t want to perform to strangers
And I wanted to hold you 

And I wonder how I don’t explode around you  
And I didn’t mean to not see you 
And I wanted to fight you

And I’m not the one that got away 
And I wish I was Barbara Streisand in The way we were
And I wanted to spit on you

And your eyes looked yellow
And I hope you have clean bones, hands and nails 
And I wanted to kiss you

And I feel afraid when you look at me
And everything feels so easy, breezy, beautiful, I’m a covergirl
And I wanted to hold you 

And I hate that you wear a Metallica tshirt but you don't listen to Metallica
And I hate your handwriting
And I wanted to fight you

And your love language is big empty gestures
And my love language is acts of service
And I wanted to spit on you

And your jokes aren’t always funny, but I’m trying to be nice
And it annoyed me the way you stared at everything in my room
And I wanted to kiss you

And you wore your shoes inside
And I feel like a weed growing through a tree stump
And I wanted to hold you

And you didn’t come over when you said you would 
And I thought about your body being like a Pouakai, an extinct bird that hunted moa
And I wanted to fight you.
 
And my skin bubbles like it’s a miracle cleaning product
And I think about my swimming coach saying, ‘I’ve had a guts full of your attitude’ when I
was thirteen 
And it’s important to always be gentle with yourself 
And I’m still sorry but I don’t know what I’m sorry for anymore 
And I wanted to spit on you

By Carin Smeaton

te uru karaka

​always a good bitch   i live next door to richard who lives next door to a lady who keeps amusing antique egg-cups on her window-sill   i hear them call me a whore when they thinks im not listening cos i runs my own business in heels and lace   they dont know my name yet   they only knows i plantd acres of strwberries next to my house on a vacant lot  running all the ways down to the north-western motorway right next to the kura
 
after school the kids get caught on the footbridge throwing stones onto southbound traffic slithering beneath us at 70 decibels big it warms yr brain  like a big dum macaroon melting in the sun  so slow no one never notice   highways just sounds like one long dead-do-dance end-of-summer song of cicadas to me except for when the sirens take the souls away 
 
these kids at the bridge thinks im a witch  but im just a nose-to-ground sassy lady  (a lady’s lady) absorbing all the shocks in a town full of impotent volcanoes i seen the kererū u hit   i see the damage done  (shooting yr air rifles)  u dont see me seeing u shootin em up dropping em down  pulling the wings off bumble bees   sticky with no good intentions and u dont need to be a witch to watch the wingless ones fall in sways n swirls off the bridge dodging windscreens (or not)
 
so watch what u call me  dont listen to yr parents either  they get too fast out of their cars  scurry into the house with their 2 dollar choc-tops  so quick  we wont never cross paths (ha!) out of sight out of mind (ha that’s what they think)  tbh u can call me whatever you want cos  whore or not   which or whatever  it dont matter to the injured sparrow ur holding   u should put it in a box   sparrows freak out  u could cover it up so it dont get scared   so it dont get out    so it dont get got (it already gotten got) now take it  quick to the keepers
 
i’d keep it myself   nurse its poor broken leg  but it’s too bent back to get any better (so what can u do) my gramps in gumboots wd of stampd on its head if he was here   that’s what he wd of done  that’s what he did to my old girl honey  a quick death is mercy  is what he’d say (so i gave him one too) but no time for that now   a kingfisher’s mouth only stays empty til the next rainy day and im not gonna euthanise birds   im not gonna play nurse knee deep in seedlings  (who else is gonna stop this soggy hill slipping away in an imminent landslide?)    and i need to get moving before my joints seize up cos i cant plant my strawberries & slow the slip with these frozen hips   to hell with countdown tips: buy nz grown instead who would stick needles in a strwberry anyway? who even does that?
 
