Maybe I just want someone to have sex with who will lightly choke me while I’m on top

Hana Pera Aoake



I leave my window open sometimes in the hope that someone will jump through it and violently choke me to death. I used to listen to the show Australia’s Worst Serial Killers like ASMR to fall asleep. Australian accents are oddly soothing for me. When I say choke me I mean literally choke me to death.

Top three rumours I’ve heard about myself

1. That I pushed a pregnant woman off of her chair during a performance in Wellington in 2018
2. That I got expelled from University for defamation and moved to Japan in 2017
3. That I slept with an art dealer I’ve never met and he got me pregnant and I had to have an abortion in 2017

Old estranged friend accidentally calls me, so I message them back to hope all the best for them in 2019. New year to clear the air I guess. I’m an evolved Gemini. They reply back with too many emojis and I remember why I distanced myself.

New year cull of all of the numbers in my phone of people that I don’t know or maybe now really hate or find annoying? I unfriended 200 people on Facebook and it didn’t feel like enough and I wanted to delete everyone, including myself

Sometimes I choke myself or slap my face or grab my waist or punch myself or prick myself just because I’m so bored and I’m ready to wake up and enter the Matrix. Some people might see this as self harm, but mostly I really wonder if everything around me is real and that I’m trapped permanently in this flesh prison. I read a short story recently about a disease that infects young people and makes them go crazy and then mutilate themselves by ripping their flesh off of their bodies. Sometimes I think it would be nice to be torn limb from limb like the video for “Rock DJ” by Robbie Williams.

I wish I was born into a dynasty of artists like sculptors or painters and married to a Grey Lynn property developer who wore sharkies and had spiky hair. I wish too that I wore expensive silk dresses with more conviction, because it wasn’t stained and second hand. I wish sometimes that I had pearly white skin and was tall and had a fiancé and a dog we adopted together and that I liked and had been skiing this winter.

I order a Shoyu corn ramen and a tofu soup during 30 degree heat to really focus on my own suffering. I almost choke on the pork when I see someone’s really bad Harry Potter anklet tattoo and I think about the fact that Charlotte from Sex and the City was really mad that Harry wouldn’t marry her because she wasn’t Jewish, but he ate pork. I then feel bad that I’m Jewish and love to eat as pork as much as possible.

I notice a father (79) and son (43) who are both bald in exactly the same places and wearing the same shaped glasses, who both order chicken teriyaki donburi. They ask for no black pepper, because it’s ‘too spicy.’

I still dream about this guy I used to really like that I met through the internet. I dreamt last night the he jumped in through my window and choked me to death while fucking me in missionary. He then pissed on me while an R Kelly song played. I woke up and heard chickens and then thought about how I was born with fertile eggs inside me. This always unsettles me, because I don’t like to think about my body’s biological inclination to procreate. I’m a cyborg you know? Gender is a construct? I don’t want these eggs. Imagine living on a diet of eggs that you have to eat hard boiled eggs everyday in order to survive. I watched the chickens eat egg shells and I think about Kim Kardashian turning her placenta from North West into capsules, that she encouraged other women to do because it’s so amazing for your complexion. I eat eggs from the chickens everyday and bitterly reflect upon how my old crush used to brag about his omelettes. I bet he can’t even cook. My friend Josephine talks a lot about how certain men with no personality get really into cooking and ‘boujee’ food culture, as a way of compensating for being so dull. I think my old crush is one of those men.

I keep hoping to run into my crush while I’m dressed like Sarah Connor in Terminator 2, instead I just see annoying and boring, but somehow successful indie musicians and think about how betrayed I still am by a radio host I used to have sex dreams about, who played my ex-boyfriend’s twee band on his radio show.

When I was dancing in Berlin I told everyone I was Australian, instead of being from New Zealand, because nobody knew where New Zealand was and if they did they would talk to me about Lord of the Rings. I feel like Lord of the Rings has colonised New Zealand, it’s as though hobbits are indigenous people, not Māori. I also think Europeans think Australians are all hot and tan and I really wanted to target that market.

I’m jealous of everyone who is younger than me. I wish I didn’t wear so much black or own so much black clothing. Everyday is my funeral in this heat anyway. I wanna start training for when the apocalypse comes, so I can take out all my enemies.

My friend says that although he identifies with being a Scorpio he’s more interested in the capitalist mechanisms embedded in how millennials interact with astrology, as an extension of wellness culture, which is inherently colonial. I worry that he thinks I’m a new age hippy or like that meme of Charlie from It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia trying to explain how astrology is real or like Spencer Pratt in The Hills obsessing over crystals or like the guy who crashed his car driving on the wrong side of the road and then waved a machete around screaming in Italian when I was in Naples on my way to hospital or like Dan Humphries secretly being gossip girl all along, not a ‘nice guy.’ I just really wanted to believe that with his Venus in Virgo and mine in Taurus it could really work or at least be something that was tangible and grounding. I think I just really needed to believe in something. I wanted so badly to believe in love that I started to lose part of myself. At least I still believe in astrology.

Felt very jealous of 20 year old colleague who is hapū and very in love with her partner, who is Māori. I’m jealous of anyone who has a baby and often think for a second about the logistics of stealing a baby and then feel like a terrible person. I think about my parents telling me to just marry a nice Māori boy and I desperately want to be on reality tv show called Find me a Māori hubby. I can see it already–“A sensitive, twenty something mixed race angel poet looks for the one”–and it would just be shots of my reading, laughing with friends with a coffee and looking sad out onto the ocean. I swear everyone hates me because I’m single and they feel bad for me. I mostly think my parents just want me to work a stable job and to have a rich boyfriend to take care of me, but what if I want to take care of me and maybe I just want someone to have sex with who will lightly choke me while I’m on top?

I saw recently that Prince Harry was leaving Meghan Markle because of her ‘diva demands’ and thought about how she probably just isn’t putting up with his emotional bullshit. When they got married I hoped she would leave him and cite it as ‘irreconcilable differences’, which is ambiguous, but we would all know that it’s because he’s a coloniser and an alien lizard. Recently I dreamt that Meghan choked Harry to death by accident on the Queen’s throne in Buckingham palace, except it wasn’t Buckingham palace it was the throne room in Game of Thrones. In my dream, Dame Judi Dench helps Meghan cover up Harry’s death.