Can a bodily ailment be turned into an asset? Keith Larsen would certainly agree and he suffers from pareidolia. If you are unaware of the term or what it signifies, here is a rundown.
Pareidolia is a condition in which a person sees faces, animals or things in inanimate objects, where none exists. For example, seeing smiling faces or animal forms in the clouds and the like.
When Larsen realized he could perceive a specific image in an ambiguous visual pattern, he did what he does best…create characters out of them. Not only this, he turned them into his own creatures, basing them on stories that he depicted in his poems.
Just sample Larsen’s marvellous creations. He converted a twin metal hook on a door, used for hanging clothes, into a drunk octopus with boxing gloves on spoiling for a fight.
The little poem he composed for it goes like this:
“I’m the drunk octopus looking to fight. Fear the left hook and the jab of my right. You’re at an advantage, my eyes are offset, yet I’ll surely win this one, I’m the safe bet. Even with six legs behind my back, this will be no match, but I can’t leave this wall, I’m stuck, I’m attached.”
When Larsen laid his eyes on a yellow water hydrant on the sidewalk, he simply turned it into a dandy dapper character with a bowler hat, a monocle and a moustache to match!The poem he wrote was:
“I’m a dandy dapper dampener. Fires tickle my fancy, those are no match for me. Remove my monocle you must, for the water to flee. When it comes to parking, I know I’m a nuisance, but when your dog pees, I’m somehow translucent. I’m a damn dampened hydrant.”
I Hope to see these hidden characters soon in movies & cartoons shows.
Please dispose of your gum and butts. Keeping the streets clean, this is a must. All this cigarette smoke, causing me to choke. Scuba gear for protection, it’s my eyes you poke. Don’t turn London’s streets into a sea of rubbish I’m Cecil the Scuba bin, you can find me in public.Grab my beak if it’s laundry you seek. You barely see me, maybe once a week. How can I not have this disappointed look? I dry your clothes as you read a book. I’m dryer duck, and for a buck, I dry the shirts you tuck. Handle my bill if you will, tweak left for your garments. I’ll see you next week, but please, no more vomit.I’m ripe. Teeth rotten. My other half, forgotten. This crescent face is only recent. But not to panic, by botanic rules my seeds will sprout. More tomatoes to creep you out. Though there will be none like me, I’m one of a kind, you won’t find me in a bottle of HeinzI’m a dandy dapper dampener. Fires tickle my fancy, those are no match for me. Remove my monocle you must, for the water to flee. When it comes to parking, I know I’m a nuisance But when your dog pees, I’m somehow translucent. I’m a damn dampened hydrant.Did you hear the news? Pull down my ears is how I’m used. Newspapers are what I dispense. Be up to date on your current events. Look at new gizmos and gadgets, clothes and jackets. Just about anything worth to mention. You can call me Yorker, your yellow news dispensing gremlin.Slow and steady wins the race. That’s not the case when it comes to this face. Tracking your time, waiting for it to expire The shell on my back being a parked cars tire. Your times running out, telling you is my purpose This is my role, as a parking meter tortoise.There, there Philip, no need to be sad. You have a nice complexion and your pimples aren’t bad. You may not look appealing, but once they’re done peeling, they’ll forget what they were seeing. What’s on the inside is what counts, you’re not a dud. I’m your brotato, and we’ll always be best spuds.I’m tired of cleaning up after you. Whether it’s a mess you created or something destroyed. My face is the solution, and I’m relatively annoyed. Sitting in the corner, like I don’t even matter. Until your klutzy self-makes a messy splatter. I have no more energy, I’m much too wiped But, I really moustache you, who created the quantum theory of light?Your door remains shut thanks to me. Twist my body for the hinges to move freely. I’m Larry, the latch beaked bird. When you tried to be sneaky, my mouth is the click you heard. My face remains hidden when you do too. Open your door, to see the bird that never once flew.How art thou? Gretchen, the grainy haired, flat-capped jester at your service. This is thy bowing gesture, although appearing nervous, the pleasure is thine. Thou would’st be too, being wooden with a hook. Many moments hath with awkward hands shook. But, no need for this wood to weep and wallow, I bid you farewell, and to all a good morrow.I’m just a bag takin’ a drag Greaser hair, pull string flair I’m not full of myself as I may look, I’m filled with your belongings, like pencils and books Give me a chance doll face, I’m not a cheater We’ll hold hands at the drive-in theater.Love can open many doors We’re often used to open albacore. I’m Jan, and this is Fran. We’ve been told no, again and again, Many against us, our life is a sin But in the end, love always wins.