my strawberries wd never spill such bitter beans this crop is a good spell  we’ll work wonders here on this hill where papatūānuku tries hard to stop the rot if toitoi tickle her thighs  if we rub the kawakawa all over her belly  let her eat strawberries in love & retribution (tho u cant do much about the sanctified snobs & the pool they dont share)       there’s parsley too  i planted it all in lace n high heels (richard knows)  branded with dior   and dung   atonement and hay   & when the crops ripens one day  remember to help yrself  b4 the kererū do

​

​​And I can highly recommend the end
I lost my life poolside
Hard white ceramic tile squares
Together by dark blue
By a turquoise detail to die for
A crystal chandelier suspended by nothing but capital and a necessary belief in Teenage
Fantasy
In opulence and opal
Anti-Gravity Lethal
And there is more to beauty than revering it
Don't you know
It is as trustworthy
As truthful as anything
My vision clears every time I see anything
Now we walk the hounds of love out-front
It does not have to be beautiful
Beauty is a fact of life among many others
But everything is more expensive and manufactured for less above a broken neck
And nothing will ever be the new black
Not even hot pink against a bright blue sky
A particular polishing compound
Wait go back
I wasn’t listening
What does sensitivity really get me
Wait go back
I wasn't listening
Only projecting
The pressure to the knee was by far the worst part
Blood pooling by my mother’s side
And she speaks to me nightly
Do they know
Who are they to throw you
Who sent you here
A fate worse than death is being caught in the wrong shade of red
A personality so last season it only serves to be blushing
The wrong shade of red
And describe it as best you can
A pressure against the chest like a hammer
Yes, like a full tool case against the brain
Risking an aneurysm and an epileptic fit just to be here
It's not a bad place it's a scared place
And you came here to hide from 360 degrees
Fears in 3D
Honey, I think you better go home
I can see your two-dimensional worldview all the way from over here
And run to religion as if it were forsaken
Until you can find somewhere to hide from 360 degrees inside a 3D structure
And tell the cops to stop bending her arm back like that
Tell them to stop
They won't listen to me
Fine, find someone here that they will listen to
Tell them to stop
Wait go back
A particular polishing compound
What does sensitivity really get me

​
​Just mirror it back to me
Mirror it back to me
Or mirror me back to me
Good god give me something
Anything to work with
 
And daylight breaks, I know
You think. Oh, I couldn't possibly
I know, you do the impossible every day
Every day since you realised daylight does not belong to anyone in particular
 
But midnight does
I am midnight at your most alone
And your 1am, 2am, 3am, 4am
Could be your daybreak breakdown
I am darling, don’t think for one second that I won’t
 
And the room starts to spin, and I think JFK me[i]. Honestly, I’d rather
And my condition is I see so clearly,
I see too clearly, so full of intentional action
And you are the angle I see from,
The horizon line of my eye is in your hips as I bend you over
 
And “I don’t get heartbreak because I don’t get heartbroken” [ii]
 
The new convenience of abandonment
Who are you in debt to Daddy
React to me
 
Marina’s performances allow her to pre-empt the disaster that experience has taught her to expect[iii]
 
Now I'm bleeding on the people, I forgot that I’ve still got an open gash[iv]
 
And practically
There are only so many jokes to be made before heartbreak sets you a new reality
You have one second to decide
I can only hope you catch the kind like rapture, not Rigor mortis
The worst part is it doesn’t even end you
Heartbreak requires a Horror Whatever mentality
 
At your expense
I keep trying to paint a pane
A stained-glass window between you and new reality
Why reserve rose tinted for pleasure
It’s a very expensive thing to do
 
I consider myself limitless
Living in a superimposed state of being
Relentless
 
Full of the kind of things you like
And I want to win prizes
The kind no one can recognise directly because I’m always sitting sideways ready to turn away
 
And how fucking dare you
Your audacity proves nothing other than your incapacity to care for yourself
And believing you have no one is a very particular sensitivity isn’t it
 
Brad and Angelina starring in a film together as a married couple who want to kill each other
 
