Charissa hut

Listen up white cis-hetliberals…if you are ANY of these things at any intersection, I want to talk to you…, charissa hut.

Charissa Snijders, Registered Architect, draws on 30 years of experience to deliver regenerative architecture that expresses the self, others and the land. Charissa welcomes those who seek to make a difference in their own lives and in others, and in doing so change the way we live. Blending together the right elements ensures greater connection with ourselves, others and with our relationship with the natural world. The intimate living wing cantilevers into and is sheltered by the native trees to the south and extends to the north with the Outdoor room framing the panoramic sea views. This is a place where one can listen to the rain, the wind in the trees, bird song and the stillness of the night. It is a place to remind oneself of the richness that can be experienced in the simplest things in life.

Charissa hut

The Treehouse rests lightly on a tongue of land on Waiheke Island. The intimate living wing cantilevers into and is sheltered by the native trees to the south and extends to the north with the Outdoor room framing the panoramic sea views. This is a place where one can listen to the rain, the wind in the trees, bird song and the stillness of the night. It is a place to remind oneself of the richness that can be experienced in the simplest things in life. The palette of materials reflects both this simplicity and richness. Juxtaposing warm timber and moments of stone, the Treehouse is a testament to the beauty and power of natural materials. Salvaged Matai graces the floor and sustainable sourced NZ farmed Totara line its walls and form shelving to store holiday memorabilia along the passage. It imbues the magical qualities of native forest and seeks the praise of shadows as well as the light. Minimal impact to the environment was considered throughout the design and build. Starting with the careful siting of the building platform to avoid significant trees, to installing a low energy Biolytix wastewater system, collecting rainwater for it and the surrounding farm use, selecting low-water usage WC, taps and shower heads to using non-toxic materials and finishes wherever possible.

First of all, they are bushy, thick, tangled, and VERY formidable to deal with.

An arc made up of angles is mere endless dead injustice shambling Running from the truth and branding innocence with lies Fogs waver, quiver-quaver shrouding justice there in shadows While the monsters play the endless angles in the falling dark. Please consider our intersections, shared experiences, lived miles in light of this point of view and maybe, just maybe, the truth shall set you free. Shoot me, shoot me if you can for only then will I be still be still among the long green ferns and canted crooked in the grass. Softly blows the westling wind, blows lovely in this blessing night. And thus to love, and thus to mend, to love softly just like the wind loves everything it breathes upon. Listen up white cis-hetliberals…if you are ANY of these things at any intersection, I want to talk to you…. I am speaking in my intersection as a transwoman who suffers from things that share a great congruence with my BIPOC fellow humans.

The owners question how the case has been handled since then. Charissa and Tony Foster, along with their son, were working that Saturday when a pickup gave their pizza shop an unwanted drive-through. The crash was not only destructive, it could have been deadly. A customer sitting inside left just eight minutes before the pickup crashed through the wall. The pickup drove off a nearby roundabout and smashed into a shop across the parking lot. Then the driver backed up and crashed all the way into the pizza shop dining room. The stunned owners waited for what was next when the pickup drives out.

Charissa hut

I think this is among the handful of poems that I really feel good about, from the point of view of technical craft…I think I really hit the sweet spot and was risen above a mere hack or journeyman kind of poetess…. I wrote this, pretty much the first true poem I wrote after a seminal crushing happened to me and I was worried that my creative fonts had been polluted forever…thank God this worry was unfounded, as this beautiful little creature shows. We walked each day steady across those shores ever reaching to the sea and the sea ever running back to sands and sunset ever blessing everyday each moment with its many colored kiss in hues of pinks and purples, oranges, yellows, hues of bliss in reds and blues, and greys… you… always grey lining blue of mine with you, in silver shot straight thru with grey shot thru my blue.

Lananextdoor

In fact, you taught me to read from his books! Not yet emerged. Do the work. Asshole Pervert: I will never ever talk to you or have any contact with you ever. First of all, they are bushy, thick, tangled, and VERY formidable to deal with. SO done. A little hut by the sea wearing grey cedar shingles like feathers ruffled in rainy winds and shot thru with browns and blacks… the red round rock stacked shambling into walls that just spelled home, nestled midst woven thatches of marram shot thru with sedges and dandelions, clinging to shifty sands like picnic blankets strewn round that heart…that little hut, our beginning kissed by windy sands scritching out beach music on violin decks and cello chairs of cypress. I wrote them before I wrote about a baby step of coming out that was looming …and ended up being a devastating attack and shunning by the time it played out. And that, friends, is the white person, the cis-het person that can miss me. God forbid!

Why should we live in such hurry and waste of life?

The sloping site called for the house to be designed on three levels. Join our newsletter Stay updated - Architect or not! One could just spray them with poison…which makes them go away, along with poisoning everything… Or one can do the work. The three parts of the dwelling are held together within the form of the land. Can you melt my doubts and burn my soul hotter than cold death and abandonment? It was about a celebration and making a new way…. And THESE patches always look so neat, and you can never ever walk on them barefoot or lay down and rest on them cus you will get poked and pricked and cut. Yet…all who partake of her sup can find their certain path to drink of living waters springing up and resonating in the ink. We walked each day steady across those shores ever reaching to the sea and the sea ever running back to sands and sunset ever blessing everyday each moment with its many colored kiss in hues of pinks and purples, oranges, yellows, hues of bliss in reds and blues, and greys… you… always grey lining blue of mine with you, in silver shot straight thru with grey shot thru my blue. I really do not know. You shall not run dry…because you are a Many-Moon now, Baby…deeply well. It aches too fierce, too good, it thrills, thrums too ferocious to identify and focus on, and then it gets dim and blurry when I look at you and see the quiet gentle fierce glad brightness of your countenance at night that dims the stars, and blurs the sands, and makes the waves stand still breathless and in awe, and I know then my core is ever always you you you. Heed these words, and remember Bonhoeffer. I am blood guilty of sins of commission, and sins of omission as well.