Obviously, in order to continue my Duplo work in the absence of any money, it is necessary to take the initiative to rescue papers, stationery, and miscellaneous concepts (either physically embodied or mentally suggested) from those fonts of inspiration - trade waste bins. Plucky sirs and ma'ams - and yes, these respectful titles DESERVEDLY apply to any foragers of consumerist overspill - routinely pick through the containers (and I've met many such personages) bravely rescuing, recycling or reselling goods destined for landfill. Motives may differ, but the overall arc of intent tends towards the ethically brilliant, the admirably thrifty and the heroically inventive. My own motives are fused with occult experiments in dismantling acts of modern day witchcraft (particularly prevalent with charity shop volunteers) as described previously. It seems strange, but witchcraft - or some modern variant of divination - is often the only way to account for some of the desecrations I've seen: objects still loaded with use-value placed alongside other such objects, interspersed with needless and gratuitous muck.
Today, somebody decided to call the police... Some low-life "pillar-of-the-community" scum-sucking cradle of dysentery, no doubt. Evidently their vision had been offended. Or perhaps they peevishly saw their own cauldron of consumer witchcraft being picked apart, and their petty spells diffused into nothingness. Ha ha! So much the better. Next, on the scene arrives two policemen - in two separate cars - duty bound to interrogate me, whereupon I dispensed all personal details ranging from the exact duration of my earthly existence so far, to the direction of the 'grain' on my scrotum. The scene dragged on for an unseemly long time, ruining the bin-diving schedule. I do not yet know what the outcome of this encounter will be, but if further criminations follow, I can only up the ante and state that my responsibilities as arbitrator between the thought-world and reality (that is, the essence of Duplo and its doodle skirmishes, now often sculptural too) outweigh any obligations to be shepherded by manifest evil. The ethical aspects of interrupting the stream of wastage must also surely demolish any such statutory laws, absurd by-laws, and sickening, insulting travesties of interpretations of the Public Order Act.
Again, I can only decry the good-for-nothing, moronic, haughty yokel who, in his/her tiny brain thought that calling the police was an acceptable act when presented with such blatant (yet tragically unregistered) heroism. I'm employed by both Duplo and the Nod Gods to scour the lands for the conceptual nourishment of this doodlecraft continuation. My rewards are mental. At the same time, I observe, counteract and deconstruct obvious acts of witchcraft - the fruits of my labours here will be of benefit to future generations (hopefully).
After informing the policemen that I possess a document from the management of the particular squandering effusionists in question giving me express permission to continue my work, I now realise that this document relates to another shop, and also addresses me by one of several pseudonyms I use, and is thus legally valueless. I have mislaid it anyway. "We'll be in contact," they said. I wonder what on earth they can do? The location in question is on a public right-of-way. The wastage is some of the worst I've ever seen. I hereby call upon the Nod Gods themselves and other thought-forces within the arc of common-sense to demolish this preposterous apparatus of bovine wrath that has leaked its toxic dribble upon me today.
Showing posts with label Nod Gods. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nod Gods. Show all posts
Saturday, 26 April 2014
Thursday, 6 March 2014
Duplo and the Third Dimension - Part Two
This posting forms the belated sequel to 'Duplo and the Third Dimension - Part One', posted in November 2011. It feels that only a matter of days have passed since penning that blog post (perceptions of time are all relative, and it's nothing to be embarrassed about). This blog charts the trajectory of doodlecraft emissions that gradually progressed through dimensionalities. Duplo began as a mental oubliette to stow over-energetic doodleforms born of catharsis, its perimeters gradually vanishing until the doodleforms escaped... as we shall see.
For doodleforms to increase their dimensionality, a willing collusion is required on the part of the instigator; much as in hypnosis - the subject must be cooperative. Nod Gods were freed from one-dimensional quarantine by gifts of cartoonish vehicular apparatus, providing manoeuvrability within the 2D world of exercise books and pocketable papers. The challenge and creative problem-solving involved in the nourishing of doodleforms appealed to other classmates, as I described previously. Duplo was a means to control doodleforms, but its spoiling-for-an-uprising, cod-fascist high-and-mightiness provided a good excuse to sketch elaborate battlefields of melodrama. The progression to the next dimension - the 3D world - was occasioned by the use of computers in creating virtual worlds. It was a natural transition, given that Nod Gods themselves partly derived from the culture of computer gaming. Nod Gods, being spheroidal, were easily dolloped out in 3D rendering software. In those pre-internet days, such software was gleaned from magazine cover CDs - Visual Reality 1.5 was seized upon, as its tagline promised something along the lines of an escape to a new world. The Nod Gods' presence in the third dimension immediately heralded the tenancy of a 3D Duplo Officer, and numerous 3D Duplo/anti-Duplo machinations soon followed.
A short prehistory may be in order. Arriving in the secondary school's First Year in 1993, myself and a friend decided to become librarians. Library duties occupied our breaktimes - tasks included shelving books to the Dewey specifications, aligning chairs, and helping other people find things. The appeal of librarianship lay partly in the avoidance of the dull tarmac playground. The library seemed an ideal place to experimentalise doodlecraft. Librarianship quickly lost its allure however when obnoxious older pupils began messing up shelves on purpose. These hostilities became tiresome. Furthermore, older jobsworth librarians would scupper any doodling activity by agitating us out from some perceived idleness - I was even physically barred from merely reading the library's monthly copy of 'CD-ROM Magazine'.
