First Things Fist

I feel like an anxious schoolboy at the worst of the times, but today my anxiety is thirsty for freshly printed matter. I desire it so much, for tiktocfour to be here in its yellow brilliance, to be in my hand this very minute. No, this very minute My bank balance attests to the idea that it will come. It will, won't it? Sniff, sniff...Perhaps I should ask why I am so anxious? Maybe I am proud of the 'work' I have done? But what in this instance is proudful about performing a 'desktop publishing function', the role of the automatic 'junior designer', I have received the training to perform these tasks to an upper second class degree level, ergo anxiety? Why anxiety over skill, or talent? As the monkey puts the cube in the square, I am able to left align. Always with apologies to Eric and Bob Gill. Pent up not pent a gram. All the tools, or a variation on the tools are in my bindle, given a brief brief and a dead deadline and three weeks to complete and what sets forth is a treading of sorts - over mishapen platforms and attitudes. Away in the office infront of Llangranog cup stained with never near enough washing, bankers lamp; for fallen posterity, a roll of sellotape nearing the end of its life, the hand print of a two year old, a chicken box filled with glass, bottletops and yellow plastic. Amongst all this, with the duracell batteries and a sheet from cafe cadeia on the wall, I play out the role. I join forces with former selves. There is no one looking over shoulders, drop shadow. As designers leave, I enter. To climb mountains and visit archival hotspots, to pretend. To enjoy the fruits of talent. Complicitly with the agenda that asks for collusion. Colluded, happy. Comedy events horizontal, idleness and books when bothered, too tired for projects of their own - They have turned off all the working equipment in their intellects and left me hunched with the hologram of Sophie Scholl emblazened on my torso, for I work naked. With my clothes on. Naked for without this barren wasteland, 'this desert of the real', we cannot do nothing. Maybe it is this that makes me anxious? I am not incorporated. What price ideology if there is but one way. The unskilled presents as chip shop board fancier, never bruce mao - never celebrate but always aware of vulvas sucking, searching through seas of norms and laws and values and tastes and adjustments in an unhinged, unknowing vernacular. Graphic Design, ken Garlanded. Forty Years ago it ended for Pity, naivity, asking the perennial queations, the return of youth. And the resulting answer: The First Things First.