The brilliant history of Duplo will be resumed at some point. It has been discouraging to find that nobastard is interested in this nodgodsmackingly amazing history of the evolution of doodleform. Disgracefully, this corrupt society in which we currently live champions only the shittiest of windbags. To this day I have not even been allowed any form of employment. Thankfully I am able to continue my Duplo doodleform contemplations simply by looking through the bins of local businesses and charity shops. Nowadays, the constant interplay between doodleforms and anti-doodleforms has been elevated to terahertz dyads of abstract colour combinations that inspire fully internalised doodleform dramas. In contrast to previous postings, I now assert that general society does not deserve to see new Duplo imagery, hence this internalised approach. This is an arrogant assertion, yes, but the self-styled upholders of this scum-capitalist-system - local busybodies and crypto-fascist numpties - are likewise arrogant shitheads, and I'm only mirroring what is presented to me.
I'll attempt to chronicle the second part of the story of 'Duplo and Third Dimension' at some point soon. In the meantime, some observations and diary notes may be disclosed.
In around 1996, during the third form at school, I remember having my workbook of Duplo doodleforms confiscated and thrown in a skip at the instigation of the head of year, Mrs. Anderson. The argument was that 'General Workbooks' were school property, and should not be filled with doodles. It was also stated that the doodlings were of an unhinged nature, yet they merely mirrored the unhinged nature of the environment: ignoramuses of brutality were allowed to spread their mental phthisis unchallenged. My general workbook of Duplo imagery did not deserve such gratuitous treatment. If it was considered wasteful to fill the workbook with Duplo drawings, surely they had destroyed their own argument by throwing it in the skip?!
I was told that I'd face detention if I were to reclaim my general workshop from the skip. With a headful of resentment I reclaimed it nonetheless, and nobody noticed. If my doodleforms were considered skipworthy, I reasoned that skips (and all other receptacles of dispossession) must contain some intrinsic value at least on a par with the righteous counteraction of too-virulent ideas through doodlecraft, as seen in my workbook. In adult life, adrift in this despicable economy based on lies, enslavement and fear, I know only too well the mechanics of rescuing discards from trade waste containers. Within these vessels of destruction can be seen the great firewall of capitalism propelling consumers to endlessly buy new things unnecessarily. Dare somebody stand poised to re-use or repair a second-hand commodity, some furrowed brow descends; idiotic bovines bark "get out the bins, tramp!" - and weird traps are set to prevent such salvaging. Most unexpectedly, charity shop employees almost always behave like witches covens. Does all this mark the presence of an economic hive mind?
With no employment forthcoming, I have developed my own currency away from this contemptible economy, based mainly on colour, form, concept and unforeseen conjunctions thereof.
Over the past decade, I have embarked on systematic and tidy scroungings of almost every business's waste containers. This has not only sustained me, but most importantly, it has also provided fuel for doodleform. (Duplo originally evolved at school through ideas being bounced around a group of people, but in the absence of these people, bins are now the interaction du jour - their contents read in tasseomancy postures [albeit the bins have a 'refresh rate' of at least 24 hours so can hardly be thought of as animate a substitute as old Duploistas]).
Some of these bin divings necessarily take place at exposed spots - visible to passersby. I remain undeterred, having nothing to lose. The task seems too important to worry about any distant tuts. Occasionally, there are deliberate despoliations, set either by the businesses themselves, occupants of adjoining premises or other busybodies. These hostile acts of desecration carry a territorial, political aspect. It is even more surprising to find that charity shops also practice this. Their employees are often some of the most uncharitable, territorial and finicky in the locality.
At one particularly ridiculous so-called charity shop, in early October 2009, a 'trap' greeted any prospective bin-analyser: the bin contents were systematically drizzled in an unknown syrup every afternoon. This was presumably to spoil the discards in the economic sense. Whilst it is sad to behold the mass extinguishing of objects' use-values, my interest in pen-conjuration led me to view these practices as modern day witchcraft. This theory actually came to pass when, days after witnessing a toy skeleton placed atop a Stephen Gately CD amid the syrupy cauldron, the young pop singer died suddenly and prematurely. (That hideous newspaper, the Daily Mail, later featured a piece by a lady called Jan Moir who made unwarranted snide remarks about the manner of the pop star's passing.) This coincidence was highly supportive of Jungian synchronicity, and I distributed anonymous manifestos strongly condemning the sly practise of intentionally ruining symbolically charged items.
