Fox Oxygen: Acid Bombs Over Nail Bombs

I was stopped in the street a few months ago by a middle aged lady who told me, 'its nice to see someone bring colour onto the streets.' I was wearing black and white steaked trousers, a yellow shirt and Union Jack fashioned cap, so I did look like an arists palette and this womans pleasantry confirmed to me what I have always thought; colourful wardrobes not only make the wearer feel better looking to him/herself (if one has the confidence to dress this way) but it also brightens up the miserable shopping centres and gives the dowdy people something to aspire to.
There is nothing wrong with dressing down of course, afterall it is mood which so often dictates what one wears and those fickle spikes of mind candy are not always camped on the summit of happiness. Sometimes black and grey are best and as a lover of dark colours myself I see no harm in dressing down.
But colourful attires have a life of their own. They not only pick people out of dismal troughs when their eyes fall on rainbow pastels, they also have the power to lift one into more pleasing thoughts, ideas which go beyond the rain clouds. And like lures on a fishing line they attract attention rather than bury the wearer in pits of gloom or anonymity.
Spring and summer months almost seem to demand that people dress like keyrings in seaside souvenir shops but they ought make more effort during wnter months too. You could argue even more so in winter because bright yellows and oranges in those dark months are a perfect tonic which defy the heavy grey in the skies. It is all very well feeling out of sorts as the rain becomes us but to allow misery to completely swallow your gutsy spark is unthinkable. At least to me.
Granted I have always had an insatiable need for attention, a thirst for center stage and spotlights but there is more to it than simply a desire to be looked at. The not so humble peacock knows what I mean; add a little imagination to your wardrobe and rinse it through a kaleidascope of colour and voila! A potential torrent of admiring glances from the opposite sex awaits the successful poser because colour favours the brave.
Look at carnivals, mardi gras and liquor cocktails for example. A haven for bright spots and merry moods, things which seldom allow colours to run in mixture with tears. The cocktail that consists of only water and iced teas will rarely (see: Never) grab the headlines or gain multidudes of fans for there is no redness in their textures, no gold on the sheer, glassy cheeks. It is difficult trusting the grey man. The quiet ones claiming to know nothing; Fox Oxygen never to be tasted or believed.
No doubt about it, colourful pastures are where its all at. Sweet wrappers, fruit bowls, fairylights, disco lights, you name it, the good times always roll with the dizzy neons and brights of the crayon world. And so this extends to tafarns and shopping precincts; the yellows are laughing and swinging the beer whilst the greys and browns sulk in the corner with half a shandy worrying about public transport.
The moral of this bulletin? To stretch the lane leading to the boneyard, choose colour. The back of a rainbow is lot easier a burden than backs of turtles.