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Haiku for Mental Health Day at the Tate Modern.

 On October the 13th, as part of DAO 'Diverse Perspectives' Programme, I will be filming the Mental Health Day event at the Tate Modern. My film is about Portugal Prints . They are awesome and amazing and inspiring, and it will be a honour to follow them around for the day, filming their Haiku event.


This is what they say of their event:

The Haiku Festival 2012 is a pilot online social media event developed by Westminster Mind’s art project Portugal Prints. On Saturday the 13th October 2012 between 1.00pm and 5.30pm we will be holding a public event at Tate Modern where people can participate in writing their own verse (there will be a selection of beautiful handmade papers to choose from) are creating your own images, which will then be strung to an installation along with some of the best Tweets. There is already media interest in the event so anyone who is intending to join us who maybe photophobic should wear their ‘Free Pussy Riot’ balaclavas.

If you can't attend this free event, you can twitter your haikus to @Haiku_2012

 

This is my haiku, inspired by the upcoming event:

On Mental Health Day

I capture the poetry

Of Portugal Prints

 

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 30 September 2012

Last modified by Dolly Sen, 30 September 2012

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Paul Nash's 'Wittenham'

 Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

Poetic Response to Paul Nash’s ‘Wittenham’

Skies are distant blue
Beautiful
But there’s separation
The scenery in the distance can never be
grasped; it needs you to be far away from it
he doesn’t want to be far away from it
he wants to cup the sky
and take it home with him.

But always go back empty-handed.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 27 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 March 2013

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Auerbach's 'Reclining Head'

 Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

Response to Auerbach’s ‘Reclining Head’

The dreaming bones
Drags the flesh
And steps on flowers

The heart is in there
Somewhere
Blistering truth
With every breathe
And every smile
A lie

What is it in the human
Gene that does this?

The DNA
the ‘do not activate’
helix
That twists the soul
In on itself
And unravels  
The genotype
Of a broken soul

Dreaming...

Posted by Dolly Sen, 26 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 March 2013

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Barbara Hepworth

 Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

 

 

Response to Barabara Hepworth’s ‘Single Form’

 Do you know what it is to be an outsider?

It is black and white for the world to see.

They think they are in the light

And we stand in the darkness

But they don’t see a light

That can burn

A hole through stone

 

The outsider knows the pierced form

The outsider is the pierced form

 

We are not the paint, not the stone

Not the ink, not the clay

 

We are what is left behind

 

You see a hole where the heart is

We see a heart where the hole is.

 

Poor you.

 

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 26 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 March 2013

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Nigel Henderson

Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

Response to Nigel Henderson’s ‘James Joyce’

In broken rocks
In desolate landscapes
The human face still haunts.

I must keep making faces at my pain
I must keep making faces to know myself
The battleground for the human spirit
Is in the face.

Because the head is a strange place
Sometimes I don’t know where I am
Sometimes I am a stranger
In a strange land
Inside my own skin.

Life – a collage
A cutting out of reality
I must rearrange it
And make it mine

The head is a strange place:
A geography of something always lost
A map that takes us away from ourselves.
No wonder we rip it up -
This confetti of the ghosts we must be.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 24 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 25 September 2012

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Scottie Wilson

Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

Poetic Response to Scottie Wilson’s ‘Peaceful Vase’

A vase of a thousand pieces
Is beautiful
Perfection is boring
Broken pieces can be put together
A thousand different ways
The human being is art
Not a photocopy
Of a photocopy
Not plastic flowers
In a plastic vase
Not a plastic smile
In a plastic heart.

The heart is a pen
“It seems to make me draw
and I can’t stop the flow.”

I have to surround evil
With beauty
Surround greedies
With a thousand lines
Of kindness
Thank goodness
For the 1000 broken pieces
In my head

No need to draw the table
As table
“It’s all writ out for you – the moves
you make.”

