By Ben Conway You walk in the door, leave whatever’s behind it.Game face on gets hit by the climate.Talking, shouting, energy flowing.The pace is set by the year that’s growing.Recline in a sofa be happy you weren’t late.Can can, can do that, macarena is my mate.Plan for the week,plan for the year.Plan for the things that you want the world to hear.Brief number one,jump through hoop seventeen then six.Shit, that’s hard,guess I signed up for it.Every moment is a moment,to show the world who you are.Squirrel information,you’ll need it later if you starve.Don’t say three things,just say one.Keep it simple stupid.It’ll get the job done.Break the pattern,break the mold.Don’t be a twat,you’re [x] years old.Connect the dots,find the objective.No one will listento a moron perspective.This is our space,we’re a collective.Dirty bins, mugs, kitchens to live in.You’ve lost it, forget it.Design is Lego,IS IT A VECTOR?Snap to the grid,listen to Ian’s lecture!Be concrete, credible.Crap - also be;simple, unexpected, emotional and story.You get the gist?We are dancing with the devil,and the devil is myself.Take time to chimeinto yourself.Elbows barge,but it’s the name of the game.Learn to move forward,or be the one who was ‘a shame’.This is the endof an SCA truth.One month in,I’m finally ready to blow off the roof.
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