My music college composition tutor suggested that I should embrace some of the dafter ideas of John Cage and Karlheinz Stockhausen. (These are not dissimilar to the preposterous "installations" of Tracey Emin and the Britart movement.)
Things called "graphic scores" were all the rage - instead of using conventional musical notation, blobs of colours were used to represent (very vaguely) composers' intentions.
I decided to make a score, not in the form of a book, but on a long roll of paper. Using two spindles placed 30cm apart, the "score" was rolled from one spindle to another, like a moving image.
Izal toilet paper was the only brand stocked in the local shop, so I bought a roll. I hadn't noticed the work "medicated" on the wrapper.
5 years before, I suffered a head injury which resulted in me losing my sense of smell, meaning I didn't notice the awful "medicated" pong as I unfurled the roll to write my score.
My tutor's and my peers' reaction to the first (and only) performance of my masterpiece was to pull faces and/or to hold their noses in, as I thought, disdain.
Only later did I discover that my ego had been bruised because of the aroma of the score, not the content of the composition.