Jane Smith asking John Smith “Still Alive, Baby?” after firing three shots at him
 
Brangelina is dead
 
And there were never any TEAM BRAD t-shirts
 
And gloves off claws out
 
Brad is a Sagittarius, Angelina is a Gemini and Jennifer is an Aquarius. So that whole thing makes complete sense, an earth sign wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near that explosion  
 
And Madonna is a Leo and Britney is a Sagittarius and onstage at the 2003 Video Music Awards they pashed while Christina (a Sagittarius) watched. So that whole thing makes complete sense, an earth sign wouldn’t be caught dead anywhere near that explosion
 
And no mercy
Cars drive by a bloodstream
And I’m too busy to be concerned
Pretending to be Morticia Addams just for fun

You can follow Jordana on instagram and twitter. 

By Tayi Tibble

​​Awa Wahine is an online magazine established and run by creatives,  Ataria Rangipikitia Sharman and Irihipeti Waretini. The website is incredible featuring think pieces, personal essays, and creative writing. The site is organised around six categories; Wahine Toa, Taha Tinana, Taha Hinengaro, Taha Wairua, Taha Whanau and Taha Auaha. The kaupapa behind Awa Wahine is to provide a safe space for a community of women to share their stories. We spoke to Ataria and Irihipeti about their mahi, their kaupapa, how Awa Wahine was born and where Awa Wahine is going.

​"I grew up in Whanganui-a-Tara, but my marae are in Matauri (Ngāpuhi) and Te Puke (Tapuika)," Ataria says. "From a very young age, I have always loved reading and writing. However, for around 20-years all writing was put on hold because I grew up believing the ones who told me ‘not to be a writer because you can’t make any money,’ as if money was all that matters in life."

​Ataria is also completing a Master of Arts in Māori Studies with a focus on Māori women’s experiences of the atua wāhine. "I've found that this can show up in creative processes like waiata, weaving and writing."

Ataria is also writing a young adult fiction novel which was selected for the 2018 Te Papa Tupu mentorship programme. "The novel also draws on the atua, pūrākau. and our native animals for inspiration. I am really hoping it will be published at the end of the mentorship, fingers crossed."

​Ko Ruapehu te maunga
Ko Wanganui, Mangawhero, Whangaehu nga awa
Ko Morimotu te maunga tapu
Ko Paerangi te tupuna
Ko Rangituhi, Rangiteauria me Uenukumanawawiri nga tupuna
Ko Ngati Rangi te Iwi
Ko Irihipeti Waretini taku ingoa

"There has always been a hesitation to say I am an artist first and foremost out loud," Irihipeti confesses "because I’ve related it to how artistic I am outwardly, what, when and how much I am sharing with others and I’ve always came to the answer, that it’s never enough to warrant me as an “actual artist”. I am a singer and songwriter and have been since a very young age. This has developed into poetry, short stories and non-fiction writing. My creative ventures encompass visual communications such as photography too."

Irihipeti says that her creative practices taught her that "eyes are a language of their own, body language is a voice of its own and the stories we are telling or trying to tell ourselves and the people around us without speaking words, is alarmingly loud. So I’ve made it my life's work to uncover these stories, to verbalise my own, to create platforms and safe spaces to empower others to tell their stories."

Ataria says that she created Awa Wahine because she recognised a need for somewhere where women could share writing that would be unlikely to be published in other spaces.

"For example, writing about our monthly bleeding, childbirth, colonisation, writing that in many ways challenges patriarchy and the status quo," she explains. "The reasons why we can publish these types of writing when others can't are because; we don’t have corporate sponsorship, we don’t care about the number of hits or views a post might get and the site is self-funded. This gives us a considerable amount of flexibility and tino rangatiratanga over the content we share which I don’t think you will find with other online media/blog sites."

