They were all Gods in my eyes.

Tipua, in this world causal day to day tangata in my life on the domestic plane, but in their minds, where I could’t see, there was Godliness

cosmic water not from here, not from a place I could know, passed down through bloodlines that I was honoured to sense pulsing beneath the kiri of these tohunga, these shamanic homies who i was lucky to halve darts with on porch steps yarning and conjuring new world orders in private, over beer in mugs under camelia trees, in aucklnd

there is just so much fucking shit i could learn about and look at an listen to and “invest in,” or “get behind.”

there is so little time, and the climate and the internet and the economy and the power imbalance and patriarchal, hetronormative, eurocentric power grabs, and big business and big tech and dark money and silicon valley neo-colonising us all over again, but like…the world, like it feels like the land that was confiscated post 1840 and you can see illustrations of that whenua on maps, and in images, where it’s been partitioned off and been chopped up and comodofied and sold off, it’s like that but to US, us as in tangata

the first was the severing of tangata from whenua, now is the severing of tangata from potential

and being….sedated or something, complicit and feeling a sense of powerlessness

but i have never felt it with these god-tangata

my friends the artist mongrels with invisible korowai bound in gold

By anascotney

Wellington Auckland Te Urewera