In the 1990s, it was distinctly unfashionable to be knowledgable in computers. Secondary school offered BBC Micros, RM Nimbuses, and various IBM PCs running Windows 3.1. Then, all of a sudden, Windows 95 machines swept all these away. A big "fuck off" was gestured towards the library, and stewardship of the computer room beckoned. Many of us still owned Commodore Amigas at home, and those of us who did were compelled to push our Amigas to perform like a Windows 95 PC - in my case this simply entailed displaying images imported from PCs and making pretend. 3D images were rendered on the PC and converted to Amiga IFF image format to distribute on 'Duplo disks'.
My ambitions to become a computer game developer have long since been dashed against the rocks on the shores of bewilderment, but throughout the 1990s I pursued these dreams in various attempts to create virtual simulations of life. Whereas real-life actions tend to have consequences, these simulations - centred around school life - provided an arena for enactments not possible in real life. The foremost of these self-built 'games' was Mount Viewpoint on the Amiga (examined previously the first part of 'Duplo and the Third Dimension'): set in primary school and its surrounding suburbs, all from within the Freescape 3D engine. Freescape did not allow sphere shapes, alas. Doodles and Duplo did not feature in this game owing to such representational limitations, but it facilitated both a mode of thinking in three dimensional terms, and presented a promised land: a 'middle-ground' between reality and imagination.
Mount Viewpoint had no ending or level completion strategy, but it was playable. A PC successor to Mount Viewpoint was never completed in any playable state - it was called TBSHS: The Game, and was set at the titular acronymous secondary school. I took measurements around school and noted down tile patterns and textures. Location sounds were also recorded on dictaphone and sampled as wonky in-game noises. By the year 2000, it had dawned on me that I was no longer at school. Everybody I had known had stopped talking to me because they wanted girlfriends and newfangled poise, etc. I digress...
To return to the matter of 3D... TBSHS: The Game was notable for actual real-life 2D digitisations of teachers placed within a highly accurate reconstruction of the sprawling school environment. This represented the pinnacle of a graphical flourish I habitually employed in 3D rendering software: placing 'real-world' 2D cut-outs in 3D worlds.
It cannot be stressed enough how mentally significant this was. Maybe younger generations take such things for granted, but back in the mid-1990s, it was mindblowing. Picture this: a sketch is drawn in an exercise book. The sketch is then scanned and digitally cut-out. PC-based 3D software is then used to build a scene for the sketch, it is then introduced and rotated to face the virtual camera. The scene is subsequently rendered as an image, and lastly, downsampled and converted to an Amiga graphics format for slide-shows on Duplo disks, viewed on cathode ray televisions... Televisions RF switchable between Amiga input or TV aerial. The very same televisions we watched Noel's House Party, X-Files and Gamesmaster upon.
Despite the fact that these 3D images were only stills, they fired the imagination in a peculiar way. And successive dimensions would soon fall within doodlecraft's demesne...
A custom Quake level for the PC was designed with Duplo Officers and Nod Gods, but like TBSHS: The Game, it does not seem to have survived data reshuffles over the years.
 |
| A dot matrix Nod God - one of the earliest computerised renderings, c. 1994 |
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| The Duplo Officer in glorious 3D |
In the 1990s, it was distinctly unfashionable to be knowledgable in computers. Secondary school offered BBC Micros, RM Nimbuses, and various IBM PCs running Windows 3.1. Then, all of a sudden, Windows 95 machines swept all these away. A big "fuck off" was gestured towards the library, and stewardship of the computer room beckoned. Many of us still owned Commodore Amigas at home, and those of us who did were compelled to push our Amigas to perform like a Windows 95 PC - in my case this simply entailed displaying images imported from PCs and making pretend. 3D images were rendered on the PC and converted to Amiga IFF image format to distribute on 'Duplo disks'.
Mount Viewpoint had no ending or level completion strategy, but it was playable. A PC successor to Mount Viewpoint was never completed in any playable state - it was called TBSHS: The Game, and was set at the titular acronymous secondary school. I took measurements around school and noted down tile patterns and textures. Location sounds were also recorded on dictaphone and sampled as wonky in-game noises. By the year 2000, it had dawned on me that I was no longer at school. Everybody I had known had stopped talking to me because they wanted girlfriends and newfangled poise, etc. I digress...
 |
| TBSHS : The Game - An uncompleted PC sequel to Mount Viewpoint |
It cannot be stressed enough how mentally significant this was. Maybe younger generations take such things for granted, but back in the mid-1990s, it was mindblowing. Picture this: a sketch is drawn in an exercise book. The sketch is then scanned and digitally cut-out. PC-based 3D software is then used to build a scene for the sketch, it is then introduced and rotated to face the virtual camera. The scene is subsequently rendered as an image, and lastly, downsampled and converted to an Amiga graphics format for slide-shows on Duplo disks, viewed on cathode ray televisions... Televisions RF switchable between Amiga input or TV aerial. The very same televisions we watched Noel's House Party, X-Files and Gamesmaster upon.
 |
| A sketched Duplo Officer placed within a virtual 3D environment |
Saturday, 21 December 2013
Extracts from a 2013 Diary, Touching on Jung's Synchronicity, Bin Diving and Witchcraft
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'!
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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