So let your heart, your pen
Move you

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 24 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 25 September 2012

Poetic Response to Outsider Artist - Peter Howson

Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

This is in response to Peter Howson's 'Suspicious Boy':

A quiet hand
Linked to a screaming heart
Knows

The eye
The flotsam gaze
In a savage sea
Of drowned children
Still alive

Knows 
Art needs to know
Needs to show
The broken mind
Under bright skin 
Needs to dig into the lines
That tears the soul
And show the heart
Coming apart at the dreams.

It needs to know the suspicion,
The hate needed to breathe
Without dying

It needs to know that survival
does not save you
It saves itself

Life cannot be beautiful
Ever again. 

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 20 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 September 2012

Poetic Responses to Outsider Artist - Mark Gertler

Pallant House Gallery will be hosting a few Outsider Art Exhibitions over the autumn months this year. I became involved with Pallant through their Step Up Programme, which trained marginalised artists to be workshop leaders, and was very happy to be asked to provide poetic responses to several well known - and some lesser known - outsider artists, as part of an audio trail for one of their exhibitions. I went into the studio on September 17th to record these poems for the audio trail.

This is my poetic response to Mark Gertler's 'Near Swanage'.

Painting sublime scenes
But not seeing loveliness
I have to create beauty
To drown the ugliness
Behind my eyes, all
The horror I have seen
And known, and cannot
Blink away; my eyelids
Are broken wings.

The edge of the brushstroke
Is the battlefield
Will the war for my soul
Be won?

Can I scar the canvas
With enough grace
To save the world
Behind it?

Can I make the world
Beautiful enough
To save my soul?

I want to save my soul.
Will the world let me?

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 19 September 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 September 2012

Prescription of Stars

 PRESCRIPTION OF STARS

Finally you prescribe me stars
Not shame, nor loss of soul as side effect

You prescribe me holding my head up high
To find my soul again.

It is easier to see under a light.

Finally the universe is open to me
Where I can fly, standing still.

Because I have my stars.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 21 July 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 9 September 2015

Poetic Exorism

I know how to laugh at the absurdity of humanity and myself, I can laugh until my stomach aches, but I can also cry to the point of not wanting to live, and I can do both in the same day. Some will say that is bipolar; I will say it is a human response to human things.

This last year has been tough. This time last year, my dad, one of my abusers, got knocked down and sustained brain damage, which accelerated his already present dementia. That incident last year kicked off a whole series of consequences, which has made me feel disconnected with my family. My family were my bedrock of strength before hand, and I have lost my steady ground to walk upon. I have to now recreate my new road before me without knowing where I am going, and with the fragile pieces of my confused heart.

But I am not completely lost, my creativity is there to make this arid soulland beautiful in any way it knows how, or to tell the world: there is a war going on here. As Nigel Henderson, the artist said, 'Art is the battleground of the soul'. 

I feel haunted at the moment, demons are playing hide and seek with everyone of my breaths. Poetry for me is never going to be sedate, it is me fighting for my very own soul.

Father's day recently was my most recent battle, and here is the outcome:

In the old people’s home
Is my skinny monster
Hell is greying now
Hell is getting forgettable
Hell is getting old, so old 

My monster is wetting himself
My monster has dementia
My monster does not know he haunts me 

Why are you still so powerful
And I am still so weak? 
I can’t get out of the room
I can’t grow bigger than one foot tall 

The monster threw me against the wall
Kept pushing me to the ground
Every time I tried to get up 
I deserved it
I was a 2 year old cunt
The monster would leave me alone in that cold dark room.
All night, alone, the small room went on forever.
A 2 year old can understand horror, desolation
A 2 year old can want death
A 2 year old can carry so much fear
That it my heart is coated with it 40 years later 
I cried for my monster to come back 
He did come back 
To haunt me 

Another poem, along the same theme:

HAUNTED, AGED 2
What is this thing that haunts
That as a child scared me
How did I know to be scared of it?
And why was I scared of it?
An empty merry go round, frozen horses
Dancing in circles
The ice cream van tinkling its  saccharine mantra
The nursery song, ‘boys and girls go out to play…’
The dolls without eyes…

There was no screaming monsters
No violent hatred
That came next
No haunting there except the ghost
Of the dead child I learnt to become

To be a baby, a little child
And know haunted

Humanity, you were broken to begin with.

