Imagine my cry of horror at the wizened state of my psychogeographic manhood, which had once spoomed 'with a full sail bunt fair before the wind'. I can only imagine it as a barely perceptible distant cry now in all the noise of the background. Let me remind you of my prowess, of my Rabelasian swelling......
The allotment gardener of Nowhere in particular - strouting champion.
I was quite the 'strouting champion' - or so I thought - for I had issues with the origin of my labours of nature. True, by proportion, my marvellous labour of nature was 'fat, great, lusty, stirring, and crest risen, in the antique fashion'* but long it was not. I confronted my delusion head on, pricking my consciousness with the observation that I would have to be able to wind my labour five or six times about my waist to be one of a mythical race of utterly lost but not quite extinct swollen ones from the bawdy mind of Francois Rabelais. I add that my puerile pretensions are most likely founded in a seed of another sort. Can you see an allotment gardener of Nowhere in particular enraged by this dismission? It seemed fit to burst and I was in no mood to be drenched in the puree of its inner wanna-being.
I tried to placate myself by finding some other worthy pretensions and allusions. I made myself laugh, and also, going by my stats, a global audience of spambots and cookies, I am a star of the porn site referral scene. I am everyone's vegetable fantasy. Everyone here wants me, the allotment gardener of Nowhere in particular -
Wizened psychogeographic manhood? Even the delusional 'Il Capitano (of the allotment garden of Nowhere in particular)' realised that his fitness to burst is not eternal and inexhaustible.
'Il Capitano'?
Above is the shriveled corpse of -one, 'Il Capitano'. But it is just that:'-one' for the 'no-' has risen and is drifting, that barely perceptible plaintive cry in all the background noise. The gardener, 'Il Capitano', had returned to the medlar tree, seeking out the hope and promise of rejuvenation and invigoration, an elixir and liquor of allotmental fecundity.
The allotment gardener of Nowhere in particular has recently adopted a pestilential dimension and it seems he may have misjudged the use of his powers, for this year the usually disease resistant medlar seems to be afflicted by some ailment; an affliction evident via the leaves. Will there be fruit for a reviving liqueur in the autumn?
Medlar leaf - 26th April 2014
*Francois Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel
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