'Sexual Offences' of the Nod Gods

A couple of tuppenny ha'penny printing shops have flatly refused to print a run of pamphlets detailing doodlecraft. Both have insinuated that they find the content to be libellous, defamatory and of worrying taste. Yes, it is true that local hindrances to doodlecraft mechanics are identified, and several case studies in 'muse-deflation attempts' are plainly expounded in no uncertain terms. But surely the job of the printing shop is to print what is presented - 27 pages of hard-won wisdom - not to critique its content?! Denying custom, they thus stand in the way of information dissemination.

In the manuscript, one particularly misconstruable diatribe highlights the usage of the law to smear the efforts of any effusionist. A controversial argument: flypostering or depositing codices in public places for persons to discover may fall under the criminal act of "sending a menacing communication". Inversely, the act of simply glancing in (or out) windows, or into any other portals of realtime information, carries with it a sham-magnetic draw toward a 'sex offence' aesthetic. Non-institutional research, that is, to naturally insearch and exsearch, becomes an illicit process - a situation thoroughly explored in the manuscript. It appears that in the anechoic surroundings of a small-town bovine marshland, any enlightening emission be it aural, kinetic, glyphic, chemical or digital is assumed to gravitate ultimately onto the ViSOR (Violent and Sex Offender Register) annals. To treacly sensoria, anything difficult-to-understood is assumed to be malign. This is explained in the manuscript, but it all remains unprinted.

Sympathetic souls have advised that many printing shops elsewhere would print it. However, my intention is to have it printed locally as a matter of principle, as it concerns local matters. One nearby printing shop said: "it's just 'not on' to run down local businesses like the way you do in your text". Au contraire, small local businesses behave atrociously, and if a business was a person, that person would be almost criminally psychopathic (a concept earnestly explored in Joel Bakan's book 'The Corporation'). These morally askew actions should be advertised to all. Evidently this printing shop comprises part of the fabric of small-town business and this hive mind smothers all criticism to defend itself. From my extensive night research, local businesses routinely dispose of incredibly useful objects and papers on an industrial scale. They are not only defiling all matter itself, but also nullifying inventive possibilities. Very little recycling takes place - and recycling should only involve substance-retrieval decompositions once all actual use-value has been extinguished. The ignorance of these companies is beyond belief: economic snobbery and American Psycho-style hubris: thick-as-pigshit employees indoctrinated to view third-party reclamation attempts as acts of war or something equatable to sexual molestation, paedophilia, etc.

Alchemists have long sought to transmute base substances to gold. Gold merely represents a purchasing potential facilitating the acquisition of crafted objects, and any crafted object owes its existence to the faculties of inspiration. And so it is these faculties which are truly sought, isn't it?

In all the libraries of the world including the entire Internet, I estimate that less than 1% of everything that has ever happened is actually recorded. This is unfortunate for posterity.

Here is just one unrecorded episode serving the dual-purpose of highlighting monumental wastage... From mid-1995 to early 1996, a recording studio operated quasi-legitimately behind The United Reform Church in Roydon, Essex. The site was once a mushroom farm (requiring darkness), but at this time, the single-storey complex served as a means for recording artists to perpetuate their work. Whether the adjacent church took umbrage at the concept of liveliness happening near its graveyard, I don't know, but the studio was mysteriously demolished with all the expensive electronic equipment still inside. Mixing desks, microphones, giant speakers, specialised computers, effects modules and all manner of apparatus lay amidst the wreckage. Despite the "Keep Out" signs, some days after the bulldozing I climbed over the rubble to salvage various devices. Oddly, the electricity remained live, with the quondam mains sockets sparking and buzzing, signposted with "danger" signs. Some gypsies were also engaged in salvaging the countless electronic gadgets from under the rubble. Whether they were involved with the studio, or were just taking the opportunity to rescue items of value remains unknown. The site was bulldozed by Blaze Construction Ltd. (groundwork specialists) on behalf of CALA Homes, who later built a housing development over the site, now called Little Brook Road (originally intended to be called Roydon Park Grange). There was a distinct sense of sadness that this recording facility was felled mid-stride, with the richnesses of its innards still humming with potential. Post-scrounge, I was walking toward the cemetery's gravel car park with a battered tape device (inscribed as an 'Echo Unit') and a handful of loose sockets, when a fat lady told me to "f*ck off". ("F*ck" is an onomatopoeically consciousness-penetrating word meaning "sex" - again, a sex offence is implied). Not the sort of language you'd expect in Roydon village, especially in such close proximity to a church. To this day, objects loaded with potential are smugly junked in the abstract name of "business" and "capitalism". Why must there be Deflationistas? CALA Homes' bulldozers. These muse-rubbishing 'anti-inspirationers'? These forces obstructing all creativity push any non-conforming crafted matter into an abyss of unrecorded, undocumented, unpublished non-remembrance.

If the laws of physics permitted the extraction of all mental and physical energies expended in creating any given manmade object, how many joules could be saved? How much inspiration could be wrung out? Free energy would be possible. Of course, thoughts like this are heretical given my science background, yet long-term unemployment does prod one into metaphysics.

Damn those vampire universities for conning prospective students into keeping over-fed tutors in pay!! Universities are fraudulent institutions, providing no employment prospects. Knowledge is to be found everywhere for free, yet even in junked knowledge's final journeys inside the Biffa trucks to eternal landfill, their passages are jealously guarded by outrageous bastards! When binned by businesses, objects are deliberately soiled to make them unpleasant to reclaim. Coffee shops may pour their muck over neighbouring businesses' discards (a pact, maybe?). Metalworks smear grease on discarded metals. Papers are ripped up. Texts made unreadable. Bleach sodden wood. Toilet waste on dream plastics. A litany of criminally not-officially-criminal acts could be relayed. As I write this on October 31st - 'trick-or-treat' night - it seems unjust that organised begging (trick-or-treating) is permissible, yet regularly looking in industrial waste containers is greeted with abuse and consternation.

These woes stemming from the printing shop negativities are a deviation from the Annals of Duplo narrative, but this all sets the context for the as-yet-unexamined multimedia phase of Duplo, beginning in the mid-1990s...