"I also wanted Awa Wahine to be a welcoming space for women who don’t yet identify as ‘writers.’ Women who don't feel like their writing is ‘good enough,’ that their voice is unimportant and they don’t have anything of value to share with others. At Awa Wahine by the very act of publishing their work, I believe we are saying that their writing is important. The name was inspired by Ngahuia Murphy's thesis on pre-colonial Māori women's menstruation, where Te Awa Wahine is another name for menstruation - alongside Te Awa Ātua and Te Awa Tapu."

Irihipeti says she got involved with Awa Wahine when she discovered Hana Tapiata, her korero and her "willingness to share her stories and the platforms she resonates with, I discovered Awa Wahine and when I reached out to Ataria to support her cause. I told her, “I’m helping and this is how I can help but if there’s something else you need help with, I’ll  figure out how to do that too.” Six months in I’ve since echoed this korero and added, “I’ll go anywhere your sailing this waka, e hoa!”
 
"That’s the power of story," Irihipeti says, "it’s a magnet for empowerment, unity and reflection. We tell stories to remember, stories to heal, stories to return home. Thus Awa Wahine, for me was certainly me returning home and my home as I remember it, how my DNA and my blood remembers it, every inch of my being remembers it. And it's been healing as fuck. Like generational trauma healing."

"I don’t know Hana nor did I know Ataria before this but I truly believe our tūpuna conspired to create this moment and many of the moments Ataria and I are witnessing through our platform.
It’s motivating for me as someone who doesn’t consider themselves a writer, to keep showing up, even at times when I wonder if anyone’s listening because I know my tupuna are listening. As we uncover our stories, we uncover theirs."

Ataria says she always feels as if she is in the process of reclaiming the female energy in te ao Māori.

"As a child I grew up without my Māori nanny, and I read the stories of Māui and didn't even hear about his counterpart - Hineteiwaiwa. I think this is why right now I am hungry for women’s matauranga. I see Awa Wahine as a place where Hineteiwaiwa - the moon ātua, the ātua of lunar cycles and the whare tangata - is manifest, where we can write in her name on our diverse experiences as Māori women and as women."

I ask about where the waka is heading; their future ambitions both personally, and for Awa Wahine. 

"I’m learning to read the tides, the maramataka and how to navigate my waka, when to rest and when to set forth. I am a mother to a very fierce kotiro, whom needs communities like Awa Wahine to reflect her wisdom, her mana and her visions. With myself being in Australia and Ataria being in Aotearoa, we look forward to both diving into our local communities for sources of inspiration and collaboration and bringing it to each others awareness and to Awa Wahine," Irihipeti says. 

​Ataria says her goal is to get herself to the point where she can work on all the projects she is passionate about full-time without "feeling the need to get a ‘proper’ job so I can then spend my time doing this mahi."

"I’ve got a plan though," she says,  "I’m currently building a tiny house. I would also love to facilitate workshops on women’s matauranga, particularly the whare tangata. Not teach it, because I don’t hold that knowledge but getting the wāhine together who do, who do hold that knowledge."

In terms of Awa Wahine, Ataria says their immediate goal is to make Awa Wahine self-sustainable. 

"We envision it as being a social enterprise with all donations and profits going back towards the kaupapa as well as fair wages for the wāhine who are working with us. We have a long-term goal (I am so excited about this) to create a printed magazine sharing interviews with creative wāhine in Australia and New Zealand, the artwork of some of our most talented artists and illustrators as well as the work submitted by writers to our online platform. There are so many ways we could do this, maybe in collab with Indigenous wāhine from other countries as well. It’s exciting, and we look forward to seeing what Awa Wahine grows into."

Irihipeti says, "I hope we flood the media landscape with more and more women who look like us, who speak and think like us and then probably world domination after that ey sis hahaha."

Ae, sis. 