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 28 June 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 2 July 2012

Eyes - A poem by Dolly Sen

 The Eyes

The eyes, the eyes have it
That light,
That guiltless blaze
That melts the poles
And shames the sun 

The eyes
That give the biggest smiles
In the slums, in the institutions,
in broken homes, in every
flavour of hell 

I want to pinpoint
The moment
In the falling cards of unbroken age
And find that gaze, that photograph, that day
When the eyes stopped believing, stopped dreaming
And saw the world for what it really is 

The gallery of broken souls have no visitors…

Posted by Dolly Sen, 24 May 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 24 May 2012

Within WIthout You - an Outsider Art Exhibition and blog

I will be exhibiting at the Within Without You Exhibition, as part of the the Bath Fringe Festival. The exhibition was the brainchild of Brian Robert Gibson, whom I met at some Outsider In training, and with some other artists who are part of Outsider In www.outsidein.org.uk/, plus a few from further afield, this exhibiton and blog came about to explore what it is to be an outsider.

As Brian says himself, this event is 'a space to explore where we are placed and where we place ourselves within any given spectrum.'  

The exhibition with be at: The Pet Store, 7 Upper Borough Walls, Bath, Avon BA1 1QR
25th May-10th June 2012 - 10am-6pm
Private View: Fri 25th May 6-9pm

The blog for the event, which showcases art and words from the outsider artists themselves, is at withinwithoutyou.info/

Here is an example of one of my poems from the blog:

LITHIUM SUN
You say my sun shines too bright,
but if you have had the dark clouds I’ve had,
you could give nothing less.
Yes, sometimes the sun blinds others.
But with it, I can just about see where I am going.

You can turn off the light if you want, you have the power.
You can give me back the dark room.
But once in there, you ask me to leave that too.

1000 watt or nothingness is me, I guess.
You can force the 50 watt on me, but it doesn’t fit the slot.
I have tried pushing it in; my soul is torn to prove it.

Until you change your light into one that fits,
one that shines and doesn’t laugh at dreams,
let me shine my way, until I can see where I am going,
and the sun can rest behind the trees.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 4 April 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 7 April 2012

Tattoo - A Poem

(language may offend)

Tattoo

They are there to erase the words“
Cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt…”
Written under my skin
The story my daddy wrote and still wants to write

Without sun, without stars, without flight
and love
Where the paper would end up in the bin.

I know my torture bores you.
This skin is torn and stuck together again
I can turn total skin to total scar
But that is still his story – not mine

So now my skin holds sun, stars and flight
Love is coming slowly
The flesh will wrinkle, the flesh will rot
But the stars, the sun – and my story –
will not.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 23 March 2012

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 26 March 2012

Concrete Skin - a poem

Put a soul
As light as a feather
In concrete skin
And broken shoes
And say 'live human live'

Go into hell and make it look
Pretty
Find meaning
In your hopeless
dreaming
Death hurts
And life
has people
Who may
or may not

Love you

Posted by Dolly Sen, 19 July 2011

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 20 July 2011

Senseless flame - a poem

The fire of your passion.
Of your rage
Of your life
Would make the stars laugh
If they could even see you 

You are a senseless flame
Hiding behind a flesh
That cries in secret
and judges other insignificant flames
Behind insignificant scars 

You are a light that needs to burn
A light that this rat race has made putrid 

No wonder the stars
Laugh cynically
At these little flames
Ashamed
Of the light they shed 

You must burn
A cage will be your payment 

Perhaps it is better to
Willfully miss
The rushing sparks
Of dreams 

Through cold fingers

Posted by Dolly Sen, 13 June 2011

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 14 June 2011

Dolly Sen pays tribute to Amita Patel

I am well aware of the statistic that states one in ten people with serious mental health difficulties will commit suicide. But statistics are for the safe and sound, statistics turn human hearts into empty numbers.

