My old friend, Brigid, simply loves geometry, so she was a sitting duck for the imitation game, wasn’t she? Yes, she was. And what could be lovelier than imitating your own namesake’s symbol? I’ll tell you what could be lovelier – a plate of tuna fancies in the shape of a St Brigid’s Cross, of course. What else? Well, eating them all is what else. Excuse me, I hear some fancies calling.
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.