I worded the manifestos in a manner so as to avoid being identified, but still failed to resist the addition of subtle pen-conjurations, a la Duplo. Nothing palpable ever became of these emissions.
The location, known to me as one of many fruitful zones since the early 2000s, became an "area of interest" - to be studied closely. Earlier this year, once again, some systematic despoiling occurred at the same shop, and this time I had hoped to prove the existence of synchronicity by listing all "activated" object combinations and their possible outcomes. The complexity of the task was enormous, but a number of blank notebooks duly presented themselves almost by way of challenging me. Little did I know, by focussing on capturing examples of synchronicity a sort of feedback takes place. Here are some extracts from my diary charting the lead-up to the feedback's punchline:
Friday 26th July: One bin heavily drenched in a sort of orange coloured 'soup' (courtesy of the adjacent Fish and Chip shop? They certainly were obnoxious).
Saturday 27th July: All bins covered in orange 'soup'. All male employees of Fish and Chip shop seen giggling nearby. Some orange liquid also splattered on a nearby car. A lady walking by said "did you do that?" I said, "No. It was already here." The repeat incident suggests the start of a systematic despoliation.
On Monday 29th July, I arrived earlier to see if the culprit could be caught red/orange handed. As the shop was still open, I asked if any of the volunteers knew about the orange liquid, and they seemed concerned about it, as it produced an unpleasant odour in the heat. I suggested it most likely originated from some impish employee of the nearby fish and chip shop who dislikes alternative economies. Obviously, I had to couch my objectives in the blandest possible terms ("I'm collecting typefaces as a hobby"). Me and the two female workers all unanimously condemned the behaviour, but a slight note of cynicism was felt from them. A few minutes later, after the shop had closed, I returned to the bins to discover two shades of blue paint had been squirted over the surface materials! Who did it? Was it carried out under the guise of 'charity'?
As I took samples of the wet blue paint and investigated what objects were affected, I noticed boxes of books at my feet. It was beginning to rain, so I had a peek to see what titles would soon meet their watery end. The books were on psychological and esoteric topics, and on closer inspection, Jungian synchronicity! This seemed a strange punchline to a cosmic joke.
Does synchronicity resist close study? This certainly suggests so... which is frustrating. There were also many texts on meditation, apparently inviting deep contemplation upon this development.
On Saturday 3rd August, again, the shop's symbolically loaded discards were contaminated with shaving foam and hand cream. Both contaminants were white in colour. All the ladies from the shop were present when I arrived (I stood slightly out of their line of vision). They all seemed in buoyant spirits - evidentially energised by this malevolent act of "cleansing". Of course, this shaving foam and hand cream combo is an attempt to appear "whiter than white" on one hand, but the actual action of the fluid was one of shameful destruction - in physical, mental and spiritual terms. Evidently in denial. It is difficult to decide whether to reverse the effects by new interventions, or merely observe them and anticipate the outcomes.
On Friday 11th October, during a bin dive, a man with a slight accent accosted me. Very speedily and boldly, he began rummaging too. He was not afraid to lean into the bins to pluck items from inside. It becomes difficult for me to take notes on the object-combinations in these circumstances. The next day (12th), as soon as I'd started tentatively plucking at the contents with my telescopic implements, he appeared once again in his car. He told me he needed toys for the "little one" and any metals which he jokingly said paid "for beer money". He was friendly and certainly very bold in his actions: he ended up turning the entire bin on its side! Maybe he was trying to outdo me in terms of unconcern for being seen; in the wake of such wastefulness, this is certainly no bad thing! He remarked that he visited the same location at night. I hope he finds great and useful things.
Today, as Christmas approaches, I have not made any more discoveries or connections regarding the synchronicity. I have observed an absurd flow of landfill-destined goods, from which I've plucked materials and stationery to keep Duplo conjurations coming for many years to come. The rather pompous female "volunteers" were gathered outside the back door today, viciously condemning the systematic rescuings from their (gratuitous) discards. Full of Christmas cheer. The more work I do in this direction, the more it uncovers the comedic aspects of this sick, unjust travesty of a 'society'!
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