By Samuel Te Kani

​Three Pump bottles opaline with highly acidic urine
One burdened ash tray smouldering with contempt over an old newspaper heralding terrors already arrived, shelved with familiarity in a library of hellscapes
Too many half eaten bags of Doritos of flavours too numerous and carcinogenic to name
A sideways grin between the curtains, made of sunshine

That's all I can allow myself, that emancipated sliver of daylight because boyslot123 and I have an ongoing competition to see who can deprive themselves of vitamin d the longest.
He's already looking like a Romanian vampire, or the inbred cousin of a Romanian vampire. When I think vampiric seduction boyslot123 doesn't come to mind. I know because we have to share realtime pics of each other in order for the competition to exist at all. He looks like what Macaulay Culkin would look like if Macaulay Culkin was a potato.

boyslot123 and I do talk about things other than vitamin d deprivation though. Not often. But we do. It's generally avoided because he's easily offended. For example, we had a minor disagreement which escalated into a volcanic pissing contest of whose music knowledge was more sophisticated just because my favourite Nine Inch Nails album isn't the same as his favourite Nine Inch Nails album. He ended up DM-ing me a sketch he'd done of me being very graphically sexually assaulted by a dragon. After that we didn't contact each other for three days, not including a day in between where we got put in the same league on fortnite. Normally we'd open private chat and make fun of the other league and discuss funny and inventive ways to slaughter them, but that time we were both still fuming and so we just ignored each other. Our league ended up losing and it was pretty clear our feuding was the culprit because we refused to coordinate effectively and brought everyone down with us. Oops.

I figured if we were severing ties for good then the competition was up and I was just thinking maybe if it's a nice day I might step outside for my first glimpse of daylight in three weeks, but then he messaged me a weak apology that didn't feel genuine but which I graciously accepted for the sake of his alleged mental health issues. I also think he might have a crush on me because the picture he drew of me is unnecessarily pornographic. He'd obviously invested time and energy studying the pics of me I'd sent him and imagining what I look like naked, and then he went and gave me athletic proportions that if I'm honest I just don't have. He also clearly spent quite a bit of time on my eyes. It's eerie how real they look. It would've been all the harder to draw so realistically because I'm ugly crying in the sketches, presumably from having a massive reptile dick inside me.

So I definitely think boyslot123  is crushing on me. He keeps asking personal questions now, things like what's your favourite food where did you grow up etcetera. Ive never been with a guy but having not left the house in so long the interest from him is a little more than flattering. It could just be in my head of course. And there also might be some crosschatter going on between our chats and my porn tabs. At first I'd never allow our benign chats to happen simultaneous with my porn, but it's like he intuits when I'm horned up and about to search something. I'll be halfway through typing interracial gangbang and BAM, there'll be a message from him, like we're tethered at our base impulses.

At first I found it annoying but now his messages are interchangeable in my mind with the pornhub font, they have the same luminous erection-giving aura. And if he hasn't sent me chats in a few hours I'll be hanging out for them thirstily, and I know he doesn't know that's how I'm feeling but I like to think that he does and that it's a game of tease and denial. I've stopped wearing clothes now because between pornhub and fortnite, which is our regularly prearranged meeting space, I'm always turned on. I put a plastic sheet down as a practicality.

I'm really sick. I told boyslot123 and he asked what I'd been eating and I said mostly drone pizza because it's true, and he said that I should get actual groceries drone delivered like he does. He also said that if our competition is seriously effecting my health then we should renege on it. I told him that would make me sad, because I feel like we've come far together and if we aborted without naming a victor then it'll be for nothing. He showed me pictures of himself today and it's like he's made of marble, while I'm just as translucent. But he's right, where he's eating a balanced diet I'm eating shit and the differences are significant. Where he looks pale in a painted way I look defo sick. Apparently he's also been exercising because he doesn't look like a potato anymore, and that combined with his extreme whiteness makes his body look like it's plated with some kind of pure alloy. It's beautiful.

I asked him how he'd been exercising if we aren't allowed to go outside and he said his mum has a basement gym, just a cycle and row machine and some free weights which he's clearly been hitting hard because he's transformed himself in ways I didn't think possible in such a short space of time.  Maybe he's catfishing me.

