It was boring. That is, once I got through their insecurity guards.
My artistic output at the moment is very driven. I guess you just need to put me in the sun to ripen. If my daily deluge is too much for you, do not worry: you will return to your usual programming soon, when I will switch from art to writing for the rest of the summer months.
ONE STEP SANITY MAINSTREAM TEST
Please read all instructions. They will tell you what to think, do and feel.
Failure to follow instructions may impair your ability to be part of the machinery.
How to use the test:
- Remove the mainstream from the foiled mind.
- Remove the cap.
- Direct your urine mainstream on your dreams for at least ten years.
- NOTE: Do not urinate on the Test and Control windows. They are meant to piss on you.
- Wait at least five years for the red line to appear. If nothing has appeared, piss on your dreams for longer.
Why am I called a 'service user' when I have no choice in services?
If I went to Argos for a kettle and somebody pumped me full of drugs I didn't want, pushed me on the floor because I complained my kettle was faulty, or electrocuted by said kettle, you know, I wouldn't go want to go back. How in any way, shape or form is that a service, especially if this 'service' affects your statutory rights. No refunds or exchanges for missed life.
So I had fun creating an amazon page for psychiatry. Enjoy.
The dictionary definition of Bedlam is 'a scene of uproar and confusion'. This is because sanity constructed it to be that way. As Thomas Fuller said, 'It is madness for sheep to talk peace with a wolf.'
If I had a free creative space, I would create a public Bedlamb, inspired by the one I created in my new home. A place where no wool is pulled over the eyes, yet a place of warmth, cuddles, and safety, with a Dolly Booooooooooooo Peep to make sure no one gets lost.
'Only in art will the lie-in, lie down with the lamb, and the rose grow without the thorn.' That's Martin Amis, paraphased by me.
Tracey Emin, eat your heart out - you didn't have sheep!
My madness is sometimes a beautiful thing. It occasionally shows the world through x-ray eyes where all you see is love. And sometimes you look through the world with x-rated eyes that terrorises you into silence. Art does the same. It is such the twin of madness, they are almost conjoined. I don't know if I can separate them without one of them dying. What if it is the art twin that dies, with madness alone and feeling it has lost something?
Today I have created two conceptual pieces looking at the pain of madness. I have said many times medication does not cure abuse, racism, homophobia, loneliness, poverty or the damage done by this current government.
Today my mind feels like it has been bent beyond its limits. I know this feeling will pass. Sometimes the origami of thought can produce interesting shapes. I know my mind can make connections that most 'normal' minds would struggle to create. Sporadically it aims to create free birds but ends up making cages.
It makes a cage within a cage. The bigger cage is this fucking government's oppression of disabled people. The to-do list of an insidious genocide of disabled people through cuts, benefit changes, assisted dying, etc is already 2/3 done. Enough to make any nazi proud. The cage I have created is my fear and depression in response to all this, making me easier to bend and control.
With a smile, fuck you, and a heart stronger than ever, is the way to be. Bent but not broken. I am cellotaped with glitter and stars. If you touch me, you will just see how much I shine.
One thing they don’t tell you about the recovery model is that it will lead some people into no man’s land.
If you, like me, have been residing in psychotic hinterlands for a good few decades, you realise when you rejoin society, you are decades behind your peers. Your first love, job, career, home, relationships are new things in your 30s and 40s. People talk of lost youth like a misplaced item. Mine was never there in the first place.
When you stumble with the mistakes in middle age that most people dispensed with in their teens, it’s humiliating and demeaning, it skins you alive when you have no skin to begin with. Your vulnerability feels like a coat of petrol in a world of fire.
My passport is stamped with lands no one has visited. I cannot return to the homely tyranny of psychosis, even though I still think in that language. I have become a stateless person, not accepted in my new land, normality’s refugee. Too many people do not want me to be part of their home, their culture. I can’t give them what they want. My mind is too strange to pay the adequate amount of taxes. My soul is too hurt to accept any more bullshit. My dreams do not belong in this world. I can’t say society is meaningful and that I am happy to be part of it. It is very ugly in places, and I am not supposed to get upset by that. That’s life, I am told, and life’s not fair. I know that, but why does that mean human beings should forget to try and be fair?
I can’t return to where I came, and I don’t like where I am going. No man's land is land that is unoccupied or is under dispute between parties that leave it unoccupied due to fear or uncertainty. Historically, no man’s land is a dangerous strip of land, or a place of execution. Where can I go to explore a place that is mine? Will I bump into others straying into this lost part of the land?
No man’s land is unowned, unclaimed. Time to claim it as a land I must create myself. That is why I am an artist.