Hearing Voices Fall 2017 Toronto, Ajax, Oshawa, Whitby


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Carnival des Voix in Ajax – Fri 20th October 2017



Carnival des Voix started in Ajax – and it’s back!

Free workshop for those who struggle with experiences like hearing voices and that get called names like “psychosis”, and that can be isolating and difficult to live with, and difficult to talk about.

Hearing voices has been mystified and made taboo which makes it harder to live with and even harder to talk about. Yet, it is a remarkably common human experience  and one that is eminently understandable in context of a person’s life.

Human history is full of examples where those who are deemed “too different” have been and are categorized and called names.  There are no end of categories we can confine people to, and no end of names we can choose from to call them.

Well we think that sucks big time.

We can instead choose to create space in which we can express what needs to be expressed.

What if we could  come to understand how voices can give voice to that which the person has yet found way they can themselves give voice – and in a way that society is ready to hear?

Free, but spaces are limited so let us know you’re coming.

Aubrey
email: aandrus@DMHS.ca

 

Friday 20th October

11:00am to 2pm
[..ish]

Ajax

Post Hill Apartments
2nd floor recreation room
132 Kingston Rd., Ajax 


Printable poster [pdf]  carnival des voix poster-Durham-Jun-Jul2017

 

Background

There has been much interest in “avatar therapy”, expensive technology and studies to demonstrate that people who struggle with voices can work with them. Many of us have for a while been doing similar – not as treatment or intervention by others but as creative exploration of experience, expression and emancipation.

– and with much smaller budgets and much simpler technology and without oppressions that accompany waiting on experts 

to fix us.

This is a real workshop where yo get to make something.

Participants will use simple materials to sketch and make puppets to represent the “voices” we hear, and let them speak with each other.

You might want to make puppet of who or what helps you feel strong when things are getting tough. 

Or whatever you want, its your experience, whatever it is it’s yours to express however you wish..

We will create safe space to see and be seen, hear and be heard, witness and be witnessed.

A celebration of the creativity of voices hearers, and variety of human experiences, a polyphony, a Carnival of voices …

 

There is rich meaning in these [and other] ideas not .

only for formalized “treatment” situations but also in our groups, in our society and also in our personal experience – HVN is at the forefront of embracing the dialogical -or conversational -nature of being.

In “the west” we regard puppetry as firmly in the domain of children’s entertainment, yet around the world it is a ancient, diverse, and serious art form too , puppets, like voices can give expression to that which we cannot easily express in our society or culture at least in ways others are prepared to hear.

More about Carnival des Voix here

www.carnivaldesvoix.com


 

 

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If you cant treat with dignity and respect – then you need to get out.


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Blues Is My Wailing Wall – Mighty Mo Rodgers


hear voices across the sea…

 

 

 

 

 

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Q. What does DECOLONIZEYOURMIND mean to you?


Asante sharing with us some ideas of what DECOLONIZEYOURMIND means to him…

 

 

DECOLONIZEYOURMIND is a project by MADx, a conversation in a circle around the question:

Q.
What does DECOLONIZEYOURMIND mean to you ?

Join us to hear, listen to what others have to say… 

Friday 13th October 2017
@ The 519, Church St, Toronto.

#decolonizeyourmind

For more information about MADx and this project…
https://madx.ca/2017/09/13/madx-decolonize-your-mind-fri-13th-oct-2017/

Website: www.MADx.ca
Twitter:  @MADX_ca

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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There is a way to prevent so many teenage girls being depressed – but no one wants to admit it


Powerfully written piece by Glosswitch in The Independent’s VOICES column…

Nothing at all to add about the piece, since there is nothing I could possibly add.

I though add how some respond to such truth-speaking: if you venture into the below-the-line comments then you will find much evidence of how what Glosswitch says about the every-day injurious, casually-traumatising,  dystrumpian world we create for all our young – but especially young women – to grow in is, sadly so very real; and also much evidence of how desperately these people too need room to grow and become aware of whatever dark shit lurks inside and us so we can each play our role in creating a bigger space in which to grow.

 

Glosswitch:

“Being a teenage girl is hard, by which I don’t mean your hormones render you an irrational, weeping mess. I mean the world can start to crush you, just at the point when you’re trying to grow. What’s more, it’s a problem that seems to be getting worse.”