I'm even more sick now and boyslot123 hasn't messaged me in three days. We hadn't argued or anything, he's just not there. All my messages are untouched, he hasn't been on fortnite. Not a word. I got so lonely that when I went to order pizza tonight I selected the delivery option over the drone. I hadn't shifted from the plastic sheet for an entire day so when I got up to answer the door I had to kind of scrape it off me. I put my robe on with nothing underneath and when the delivery guy handed me my pizza he kind of extended his arm with trepidation, like some red riding hood holding a basket to what was clearly an ogre in his grandmother's decrepit skin.
In that moment I really wanted the delivery guy to touch me. I couldn't say why but it stuck in my head and made me pause while I inwardly scrambled for some legitimate reason to give him so he would stay.

"Do you wanna come inside?" I heard myself saying. He looked at me with shock, not even hatred; he was so taken aback he probably didn't have time to present the usual bravado of his threatened masculinity, being propositioned by a stranger, and another man.
"I'll suck your dick" I heard myself say almost breathlessly.
For a hot second I thought he'd do it, what with the lure of an NSA gobby. But then he just turned and left without saying anything.

I took the residue of that monumental failure back to my laptop. It enclosed me like an iron curtain. I could barely taste the pizza through it as I shovelled it into my mouth, strings of cheese and spurts of pizza grease cascading down the hairy slopes of my bare chest. I think I was crying.
And that's when boyslot123 finally messaged me, delivering me from exile. I could see the DM flagged with the little peach and eggplant emojis like radiant beacons on the sea at night.
I opened the message.

It was another sketch. There was me again, and the dragon, and again I was being penetrated. But not brutalised. If anything this leaner chiselled version of myself wore an expression of bliss and of love. Looking even closer, I could see boyslot123 had subtly changed the dragon's features to more resemble his own.
​
I messaged him back asking what it meant, whether he was trying to tell me something or if he was just quipping me with a novel post as penance for his unexplained hiatus. I imagined tearfully embracing his avatar, feeling the crystalline scales of his pixelated flesh under my similarly synthetic hands, whispering that all was forgiven, covering his reptilian neck with binary kisses.

But he'd gone completely offline.

​

​
​I first heard 'Of Neckbeards and Dragons' earlier this year when Sam and I participated in a reading together on National Poetry Day at Time Out Book Store in Mt Eden. And honestly, I was sitting there with my hand clasped over my mouth in order to stop myself from lolling obnoxiously. It was so funny. Sam's stories combine sci-fi and fantasy with erotic fiction. They are camp and crass as well as totally intelligent and endlessly surprising. In my, I-have-an-MA-in-Creative-Writing-opinion aka personal opinion, Sam is writing some of the dopest short stories in the whole dry country. I was happy as when I reached out and Sam was keen to share some of his work and his thoughts behind his work with us at Toi Māori.
​
A few years ago I came across across a series on RNZ that talked about the concept/genre of ‘afrofuturism’; science fiction that draws on/parallels the African diaspora and how it might be applied to New Zealand/South Pacific writing.  I asked Sam about his thoughts on Māori x Science Fiction and how, if at all, his identity as Māori has influenced his work.

“My practice isn't aware of Māori-dom per se,” Sam says, “ but only in as much as this isn't negotiated in a blatant way. Rather the disconnect between myself and heritage, from globalisation urbanisation call it what you will, is felt wordlessly and goads me to another commons where all the psychic surplus of collective hurting/desiring runs off and renews itself in different forms for successive generations.”

This commons, he says,  is popular culture.

​The nature of a commons (a cultural or natural resource that is accessible to all members of a society),” Sam explains,  “runs counter to capitalist realism and it's regimen of ownership, so perhaps it's only right that displacement would find power in the commons of pop culture, would find a new language to suture the loss-wounds from the old one in the clay of pop's frequently pornographic hyperreality.”

