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You know you are normal when...

 I actually don't like mind normal people, I just don't like normal fundamentalists. I published this a few years back, and the hatemail I got because of it astounded me. How dare I make fun of normal people, although these labels of 'mad' and 'normal' are invented labels and human being is good enough for everyone. Or that I am satirising the unthinking tenets of what normality seems to be.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 9 July 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 7 February 2012

Dolly Sen is obsessed with angels

I am obsessed with angels at the mo. I am seeing them everywhere, am writing about them, and painting them, and feeling the breeze from their flapping wings on my face, or could it be that I don't know a pigeon from an angel...

Latest writing about angels:
The world is full of cynical angels. The sun is an oven with its door open, cooking a chicken. The chicken still dreams and gleans some satisfaction that its tasty skin will explode some human's heart and render that human's dreams obsolete. What the chicken doesn't know is most human dreams go nowhere, and their waking states only slightly further than that.

Yes, the world is full of cynical angels. Dreams turn us into whores of poverty and purity. We no longer become upstanding, respected members of our collective doom.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 8 July 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 8 July 2010

Dolly Sen gives a definition of mad culture

What is Mad Culture?

It is a celebration of the creativity of mad people, and pride in our unique way of looking at life, our internal world externalised and shared with others without shame, as a valid way of life.

It is an acknowledgement that we are reacting to a society that is scared of us and will hijack our art and literature once our artists and writers are dead and therefore deemed safe and easy to control, corrupt and capitalise.

Our culture is that we have control of our lives without being brutalised by a psychiatric system that wants us to conform to an ideal of normality that doesn’t exist anyway. It is challenging the idea that madness is something to be hidden; it realises that visibility counts in order to break the stigma that has a stranglehold over every single mad person alive today. Mad Culture is saying, ‘Yes, yes!” to life even if embarrasses the ‘normals’.

Mad Culture is saying: I won’t hold your sanity against you. My reality is good enough. Is yours? Not all mad people are artistic, some are quite happy to be accountants, and I don’t think mad accountants should be discriminated against.

We are already an alienated sector of society, in fact the most alienated sector of society. We are not full members of this society or culture and that is not going to change without us changing it. Because why is it in their interest to change what makes them feel comfortable and superior. So in that sense we need to create our own culture in which we feel comfortable in. Some would argue that leads to separation, but we are separate. Where does madness fit in ‘normal culture’?

We are the untouchables. Only fit enough to work in sheltered workshops, to be cleaners, media scapegoats and to paint multi-million pound masterpieces. Put simply, in this present culture we have victim status; in our culture, we are just ourselves. WE want a culture that doesn’t produce a suicide every 40 seconds.

Why have pride about suffering distress, some may say? It’s not about that. It is pride in our strength to survive that distress and what it teaches us, and not to feel like lesser beings because of it, and to question why we feel lesser beings because of it, to question that madness is an illness and not a human response to a sick society, a sick upbringing.

Can you imagine a world without music, art, dance and drama? It would be an empty, bland place. So why is the world without your music, art, dance and drama? If life is a stage, is yours worth watching? What would make the show better? Can we change the ending? Or make it a better story? Culture is letting us tell the story not them – it is as simple as that.

Posted by Dolly Sen, 3 July 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 5 January 2013

Dolly Sen is addicted to making new websites

I have 2 new websites set up, I am dogsitting at the moment, so I can't really cause havoc in my public as I usually do, so I am stuck inside, so what to do with my time? Well, I am painting, writing, and creating websites like there is no tomorrow.

My new visual art website has a gallery of painting, drawing and graphic works.

And to ensure better search engine optimisation (SEO) I have created another blog about how I started my career as a professional mad person.

I intend to create blogs for all aspects of my life. Whether I stick to them, though, is another matter. As a pretend human being I have to pretend to be fickle.

Dollyxxx

 

Posted by Dolly Sen, 2 July 2010

Last modified by Colin Hambrook, 2 July 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