When I meditate, or engage in complex and nuanced yoga poses, I am invariably sleeping. Don’t knock it, it works; also, if you knock it, you’ll wake me up, and I will be cranky. Arguably, dreaming of such things is as effective as doing them, and who are we to say we are dreaming or we are real-ing? Hmmm? Now I must return to my weight-lifting – the 250kg snatch and beef jerky, shall we say?
We are really getting into, and onto, sculpture, here on Mars, and we hope you like it very much. Otherwise, well, like it anyway, there’s nothing to dislike, really, about modern sculpture. After all, who knows anything about it or why it even exists except to make us all feel calm and happy after a long, hard day at the solar-face (which is gradually replacing the coal-face, though you will work no less hardly, harder, hard, like very squashed coal). There are diamonds here somewhere.
Ettore Sottsass was a very interesting designer who made a lot of unusual stuff, including this wacky item, yes, wacky, that’s a word in the English language, unfortunately. This wacky bookcase/divider/dresser, the Carlton, as it is known, is one of Ettore’s creations. What a lovely scratching post it offers to the discerning ‘hyper-carnivore’ (to quote Abigail Tucker, that writer of wonderful books about cats) that is the mid-century modernista feline.
You only live once, friends, and you really should experience as many angles as possible in this big old angley world. My favourite is the one where I find myself slumbering peacefully at very close quarters to the nearest overflowing tuna-and-other-pescatarian-delicacies bowl at the all-you-can-eat sushi bar. Obsessive much? Hell, no, not moi.