It always feels good to title a post with multiple oxymorons. As is becoming a habit, this post will be made up of addenda to its predecessor. As an artist, there is always the challenge of knowing when a work is finished – but I do try to keep to within 1000 words for a single post: just one measure of the compassion I feel (sorry, fake) for you, dear reader.
Among the candidates for summary crucifixion that I considered before breakfast was Wile E Coyote. He was never going to receive my vote as he is a personal hero – albeit one let down by his supplier on numerous occasions. Modern Olympians could learn from Mr Coyote’s dedication and commitment to his project, even after truly terrible set-backs his resolve never weakened. An inspiration for us all, I think you must agree.
This started me thinking about the Acme Corporation. Given the very well-publicised issues with its products, I would assume that it is languishing in Chapter 11 administration and in need of a white knight to come to its rescue. I have for some time been seeking a way to monetise this drivel so that I can retire to the life of luxury I so clearly deserve. Yesterday, an idea for a new product which could be the saving of Acme (and the keys to the gravy train for me) sprang, unbidden, to my mind – and as part of the viral marketing campaign (or should I go fungal?) to come, I thought I’d share the basics with you.
I found myself with a few minutes to kill before dinner, after unusually swift translation from West Dulwich to Oxford Circus by the combined forces of Southeastern and TfL. As is all too common, I frittered this time away in Foyles – though frankly, it would be cheaper just to give my wallet to the first ne’er-do-well I encountered. To minimise the fiduciary risk, I tried to retain crystalline focus on my objective – in this case the poetry department – and not fall prey to the temptation that lay, wantonly, all around me.
Why the poetry department, you may wonder. Well I blame the combined forces of Ian McMillan and my blog-brother. Perhaps luckily, they lacked any work by Francisco Serrano – even in translation (and I was after the Spanish) – but they did have the Selected Works of Fernando Pessoa. I just sampled the first two stanzas of Tabacaria (the Tobacco Shop) and I knew I was lost. I learned that (a) I must own this book and (b) I must never read it in public.
Anyway, as I tried desperately not to be distracted from my “prize”, I realised what it was that I needed. Every decent human being will sometimes need a set of Bookshop Blinkers™ to keep their eyes from straying from their target and towards all the tempting morsels immodestly left lying around by pimpish booksellers. I’m thinking these would be offered in a range of colours and finishes and, perhaps for the more adventurous or shameless reader, in wipe clean leather or neoprene.
Am I a genius or what? Easy Street here I come…
Glimpses of a disturbed mind 