They don't say one in ten people are failed by the mental health service, they don't say one in ten sensitive, kind hearts couldn't take any more of the cruelty and selfishness of the world, or that one in ten talented, artistic people will no longer create.

Two lovely people, two fellow artists, two fellow fighters of the system, two people who I had the hugest respect for, ended their lives in the last few weeks. It has done two things: it has both stoked the fire that will keep me fighting for equality; but it has also left me cold.

Amita Patel was both a writer and an activist. We both shared a love of writing, and when it came to protest the closing down of a culturally sensitve service, I held the left pole of the placard, and she held the right. Survivors Poetry have paid tribute to her on their website

One in ten thoughts will kill you, one in ten people will love you, one in ten words will sing you song, Goodbye friends.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 16 August 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 20 August 2010

Dolly Sen on poetry and the darkness of the soul

I am mostly a happy go lucky person, with a certain cheekiness. I hope when people meet me, they detect the light in me. But I haven't had an easy life, as I have dealt with extreme abuse as a child, and its consequent madness and pain.

Over the period of decades, my madness went from darkness to a strange light with some lapses into the shadows. The soul must do its work, dip into the shadows to see why they are there, and try to remove the caustic monoliths that cast them.

I do not want to bring these shadows into my meetings with other people. They come out in my art and poetry. And so these shadows scatter into the smaller shadows of letters and words. Sometimes they make sense. Sometimes they are cathartic. Sometimes they are an incitement to immerse myself more in the shadows. But I won't step deeper - one poem at a time. I like the light too much...

 

Friction
The friction of life
On skinless hope
The kisses of love
Bleach lost flesh
I don’t mind
My new scars
Protect me
From the sweetest breezes


Everything that has touched me
Has left its imprint
Of boot kicks and butterflies

I am raw sculpture
Still unmade
Yet I refuse to let
The softest part of me
Turn to stone
I can’t even cry

Tears are inflammatory
My mind immolates
Kills itself with fire

There is not enough water in my dreams
There is not enough ice in my sleep

Spit on me

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 1 July 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 2 July 2010

Dolly Sen does broken-hearted poetry

I had my heart broken earlier this week, am slowly climbing out of the hole. Part of the ladder out of the dark is writing my way out. So here is some of it...

Songs to my shadow

The sun is too much
The sun is too much 

Songs to my shadow
Light makes you darker
Light makes you stand tall

There is more life in you
Than there is in me
I taught you how to breathe
So much so
There is nothing left in me

The breath and dream do not like to meet
The breath and dream are torn at the seams

Where there was air

Now there is just bleeding
And it is beautiful
It feels beautiful

Blood is tiptoeing around my breath
Blood is tiptoeing around my breath

As I watch my screams dance
I watch my screams dance

The beating heart
I do not like its song
So I give it to my shadow
To whom it belongs

So this is a song to my shadow
I am the one behind you

You will be here when I am gone
That’s all they will find of me

Shadow, sing my song
Shadow, sing my song

hopefully the shadows will pass and I will only see the sun again xxx

Posted by Dolly Sen, 1 May 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 2 May 2010

Dolly Sen writes a poem while waiting for the gasman under a Lithium Sun -

Am waiting for the gasman to make an appearance at my mum's so they can fix her boiler, I have done my work for the day, so instead of twiddling my thumbs, I did a bit of writing about bipolar. I was inspired by my friend Lynn Harrison posting 'Lithium' by Nirvana on her FaceBook page.

LITHIUM SUN
You say my sun shines too bright,
but if you have had the dark clouds I've had,
you could give nothing less.
Yes, sometimes the sun blinds others.
But with it, I can just about see where I am going.

You can turn off the light if you want, you have the power.
You can give me back the dark room. 
But once in there, you ask me to leave that too.

1000 watt or nothingness is me, I guess. 
You can force the 50 watt on me, but it doesn't fit the slot.
I have tried pushing it in; my soul is torn to prove it.

Until you change your light into one that fits,
one that shines and doesn't laugh at dreams,
let me shine my way, until I can see where I am going,
and the sun can rest behind the trees.