“It could be said much of pop, particularly music, advocates the fetishisation of youth and a disproportionate prioritisation of sex,” Sam suggests, but adding that this makes sense to him.

“As much as sex has been a force historically manipulated to charge consumerism, so too has it been an energy so freewheeling that it's simultaneously birthed the obverse, motivating players to increasingly barbed modes of verticality. By this I mean the players no longer matter, just the flows; the flow of sex, the flow of money, the flow of forms streaming relentlessly from the orifice of a collective dream.”

“Furthermore the capitalist locus is fractal, it's edges are a confusing blur between history and memories of a future that will never happen. As far as I’m concerned the program is combusting in the fires of flows. For those who care to look, it's pretty much gone.”

​“Because of this there are vitalities within popular culture's consistency, even if it's forms are traditionally generated to service a decidedly capitalist framework. It's plasticity, primed to perfectly adapt to any exogenous force or threat, has the inadvertent effect of creating that threat like subversion born in tradition, a systemic glitch a la the real function of Zion in The Matrix Reloaded.”

​

“The compulsive performance of the erotic in my work is both instinctive and deliberate. Instinctive in the sense that sex-feeling as a flow is potent, widely accessible, and perhaps like pop itself is a commons embedded in a multifarious web of colonial management which still reaches up and over, straining above the mores it finds itself constrained by.”

“Sex is future-minded. To be aroused is to feel tension between where you are in spacetime and an as yet virtual-assumption of a future encounter. It moves us through the cosmos with the blunt force of fate. It holds you to life's flow, absolutely. These tensions have historically been harnessed by consumerism whereby consumer objects (including objectified bodies) become the exclusive point of sexualised desire, secularising sex's flow and reducing cosmic-erotics to linear vectors of trade."

“This instrumentalisation of sex is entirely colonial, and I feel obligated to disrupt the regimen.”
​
“If I didn't write," Sam jokes but it's true, "I'd probably start a sex cult.” 

​

You can follow Sam on Instagram and Twitter.

By Tayi Tibble

Franciose Aroha Danoy aka Frenchie is a 26 year old Franco-Māori, (Ngāti Porou) American-Australian artist currently living in Japan. Her primary medium is knitting and her designs are influenced by her Māori and mixed heritage. Francoise is a supporter of Toi Māori Arts and reached out to us about her mahi on Instagram and we are very glad she did! Her knitwear is incredible (there definitely must been some weavers in her ancestral line, lol). She also has a very big following (nearly 30k!). We talked about her designs, feelings of displacement and creating something new and beautiful from a mix of different cultures. ​

​“I consider myself an artist, first and foremost, who uses knitting as the chosen medium to express myself, my stories, my values, and my culture,” Francoise says. “My designs draw influence from my Māori heritage, where I transform the myths, legends, and other stories into stitches and connect them to the story of why we make.”

​Francoise says that her work aims to “remember the past and strengthen the future” while “enriching the present knitting community” by being a representative for the third-space generation.

​​"I find that my designs are very much a reflection of myself," Francoise says, "a piece born out of different cultures to create something new and beautiful."

She says her journey into her Māori​ heritage started the same time that she started knitting five years ago. "When I picked up the needles for the first time," she says, "I was hit with a vision of designing my own patterns that drew inspiration from my cultural heritage."

​"The idea sort of freaked me out," she continues, "growing up in the United States and France, I had been somewhat disconnected from my mother’s culture."

"Of course, I knew some words and remember some stories, but compared to the connection I had to my French side, where I lived in France, speak French fluently, studied French in college, it was really sparse."

She says however, that her art opened the door for her to connect to a part of herself that she had always shut herself off to due to fear of "not being enough.”

