When I Get Going

It will be all systems go, full steam ahead, pedal to the metal, no holds barred and the Devil take the hindmost.  But first.  Ah yes, but first.  The superstructure, the infrastructure must be laid down.  New York is laid out on a grid system, apart from Broadway, an old indian trail.  No city planner I, nor architect, nor town planner.  I am organic.  So will my work grow and my city of dreams.  It’s a long time coming.  Valhalla, Utopia, Erewhon, call it what you will.  Try spelling it backwards, Nowhere.  More or less.

In the meantime, what?  Yes, I write.  The cornucopia (look it up) flows but nowhere near as freely as will be the case when my city of dreams comes into being.  When shall that day dawn?  God knows, I don’t.  Maybe I should ask Him?  Or Her, as the case may be.  God is remarkably silent on these matters.  It appears I must do it all on my own.  With a little help from my friends.

I got myself into a God Almighty mess through doing these things myself, now partially sorted out by a friend.  That’s what friends are for, to correct one’s mistakes.  I stand corrected.  This accounts for the delay in my delivering the goods.  Some of which I continue to deliver, but all unbeknownst to almost everyone on this or any other planet.   Must I have an almost perfect book design as regards binding, choice of paper, cover picture, and typeface before writing anything at all, at all?   I suppose not.  The perfect vase for the perfect bouquet?  Would any old jam jar do?  No.  Unobtrusive perfection is my aim.

All dressed up with nowhere to go?  Naked in the Garden of Eden?  You pays your money and you makes your choice.  In common decency a fig leaf must be worn.  Or so the prudes would have it.   This, then is my dilemma.  To write or not to write, to sing or not to sing, to wait or not to wait?  If perfection won’t come to the writer the writer must come to perfection.  Create it himself.  Or herself.  The speaker must build his platform, be he a carpenter or not.  So it appears to me.

To launch myself into space I must first build a launchpad.  Cape Canaveral wasn’t built in a day.  Was it worth waiting for?  Very much so.  The sum of human knowledge is vastly increased and ignorance dispelled.  A worthy aim.   They said a heavier than air machine could not fly.  What about birds?

So, this is where I stand.  Designing a museum in which to put the artefacts, I, an artefact maker.  Not a museum designer.  Today technicalities abound.  Leonardo I am not.  He, a scientist and an artist, and much more.  I, an artist only, if that.  When the museum is constructed, the public made aware of its existence and my work exhibited, then I will find if it was all worthwhile.  The public, as usual, are the arbiter, the judge.  They have the last word.

Tich Ennis

18th March, 2016