“The history of mental health is littered with shameful tales of female madness being misdiagnosed in order to control outspoken women, while genuine symptoms of mental breakdown have been taken seriously only if and when they present in men. “

“If the past is another country, female adolescence is a war zone. Puberty transforms you into a walking target overnight. If you’re lucky, other girls get there before you and become your shields.”

“Girls need support in getting through this. They need coping methods. But they also need a different society, one which permits them to take up space, to express their fears and passions rather than internalise them.”

“Teenage girls are not weak. They’re on their way to becoming full-grown women in a world that still treats them as inferior, despite demanding more of their bodies and minds than ever.”

“Being shunted into the space between childhood and womanhood, between having a flat-chested, gender neutral, rough-and-tumble body and one which is seen as fit only for objectification or impregnation, can be hugely traumatising. “

“Millions of girls are not born unhappy.
…it’s time we gave all young women the room they need to grow.”

VOICES: Glosswitch
The Independent 
20th Sep,2017

There is a way to prevent so many teenage girls being depressed – but no one wants to admit it

Pity the girl who’s wearing a bra before she leaves primary school; already she’s ventured over the top, into a no man’s land of groping, cat calls and adult disapproval

Photo: One in four teenage girls is depressed, a new report says – compared to one in 10 boys. Rex 

 

 

 

 

Being a teenage girl is hard, by which I don’t mean your hormones render you an irrational, weeping mess. I mean the world can start to crush you, just at the point when you’re trying to grow. What’s more, it’s a problem that seems to be getting worse.

There will of course be the usual excuses. Perhaps it’s all down to greater openness surrounding mental health issues. Or maybe it’s a symptom of what one might vaguely term “modern life”. Either way, neither of these things explain the growing gap between the mental health of teenage boys and girls (10 per cent of 14-year-old boys report experiencing depression, with parents overestimating symptoms in boys and underestimating them in girls).

If, as we’re so often told, we’re moving towards a more equal, gender-neutral society, why is it that girls are suffering so much? The sexist might argue that this is proof that equality does not make women happy. The feminist, on the other hand, might point out that this shows we don’t yet have equality at all.

If girls say they are depressed, we owe it to them to listen. Furthermore, we can no longer afford to ignore the effect of a highly gendered culture on the mental wellbeing of girls. If we’re able to draw links between masculinity and high suicide rates in men, we can surely do the same with femininity and female despair.

If the past is another country, female adolescence is a war zone. Puberty transforms you into a walking target overnight. If you’re lucky, other girls get there before you and become your shields. Pity the girl who’s wearing a bra before she leaves primary school; already she’s ventured over the top, into a no man’s land of groping, cat calls and adult disapproval.

Girls need support in getting through this. They need coping methods. But they also need a different society, one which permits them to take up space, to express their fears and passions rather than internalise them. It should not be the role of mental health services to patch girls up and arm them to face another onslaught of patriarchal slings and arrows. There has to be a ceasefire. Girls shouldn’t have to be so brave.

Teenage girls are not weak. They’re on their way to becoming full-grown women in a world that still treats them as inferior, despite demanding more of their bodies and minds than ever. It’s heartbreaking that so many of them can’t see a way through to the other side. We can tell them it gets better, and it does, but it’s simply not fair to ask them to wait.

Being shunted into the space between childhood and womanhood, between having a flat-chested, gender neutral, rough-and-tumble body and one which is seen as fit only for objectification or impregnation, can be hugely traumatising. Thirty years ago I responded by starving myself into a prolonged state of pre-pubescence. Today, when pornified images of young female bodies are more freely available than ever, I might have responded by cutting, binding my breasts or reinventing myself as a disembodied other online.

The opportunities for expressing female self-hatred are always expanding, even as other spaces for self-expression shrink. And yet, it’s not an inevitable development: some unavoidable symptom of living in the smartphone age.

Millions of girls are not born unhappy. Depression and mental illness can be coping mechanisms when all else fails. There’s no simple cure for despair, but it’s time we gave all young women the room they need to grow.

Original:
http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/mental-health-teenage-girls-quarter-rise-patriarchy-sexism-abuse-a7957441.html

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Same Drugs – Chance The Rapper


[Chorus 1]
We don’t do the same drugs no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more
‘Cause she don’t do the same drugs no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more

[Verse 1]
When did you change?
Wendy, you’ve aged
I thought you’d never grow up
I thought you’d never
Window closed, Wendy got old
I was too late, I was too late
A shadow of what I once was

[Chorus 2]
‘Cause we don’t do the same drugs no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more
She don’t laugh the same way no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more

[Verse 2]
Where did you go?
Why would you stay?
You must have lost your marbles
You always were so forgetful
In a hurry, don’t wait up
I was too late, I was too late
A shadow of what I once was
‘Cause we don’t, we don’t do what we say we’re gonna
You were always perfect, and I was only practice
Don’t you miss the days, stranger?
Don’t you miss the days?
Don’t you miss the danger?

