Yesterday it was back to uni for me. It was so funny to see the majority of us actually look the worse for wear than rested, due to the non-stop partying that all holidays seem to create. We were in darkened room at first, watching a classic film in our Contextual Studies class, that was ok. But after lunch we had to return to the room to talk about the film with the curtains open and spring light flooding into the space. The hissing like vampires was very audible and some people even disappeared. Twas very spooky.
It seems part of being an artist these days is seeking sponsorship to, well, eat. There are so many ethical dilemmas involved in that, but I am not going to go into that here. Working for a variety of arts organisations means I have seen things like a major accounting firm sponsoring anarchic art.
This got me thinking: who would sponsor me as a mad person? I already know the answer: pharmaceutical companies. I know they are desperate to sponsor mental health arts events for the PR - because they are not exactly sexy -unless they do viagra too.
They know that people take their meds because they have to, or because they are addicted to them or will suffer from withdrawl otherwise. Jeez, there are even laws in the pipeline to make it compulsory to take your meds. The FACT that it will knock years off your life is seen as a mere side effect.
All these things make it very easy for me to turn down pharmaceutical sponsorship, which I have done. But just imagine any advertisements that come from it. Up and coming skateboarders and bands wear their sponsors clothes, shoes and sunglasses. Can you imagine me, wearing a syringe up my arse, doing the lLargactyl shuffle, bumping into walls because of blurred vision, and drooling out the side of my mouth? Sexy? I think not.
THIS IS A BLOG SPONSORED BY PROFANE REALITY, THE PERFUME THAT REALLY GETS UP YOUR NOSE!
This blog is a feeler out to those affected by mental health unit closures, drop me a line and tell me about them. Apart from wanting to gain a broader picture of what is happening around the country, there may be a way to highlight this nationally in a project I am taking part in. I can't say too much about this now, because we need funding and haven't got it yet. If you do want to drop me a line, my email is email@example.com
Some people have asked that I add some of my poetry to this blog, so here goes:
let’s go fly a kite &
see wombs reject clouds
I’ve got the hole word in my hand
crucified by candy floss
I throw out the rubbish
and find my dreams
which ones are recyclable, I don’t know.
Second-hand slumber is not so bad,
sleeping in your dreams is good enough
Something must be rested
Do you realise you never look in your diary in dreams
you always know what to do next.
Waking is putting on the body again
I never seem to find one that fits.
The smile is cut out to provide a spyhole
my paranoia gets stuck between my teeth
It’s a grind.
I am hungry now.
I have fallen down a hole
surviving on catatonic toothpaste
till my rescue.
My silent screams have fresh breath.
welcome to my dream
there is no admission fee
and you will leave something behind anyway
THE LIBEL OF SANITY
I am not an open book. But you can read me in the Braille of crumbling walls, if anyone bothers to feel, to feel.
is getting deeper
peel the layers
the colour scheme of dreams
Empty rooms have their lullabies. Empty rooms have their dreams.
My stream of consciousness is chlorinated, sanitised for public use, but look under the surface, dive deeper, get under my skin, come into my dark corners and see how I judge the world.
I stand because of these walls, but I can never leave these doors. My head is in the clouds, but I am stuck to the ground, I would like to weigh myself in mid-flight. But I am like a bird trying to fly in set concrete.
The libel of sanity. Can you prove reality exists in a court of law? Where are the witnesses? Where is the evidence? Except the invented evidence. You build the walls and say reality exists within these walls? Take the walls away and what have you got?
The jury is out.