Lessons from the twisted staple

The projected self may oft reveal, explore its nuances.



Perception follows the chosen vector; question your position.


The twisted staple is perverse; It's virtue lies within.

I'm Analogue

I had a sudden pang of realisation… observing my room, as I sit at my rolled aluminium and tempered glass desk, pushing plastic buttons adorned with the semiotic nomenclature of communication. Those cast plastic nodules conveniently click back into position; encouraged by sitting atop little domed rubber membranes fighting the unequivocal ‘constant’ that is gravity… everything around me is made, is processed by man, nothing here exists in its natural state, myself excluded? But that, I cover with textile, I douse in chemicals; I am human yet...

Staring onto an abyss of electrons, soaking up the rays from my reflection I wonder; does this not blight the spirit? I know no other. How different would be birth into the Stone Age, knocking up flint with my axe, kindling, fire, bush-craft. Rabits need not hats. Delivered into the receptacle of dirt. An organic symbiosis. Does a farmer feel different? Working the earth with his hands… I am detached, I breath, I walk, I connect.

I think I shall buy some pot-plants.

GT6 Mk II

Oh Lord won't you buy me.... a triumph GT6 Mark II? (Perhaps a little more realistic than a Merc. on my wages anyway)

So what do you think? A dinky classic-British-sportscar from '68; yeah! the swingin' 60s. Baby. (Of which I played no part, of course) well, there's no time like the present...
It has a straight six block, rotoflex rear suspension, 2000cc, 0-60 in around nine seconds, max speed of 110mph - yes yes, you may laugh, you may trounce my sedate four cog 'box at the lights in your modern plasticky super-mini (with about as much aesthetic appeal as Mr blobby in his birthday suit, might I add).

Would you not prefer to just sit back and cruise? Cosseted by those figure hugging seats, gazing past the (real) wood instrument panel over the elongated bonnet, caging in the animalistic straight six rumbling in protest as it tries to disengage from its shackles? Or would you rather remain in that 1.3 litre Nissan with its wonderful real plastic fittings, smiley face and tinny doors? But that is an unfair comparison, I hear you say.

For 6k, take your pick. I kid you not, for 6k, one could pick up a mature 37 year old beauty or a new fresh faced nondescript 'bloid'; I know which one I’d go for. Alas! Where now is Michellotti of Turin, whom so lovingly forged the lines of the GT6? He whom caressed those panels; flaring out in just the right planes.
Further still, let’s get back to the money; I’d be exempt from road tax, and depreciation? Not for a classic, my friend, I would most likely end up selling for a profit.
Sounds appealing, doesn’t it?

I shall fill you in on the real storey of classic car ownership when I can muster up that six thousand... Until then, I shall persist gazing through my rose tinted spectacles...