The distraction of deathly children aside, I still dreamed of getting my face into that crack. A couple of weeks after my first attempt (to jam my head in the crack and hang from it: see Head-Jam 5/12/09, before reading on) I was back, hanging around beneath the crack. The children's bodies hadn’t been moved; I'm going to write to the Blind - send them some photographs: The Institute for the Blind shouldn't be exhibiting young corpses, in an aquarium, on a pay-as-you-gawp basis.
My thinking: my head’s too big but my face might fit. I could jam my face into the crack, puff out my cheeks and thus support my body with my face. Hence, the birth of a new ‘crack-technique’: “The Face-Jam”: the birth of a new slogan, into bargain: “The Face-Jam: It’s never too late to let your face take the weight”.
I set-up my tripod; anchored it to the street with my rucksack; set my camera on ‘custom-timer’ (to take a photograph every 5 seconds) and set to work on the crack.
My head's too big - my face is too small: puff as might, I couldn't let go of the wall. I had to face it: my face wasn’t fat enough to fit (too fit a face perhaps?).
It’s ironic: when I jammed my fists in my elderly neighbour, Mrs. Sharpe’s cracks, twenty years ago; she was happy to pose with lard.
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