 

Hey up folks - my friend Dawn Willis has written an Open Letter to Stigmatising Mental Health Charities on her Wordpress blog

Posted by Dolly Sen, 22 April 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 23 April 2010

Dolly Sen woos with some lurv poetry

To celebrate Valentine's Day, I am putting some of my love/erotic poetry up on here. You can tell I am in love with someone at the moment, otherwise I would dismiss valentines day as a cheap marketing ploy and be nailing chocolate hearts onto clouds, waiting for birds to piss on them!

Come inside

I may not let you in
or maybe slowly
or maybe you will keep me at the door
teasing by waiting
not quite all the way in
not quite touching the side of my walls
I want to pull you in deeper
I want to drag you to my shore
drowning times two
to drown with me I will pull you in deeper
I will make you walk on water
you were made for my hands
you fall perfectly into my touch
water, sand sun one
you were made for my wombs
my womb
is my padded cell
I am
waiting for you to enter.

Choice

Head resting on your belly
Between breast and pussy
I don’t know where I want to put my mouth
Inch it higher slowly
Or much, much lower to get lost in you Choices
Is a journey of tastes
I would rather swallow you whole, leave my skin to share yours
I have to make do with kisses that draw your soul to your skin
And then leave me again
Breath, a deep, deep breath, the mouth rises along the body
Moving slowly, barely touching, taking you through the nose,
The mouth, the tongue, the skin.
I write on your skin, the word bliss with my tongue, no full stops, the sentence trails off...
A mouth that climbs a mountain, meets the sun and a thousand falling stars
Just to go down again

Lost and Found

It was the meeting of two minds
of 2 people that were lost
who discovered they were not
lost at all. It was the world around them
that had gone astray
The World used maps like ‘work’, ‘judge’
‘hate’ and ‘blame’ These two did not like to be in those places
there was no escape except to use our
own maps of ‘love’ ‘passion’ ‘art’ and ‘poetry’
But we were told:
‘There is no place for you here. Tear up
your heart-shaped maps or we will tear
them up for you.’ So we ran away from them
followed our hearts
and
found
each
other 

Dozzy Angel 
Eccentric Fish

Posted by Dolly Sen, 14 February 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 15 February 2010

Dolly Sen says:

I DO MIND FILMS presents ‘voices from a strange land’

Lurking behind tabloid interest in the mental health crises of celebrities is a vast unease around mental ill-health. The everyday stigmatisation of the Mad affects everyone. Films about madness are usually made by people who have not been there.

Dolly Sen has been there, and is making a travelogue about a place few return from unscathed. Most films about madness turn us into something to be feared or vilified, it does not see the strength of the people who go through it daily and still manage to stand. This film hopes to address that aspect. The film seeks to be a work of art, but also to help dispel the ignorance around this subject matter. The Candid Arts Trust in Angel, London is hosting a fundraiser to raise money for this important film on the experience of psychosis on September 8th 2009 with a night of film music, words, comedy and massage.

Date: Tuesday 8th Sept 2009
Venue: The Projection Room, Candid Arts Trust, 3 Torrens Street, London, EC1V 1NQ
Travel: Angel Tube, & Buses
Time: 6pm to 9.30pm
Price: £5
Contact: dollysen70@hotmail.com
Web: http://www.idomind.org.uk/id6.html & http://www.candidarts.com/

Line Up 8 September
3 films about psychosis Dolly Sen – MC

Rai Studley writes about life, love, madness and the little things inside her head that refuse to be silenced. Playing a mix of acoustic guitar-based tunes and some truly breathtaking acapella, her songs have a habit of touching something deep inside you. http://www.myspace.com/raistudleymusic

Madeleine Bridgett is a poet based in Brighton, UK. Born in Sydney, Australia, she worked as a social worker for many years advocating for very marginalised and vulnerable groups of people living on the fringes of society. Having presented at both national and international conferences, Madeleine has been involved in creating change to improve the quality of life for many people.