[Chorus 3: Chance The Rapper + (Eryn Allen Kane)]
We don’t (we don’t) do the same drugs no more (do the same drugs no more)
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more
We don’t (we don’t) do the same drugs no more (do the same drugs no more)
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs

[Outro: Chance The Rapper + (Eryn Allen Kane)]
(Turn it around
I remember when
This age of pathetics)
Don’t forget the happy thoughts
All you need is happy thoughts
The past tense, past bed time
Way back then when everything we read was real
And everything we said rhymed
Wide eyed kids being kids
Why did you stop?
What did you do to your hair?
Where did you go to end up right back here?
When did you start to forget how to fly?
(It’s so natural
Just like Juicy Fruit
Works like a magic trick
Please give me half of that
We don’t, we don’t, we don’t)
Don’t you color out
Don’t you bleed on out, oh
Stay in the line, stay in the line
Dandelion

(Do the same drugs no more
We don’t do the, we don’t do the same drugs, do the same drugs no more
We don’t, we don’t, we don’t….)

Don’t you color out
Don’t you bleed on out, oh
Stay in the line, stay in the line
Dandelion

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I’m An Asshole – Dennis Leary


I’m An Asshole – Dennis Leary

Folks, I’d like to sing a song about the American Dream
About me, about you, about the way our American hearts beat
Down in the bottom of our chests, about the special feeling

We get in the cockles of our hearts, maybe below the cockles
Maybe in the sub-cockle area, maybe in the liver
Maybe in the kidneys, maybe even in the colon, we don’t know

I’m just a regular Joe with a regular job
I’m your average white suburbanite slob
I like football and porno and books about war

I’ve got an average house with a nice hardwood floor
My wife and my job, my kids and my car
My feet on my table and a Cuban cigar

But sometimes that just ain’t enough
To keep a man like me interested
(Oh no)
No way
(Uh-uh)

 

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Jupiter Jazz – Underground Resistance


 

 

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Grenfell Tower – Ben Okri


It was like a burnt matchbox in the sky.
It was black and long and burnt in the sky.
You saw it through the flowering stump of trees.
You saw it beyond the ochre spire of the church.
You saw it in the tears of those who survived.
You saw it through the rage of those who survived.
You saw it past the posters of those who had burnt to ashes.
You saw it past the posters of those who jumped to their deaths.
You saw it through the TV images of flames through windows
Running up the aluminium cladding
You saw it in print images of flames bursting out from the roof.
You heard it in the voices loud in the streets.
You heard it in the cries in the air howling for justice.
You heard it in the pubs the streets the basements the digs.
You heard it in the wailing of women and the silent scream
Of orphans wandering the streets
You saw it in your baby who couldn’t sleep at night
Spooked by the ghosts that wander the area still trying
To escape the fires that came at them black and choking.
You saw it in your dreams of the dead asking if living
Had no meaning being poor in a land
Where the poor die in flames without warning.
But when you saw it with your eyes it seemed what the eyes
Saw did not make sense cannot make sense will not make sense.
You saw it there in the sky, tall and black and burnt.
You counted the windows and counted the floors
And saw the sickly yellow of the half burnt cladding
And what you saw could only be seen in nightmare.
Like a war-zone come to the depths of a fashionable borough.
Like a war-zone planted here in the city.
To see with the eyes that which one only sees
In nightmares turns the day to night, turns the world upside down.

Those who were living now are dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.
See the tower, and let a world-changing dream flower.

Residents of the area call it the crematorium.
It has revealed the undercurrents of our age.
The poor who thought voting for the rich would save them.
The poor who believed all that the papers said.
The poor who listened with their fears.
The poor who live in their rooms and dream for their kids.
The poor are you and I, you in your garden of flowers,
In your house of books, who gaze from afar
At a destiny that draws near with another name.
Sometimes it takes an image to wake up a nation
From its secret shame. And here it is every name
Of someone burnt to death, on the stairs or in their room,
Who had no idea what they died for, or how they were betrayed.
They did not die when they died; their deaths happened long
Before. It happened in the minds of people who never saw
Them. It happened in the profit margins.
It happened In the laws.
They died because money could be saved and made.

