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Blake vs Blake
As I sat by what must have been North London’s most incredulous and highest pitched Indian on a bus yesterday, I got to thinking, just who would win in a battle between William Blake and James Blake?
I fancy that the former Blake may begin with a slow building barrage of poetry, each one more sexually supressed than its predecessor, but ultimately, James would win by turning each stanza into a delay-ridden cacophony of increasingly bit-crushed sound which would gradually consume itself and his enemy, leaving nothing but his buckled shoes behind.
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