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Olejnikov's art
Posted on 2012.04.22 at 18:30
I have been searching for my inner self a lot recently. It has been illuminating.

A couple of weeks ago I went to a party where the host made us all take part in meditation exercises. She also demanded we sing and served beetroot cake instead of chocolate but that's by-the-by. The point is that we were each given a message from our inner selves. Something that would truly deepen our understanding of our underlying dreams and desires.

Mine came out as "Needs More Bees".

Needs more bees. Three hours of shaking tambourines and chanting "om" in harmony, and all my psyche can come up with is a complaint about bugspray.

But then I thought further. My favourite quotation from any novel, and you only think I'm joking, has always been "All the beez ar ded". It was my journal name for a couple of years. Daisy Bagthorpe: messiah of our time. So perhaps there is a deeper psychological issue at stake here that I have thus far refused to identify.

Anyway. Earlier today, as I was taking advantage of my flatmates absence by dancing around the flat singing about ouefs en cocotte and pretending to be a penguin, I came to a realisation as to why I return to my parents house so often.

It's because I don't have to pretend to be normal there.

I'm perfectly at liberty to spend forty minutes spinning in a circle on the kitchen tiles. It's accepted that cake surfaces are designed to be covered in threats. And no one thinks it odd if I shut myself in the larder.*

There's also been a lot of fuss recently about introverts. A lot of talk about how we suffer at the hands of the world that seems to come hand in hand with the implication that the reason we need to sit quietly in a darkened room is because we're boring.

Fuck that. The reason I need to sit quietly in a darkened room is so I can put on sock puppet productions of Dante's Inferno. And if people could keep their eyes to themselves then I'd be able to do it in public.

Returning to the point at hand, I have decided that I'm done being functional. The world needs more bees and I like writing poems about kitchen implements. I also like reading children's books, Shakespeare, and trying to stand on my head. And I shall be doing it without reservation from her on in.

Screw you world. I never liked you anyway.

Except for the socks. I really like the socks.

(*Socks and Eggs. Socks and eggs. Socksandeggsandeggsandsocks. And eggs.)

* Admittedly only because that was my sister's favourite punishment for disobeying her whims but the point still stands.

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