The Artist clearing the Portal of weeds.
In keeping with the already established themes of elephants and class A drugs; one of which at least is a favourite theme of Mr. Welsh's and given that the filth were around here a couple of weeks ago, trashing the joint, the next object going into The Portal to the subconscious mind of Mr. Welsh is the bag of polystyrene balls which, from a distance, looks for all the world, like a giant sack of cocaine.
It's like the guy who goes to the doctor, looking for a cure for baldness.
The doctor places a couple of rabbits on his head and says
- There you go, that'll be ?50 please.
The guy says - Whit the fucks goan oan?
And the doctor says - Dont worry, from a distance they look like hairs.
Since this is supposed to be art I'm going to draw a picture of Ganesh on the decoy santy-sized sack of coke. Ganesh is the elephant headed Hindi god that has the capacity to reduce all the human weaknesses, such as jealousy, drunkeness, illusion, greed, anger, desire, egotism, self-infatuation which send the devotee away from his path to god.
Ganesh also has; having the head of an elephant: a very large nose.
Sean O'Faolain, in 'The Short Story' (Collins 1948, ISBN 0 85342 860 3) wrote,
Literary technique does not exist in a vacuum, it is a man's device for projecting his own nature in his own time and place. Indeed, as Henry James shrewdly remarks, time and place affect even the technique of the reader as he reads, pointing out that not only does the impression of life that goes into a story vary according to the man and place that produces it, but the impression of life that comes out of a story will often vary 'according to the place that takes it, the particular structure and mixture of the recipient'.
The sign has duly been registered in Mr. Welsh's subconscious.
This event occurred at 09.15 this morning.
The sign has now been removed from outside the hoose.
Tomorrow: The Stash of Ganesh or perhaps a reworking of the parable of the six blind men.
15.30 24 November 2004
I have lived solely on glutinous rice for the last week and now that the cupboard is entirely bear I must work. The sign was erected this morning. I wasn't around today however to record a sighting of Mr. Welsh espying it.
Another bill arrived for him today though, from the hospital, the costs of treating his alter-egos gammy, gangrenous peg.
I dont actually get paid until tomorrow but a generous friend has offered to feed me tonight.
I must admit that I got the urge to shadow Mr. Welsh the other day, after I saw him in the Deli. Ethically, of course, this type of behaviour is unacceptable. I am neither starfucker nor paparazzi and this would be a downright invasion of privacy. I dont see any problem however with taking photographs from the window of my own room, or placing objects in my own garden, no matter how nefarious or manipulative my motivations. The project recommences.
And here the waitress in the black cap is serving him tea.
I have decided to make a sign that reads -
Danger! Elephant trap.
And stake it in the ground beside the arrangement of branches and twigs in the front garden. Tomorrow morning at 10.30 Mr. Welsh will hopefully walk past it, and I will remove the sign in the afternoon.