Indulging my passion for 'outsider art' is proving more and more difficult.
(My one concession to the almost pathetically gauche sentiments of those mendicants who call themselves my patients is the occasional spritz of Forest Glade, to somewhat mollify the fascinating olfactory landscape that wafts upwards from the bucket, the repellent nature of the odour after three years on display making it only more provocative a piece of art in my eyes. But I digress.)
Mr Dibny himself often criticised my taste in art. He constantly repeated Edith Wharton's famous criticism of the modernists and post-modernists, that they showed an unhealthy dread of... no, no, I'm misremembering. What did he say? Ah yes - he constantly told me that I could suck it. Also, Klesowsky could suck it, Damien Hearst already did suck it and anyone else I thought was in any way good at art was a useless, talentless asshole who could suck it dry. In hell.
Ralph had a habit of cutting to the heart of such matters that lesser critics would do well to imitate.
'Outsider art' like Klesowsky's being my particular passion, I decided to alleviate my guilt at the shocking way I treated the late Mr Hrudnyev - little knowing at the time that his corpse was at that moment cooling in two separate freezer units - by doing a little shopping on eBay last Monday. Little was I to know that the most sublime item I had ever chanced across was even then going under the virtual hammer!
Tornado Man Dreaming! Even the name, with it's kitsch-hip faux-aboriginal stylings, sent a shiver down my spine. I had to know more! Unfortunately some sort of virus was attacking eBay's main server, with the result that the bulk of the text was gibberish - 'FDKJL SADFASL DFKSJ' and so on and so forth, almost as though the auctioneers had succumbed to a terrible attack of ennui and simply typed a vast mess of gobbledegook to fill up the space of the page. So all I had was the name of the piece and a picture - but what a picture!
The emotionless red head, standing atop a podium of bizarre mechanical parts! It seemed thrown together, almost a parody of what the artist thought a terrible modernist sculpture ought to look like, but it clutched at my heart all the same. I had to possess it! The bidding was lollygagging somewhat, at the miserable sum of twenty dollars and seven cents, but I quickly showed the culturally moribund fools at eBay what was what with a sterling contribution of $500.
I expected the opposition to quail before my superior buying power, but evidently there was one among them - going by the somewhat unprepossessing nom de guerre of yumyumlovelycocktails402 - who recognised what a find was nearly in his grasp. He pushed the bidding up to $1000 and the combat began in earnest.
I was evidently dealing with a connoiseur. Every bid I placed, he doubled, quickly rushing the price to a full six thousand within the space of a few moments. Yumyumlovelycocktails402 was playing with me as the cat plays with the mouse, and I was already at the limit of my resources - unless... dared I think it? Dear Uncle Terry - so old and infirm! I know for a fact that his heart cannot stand much, and he had seven and a half 'grand', as the unwashed say, awaiting me in his will. The stairs at his home are badly in need of repair. It would be a shame if he were to... fall. Yes, a terrible shame. But then - the art would be mine!
Like Faust, I shook the hand of Mephistopheles, and immediately signed Uncle Terry's death warrant by raising the bid to a towering $13,000! More than double the bid as it stood. Uncle Terry would understand - I'd explain it to him in depth before my greater strength hurled him bodily down the spiral staircase, snapping his fragile limbs like matchwood! He would thank me as he tumbled like a rag doll, for giving him the opportunity to perish in the name of art!
At that moment I felt like unto a God - but pride goeth before a fall, and my nemesis yumyumlovelycocktails402 trumped me with a single thousand! My will broke! I was left in the foetal position on the persian rug, sobbing like a child! All my hopes were dashed, broken like so many of Uncle Terry's easily-crushed bones, but eBay offered no words of comfort unless FDJKL SDAFJK translates into 'weep not for the end of your hopeless dream' in some ancient scripture.
Thus, Tornado Man Dreaming left my life, never to return. Perhaps one day I will chance to see it in some private collection and muse wistfully on what might have been. And perhaps one day I will have my revenge on you, yumyumlovelycocktails402. If my time as therapist to the World's Finest Superhero has taught me anything, it is that revenge is delicious and best served cold, like a gazpacho. I will be signalling the waiter of vengeance soon and ordering my starter, yumyumlovelycocktails402. Beware.
And as for you, Uncle Terry, please don't read this journal entry, or if you do, think how much trouble it will be for you to change your will at this late stage.