Field Study's Man in E11 cried out, no nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo......

Some say the field student's cry of horror at the wizened state of his psychogeographic manhood, which had once spoomed 'with a full sail bunt fair before the wind', is always to be heard. I can only imagine it as a barely perceptible distant cry in all the noise of the background. Let me remind you of his prowess, of his Rabelasian swelling......

Field Study's Man in E11 - strouting champion.

The field student was quite the 'strouting champion' - or so he thought - for I had issues with the origin of his 'labourer of nature'. True, by proportion, his marvelous labourer of nature was 'fat, great, lusty, stirring, and crest risen, in the antique fashion'* but long it was not. I confronted his delusion head on, pricking his consciousness with the observation that he would have to be able to wind his labourer five or six times about his waist to be one of the mythical race of utterly lost (& found) and (not) quite extinct swollen ones from the bawdy mind of Francois Rabelais. I added that his puerile pretensions were most likely founded in a seed of another sort. As you can see, the field student was enraged by my dismission. He seemed fit to burst and I was in no mood to be drenched in the puree of his inner wanna-being.

I tried to placate him by finding some other worthy pretension and allusion. You certainly make me laugh, and also, going by my stats, a global audience of spambots and cookies. You are a star of the porn site referral scene. You are everyone's vegetable fantasy. Everyone here wants you, Field Study's Man in E11. You are, Field Study's Man in E11, Il Capitano! It was good job the field student was characteristically shallow so that he did not read up on the character traits of the commedia dell'arte character.

Wizened psychogeographic manhood? Even the delusional 'Il Capitano (of the E11 Field)' realised that his fitness to burst is not eternal and inexhaustible. This is how he lost and found himself at the weekend.

'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 field student, '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. 

Field Study's Man in E11 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 - 26th April 2014

The game of hide and seek continues. Doubtless the 'no-' of Field Study's Man in E11 (aka, 'Il Capitano') will find some other '-one' or body in which to continue exploring his puerile perceptions of the field.

*Francois Rabelais, Gargantua and Pantagruel