John Gay.

From Poemhunter I racked an excerpt from a little beauty called Trivia; or, the Art of Walking the Streets of London, written years ago [1716], allegedly by a human male named John Gay. Here is a sub-excerpt.

For ease and for dispatch, the morning's best;
No tides of passengers the street molest.
You'll see a draggled damsel, here and there,
From Billingsgate her fishy traffic bear;
On doors the sallow milk-maid chalks her gains;
Ah! how unlike the milk-maid of the plains!
Before proud gates attending asses bray,
Or arrogate with solemn pace the way;
These grave physicians with their milky cheer,
The love-sick maid and dwindling beau repair;
Here rows of drummers stand in martial file,
And with their vellum thunder shake the pile,
To greet the new-made bride. Are sounds like these
The proper prelude to a state of peace?
Now industry awakes her busy sons,
Full charg'd with news the breathless hawker runs:
Shops open, coaches roll, carts shake the ground,
And all the streets with passing cries resound.

Here is his face from Wikipedia.



Notice how he described things that happened on a street in that poem. Wasn't he clever? Be it people, buildings, vehicles, signs, notices, stars or lost pocketwatches, there is nothing that poetry cannot touch indirectly. So one form of walking art is the poem, made by the poet, the name that gives a job to a look-think-write person. Not many are that rich and they probably have to work quite hard so I don't want to be one, plus I ain't funny enough. This is interesting because I don't want to be anything except someone who can walk around wasting paper and water by pressing the wrong flush button. This dissertation is me asking the world about careers and blocking out the crushing truths.