"Growing up I was never considered enough. Living in the States, I wasn’t American because I talked with a funny accent. To my Australian cousins, I was not really Australian. And to the French, I was way too American to be French. "​

She says this isn't the first time she has shared her experience of being a third-space person; the knitting community has been very receptive to her story. However this is the first time she has shared her experience and work with audience she has been avoiding for a long time.

She asks, "Would the Māori  community keep me out too?"

You can follow Francoise and her work on Instagram or on her website arohaknits.com

By Tayi Tibble

​​Huriana Kopeke-Te Aho is a takatāpui artist of Ngai Tuhoe, Ngāti Porou, Rongowhakaata, Te Āti Haunui-a-Pāpārangi, Ngāti Kahungungu descent based in Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland, they also whakapapa to Samoa, Tahiti, Ireland, Scotland and Denmark. Their work is primarily influenced by their Māori whakapapa, takatāpui identity and political beliefs.

I can't recall if I first came across Huriana on Instagram or Twitter, but what I do know is that I very much enjoy following them on both.

Huriana's Twitter is very much politically conscious and radical. It's a valuable feed to follow if you want to be kept up to date on what's happening in Māori, Polynesian and LGBTQ activism espeically.

Huriana's Instagram feed is a vibrantly curated display of their art. There's a mix of recognizable pop culture figures and heavy political imagery. The colour palette ranges from bright pop-art neons all the way through to tino red, white and blacks.

On their website, Huriana says  that they "are passionate about social justice and making the world a more fair and equitable place for indigenous people, transgender people, and other minority peoples."

Huriana was generous enough to share some of their more political and aching pieces with us, and tbh, there's not a lot to say about these pieces. Honestly they speak for themselves. 

You can follow Huriana on Instagram and Twitter or on their website hurianatko.wordpress.com

By essa may ranapiri

started reading the book backwards
to get through the 25 minutes

from notes to final section
to the middle to first line of first
poem to
acknowledgements to
isbn
every last word so brand new
 
i don’t need to be afraid of what comes next
if i’ve already looked at where the monster ends up

splotching plate with aioli
spearing each chip with the fork
i rinsed clean in the sink
after it lay in the sink
for about a week
 
i’m reminded our people travelled so far
and how far we’ve come coz
i’m scared to leave the couch

You can follow essa on their website, instagram and twitter.

​​​Natasha Matila-Smith grew up in Waterview/Avondale. She started studying art at age 24. She had always drawn, but she says she was working “a shitty retail job” and was “kind of aimless.”

“I decided I wanted to just 'make' and that's what I did. My friend at the time and I  both did the foundation certificate at Whitecliffe and for various reasons, I went on to Elam.” She says she didn't expect to “learn a whole lot there” but through study she wanted to buy herself “some time to figure out my shit.”

“At uni, I was making a lot of minimalist art, as you do, and while I still like that work, it was only after I started really just following my gut without thinking too much about the consequences or basing the work on a bunch of dense research, that people started to respond to the work. I mean, it's not as though they didn't before, but I guess emotional pull and internet culture is something people feel really connected to at the moment. I just make what I make and it's a really feelings-based process.”

​​Natasha says her writing started from a place of decolonising art spaces and making room for Indigenous voices that weren't critiquing museum practices or centred around heritage or diaspora.

“To me,” she explains, “ my culture is innate, it comes with the package. So I don't feel like I have to explain the disconnect with my Māori heritage through my artwork, or neatly package for pakeha how colonisation has hurt me and my whanau. I'd rather talk about it through a 'romantic' lens to illustrate how fucked up those systems are / how fucked up my worldview is because of those systems..... Despite being a strong wahine, I'm not immune to the powers of the patriarchy, white supremacy and capitalism.” 

Natasha is currently guest editing the next issue of Runway Australian Experimental Art Issue #38 on Spectacle launching 21 November in Sydney. 

For more information and links to Natasha's work see her website: natashamatilasmith.com
You can also keep up to date with Natasha on Instagram and Twitter 

By Hana Pera Aoake