Madeleine moved to the UK in 2004 and began a career writing and performing poetry. Her poetry is inspired by people and she is fascinated by the human condition. In 2006 she produced her own live chat show which gets filmed for internet broadcast.

Liz Bentley is a mother, writer, poet, musician and therapist. She has been working on the stand up poetry circuit for 6 years. Her experiences include 3 successful shows at the Edinburgh Fringe (last year performing, programming and hosting over 50 shows in Edinburgh’s only swimming pool venue (in the pool!) with artists including John Hegley, Robin Ince, Luke Wright to name but a few). She has hosted and performed at disability events such as DaDaFest, Liberty, Boundless and at mainstream festivals such as Latitude festival, Reading and Birmingham comedy festivals.

“Definitely one of my Fringe highlights” Three Weeks *****
“Like a female Ivor Cutler” The Scotsman
“Bentley is beguiling. Such an exhilarating experience” Chortle

AND MORE TO COME!!! Vjing by the PIMPS OF PERCEPTION

Massage by Paula Bailey

If you cant come, but would like to donate go to http://www.idomind.org.uk/id6.htm
Contact details: Dolly Sen dollysen70@hotmail.com

Posted by Dolly Sen, 30 August 2009

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 7 September 2009

Dolly Sen will be reading from a tree top in Regents Park, London!

Survivor's poetry and music - Mad Chicks and the Bath Mad Hatters
Budding Hub Gallery, Fri 28th August 2009 6:00pm - 8:00pm

A multi-faceted cornucopia of readings, talks and sound performances around the works of those who have suffered from mental illness from Mad Chicks and the Bath Mad Hatters. Mad Chicks is about women psychiatric patients and survivors of the psychiatric system. The movement developed from within Mad Pride, a user-led mental health civil rights movement, committed to ending discrimination against psychiatric patients, challenging misinformation in relation to mental health and celebrating mad culture. Clare Crestani of the Mad Hatters of Bath will tell real life stories of lands beyond time and space, where fairies and demons dwell. Followed by a discussion of whether the psychotic experience is a valid way to discover Universal truths or merely a mental illness to be druggged, pitied and patronised.

I will reading from my book in a tree, I always knew I'd one day do that. Told you Doc, it wasn't a delusion!

For more info about the treehouse gallery go to http://www.thetreehousegallery.org

Posted by Dolly Sen, 27 August 2009

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 28 August 2009

POETRY

eccentric fish book cover

Pavement Poem

Do not step here
my dreams have fallen
out of my pocket, and
are hard to find again.
Don’t grind them into the ground
Otherwise I will have to wait
for the rain to run into the cracks
to the feed the daisies
to push them back up again

Sleep Walk
Did you sleep well?
No, I made a few mistakes.
The truth keeps interupting.
I don’t know how to end the dream.
I forget to dot the tease
And cross the eyes.
Poor Dali,
Making movies on how I see the world
With dyslexic dogs
Providing the subtitles and the subtleties.
Can’t read the small print.

The truth keeps interupting.
I don’t know how to end the dream.
I can read the film
Of existence
It is transparent
Dreams are commercial breaks
Selling my soul back to me
But I want more:
33% extra soul
buy one soul, get one free
I want new and improved soul
With a fresher fragrance

So it is hard to sleep well
I am sleep-walking on the hot coals
Of the stars,
One day I will get to the end

And not wake up.

RUNNING OUT

Psychiartrist conference-
free pens!-
I took one-
before I went to talk to docs on-
what it is like to be mad-
The ink was temperamental-
wrote only half the words-
nobody knew what I wanted to say.
I scream in frustration – arrggghh-
but those are not my words-
just what you made me say-
Psychiatrist, read between the lines-
stop giving me things that do not work.

Posted by , 1 May 2008

Last modified by ben paley, 10 July 2008

SOME POETRY FOR YOU

barlight

Some people have asked that I add some of my poetry to this blog, so here goes:

SPYCHOSIS

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.

Getting higher
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.

Posted by , 1 April 2008

Last modified by ben paley, 10 July 2008