Sometimes I think that the iPhone and it’s constellation of apps is all i need to propel my creative instincts into stratospheric success. I am constantly drawn towards its compelling gravity, reaching for the sleek monolithic slab and hoping for some inspiration to strike and trigger an evolution of thought, a giant leap forward towards some sort of sublime creative ecstasy.
By downloading and hoarding so many apps – music apps; designer apps; photographic apps; writing apps; current affairs apps – I seem to be cocooning myself in a narcotic delusion that I will learn how to use them, or even just one, and just by sheer osmosis figure out the subtle nuances of each and all the supposedly pent-up thoughts, yet-to-be-realised ideas and sheer brilliant-but-dusty moments of inspirational genius will flash, vaporise and coalesce into a solid gem of beauty, a transcendental work of unmitigated authoritative etherealness that will transmogrify my soul, define my mind and justify my very existence.
That’s the plan anyway.
They just haven’t invented the app for that yet.
But when they do…