Those who are living now are dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower
See the tower, and let a world-changing dream flower.

They called the tower ugly; they named it an eyesore.
All around the beautiful people in their beautiful houses
Didn’t want the ugly tower to ruin their house prices.
Ten million was spent to encase the tower in cladding.
Had it ever been tested before except on this eyesore,
Had it ever been tested for fire, been tried in a blaze?
But it made the tower look pretty, yes it made the tower look pretty.
But in twenty four storeys, not a single sprinkler.
In twenty four storeys not a single alarm that worked.
In twenty four storeys not a single fire escape,
Only a single stairwell designed in hell, waiting
For an inferno. That’s the story of our times.
Make it pretty on the outside, but a death trap
On the inside. Make the hollow sound nice, make
The empty look nice. That’s all they will see,
How it looks, how it sounds, not how it really is, unseen.
But if you really look you can see it, if you really listen
You can hear it. You’ve got to look beneath the cladding.
There’s cladding everywhere. Political cladding,
Economic cladding, intellectual cladding — things that look good
But have no centre, have no heart, only moral padding.
They say the words but the words are hollow.
They make the gestures and the gestures are shallow.
Their bodies come to the burnt tower but their souls don’t follow.

Those who were living are now dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower

See the tower, and let a world-changing deed flower.
The voices here must speak for the dead.
Speak for the dead. Speak for the dead.
See their pictures line the walls. Poverty is its own Colour,
its own race. They were Muslim and Christian,
Black and white and colours in between.
They were young And old and beautiful and middle aged.
There were girls In their best dresses with hearts open to the future.
There was an old man with his grandchildren;
There was Amaya Tuccu, three years old,
Burnt to ashes before she could see the lies of the world.
There are names who were living beings who dreamt
Of fame or contentment or education or love
Who are now ashes in a burnt out shell of cynicism.
There were two Italians, lovely and young,
Who in the inferno were on their mobile phone to friends
While the smoke of profits suffocated their voices.
There was the baby thrown from many storeys high
By a mother who knew otherwise he would die.
There were those who jumped from their windows
And those who died because they were told to stay
In their burning rooms. There was the little girl on fire
Seen diving out from the twentieth floor.
Need I say more.

Those who are living are now dead
Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.

See the tower, and let a world-changing deed flower.
Always there’s that discrepancy
Between what happens and what we are told.
The official figures were stuck at thirty.
Truth in the world is rarer than gold.
Bodies brought out in the dark
Bodies still in the dark. Dark the smoke and dark the head.
Those who were living are now dead.
And while the tower flamed they were tripping
Over bodies at the stairs
Because it was pitch black.
And those that survived
Sleep like refugees on the floor
Of a sports centre. And like creatures scared of the dark,
A figure from on high flits by,
Speaking to the police and brave firefighters,
But avoiding the victims,
Whose hearts must be brimming with dread.

Those who were breathing are from the living earth fled.
But if you go to Grenfell Tower, if you can pull
Yourselves from your tennis games and your perfect dinners
If you go there while the black skeleton of that living tower
Still stands unreal in the air, a warning for similar towers to fear,
You will breathe the air thick with grief
With women spontaneously weeping
And children wandering around stunned
And men secretly wiping a tear from the eye
And people unbelieving staring at this sinister form in the sky
You will see the trees with their leaves green and clean
And will inhale the incense meant
To cleanse the air of unhappiness
You will see banks of flowers
And white paper walls sobbing with words
And candles burning for the blessing of the dead
You will see the true meaning of community
Food shared and stories told and volunteers everywhere
You will breathe the air of incinerators
Mixed with the essence of flower.
If you want to see how the poor die, come see Grenfell Tower.

Make sense of these figures if you will
For the spirit lives where truth cannot kill.
Ten million spent on the falsely clad
In a fire where hundreds lost all they had.
Five million offered in relief
Ought to make a nation alter its belief.
An image gives life and an image kills.
The heart reveals itself beyond political skills.
In this age of austerity
The poor die for others’ prosperity.
Nurseries and libraries fade from the land.
A strange time is shaping on the strand.
A sword of fate hangs over the deafness of power.
See the tower, and let a new world-changing thought flower.

Ben Okri

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