The Man Gets Stuck On One Word
The man gets stuck on one word, one word, word, I get stuck on one word, that’s me, I’m the man, I’m that man, and that man he goes into shops and people look at him because he – that’s me – can’t speak without repeating things over and over and its very hard to communicate and I’ve been like this for as long as I can remember.
‘Would you like any cash-back?’ says the shop assistant, shop assistant.
‘Twenty pounds, pounds, twenty pounds,’ and I gruff and cough and click my head and someone behind me is sniggering.
The man gets his money and leaves but he’s forgotten to buy apples but never mind, I’ll buy them tomorrow if I remember, but that’ll be difficult, I have a narrative in my head, commentary on everything I do – he does – that’s me, and now he’s going up the escalator and I wonder what would happen in this shopping centre if a bomb went off? Boom! And the escalator – escalators are weird when you think about them – I know I know, stop talking to yourself, stop it, just stop – but escalators go up and they go down but not many, not any go sideways, do they? No man, I don’t think so man, unless you count the ones at airports that slide you along like a crab, and the man’s head is shaking from side to side and I have to clear my throat three times, three times and pause, then three times again and my head flips forward and back and there are people below me on the escalator looking up to see what all the fuss is about, but its just me, just me and I have to say,
‘Aeroplanes, aeroplanes, flying fuck, click, yes I know, fucking shit, bollocks, wanker, cunt.’
And those people are looking ahead now, being polite, polite, everyone so polite.
But everyone hurts, everything hurts, the shopping centre hurts, the clothes hurt, the air hurts, my head and my eyes and my ears hurt, swelled like a balloon that can’t pop, I have to keep the mind busy, keep it ticking, happy, otherwise the universe will invade my head, don’t be absurd, absurd, on Clarence Street the man isn’t feeling good, never that good because I have no one, not a soul, no family or friends, no wife or girlfriend, and I am a sphere, actually a square with right-angles, very sharp, they’ll cut you up, they’ll cut you up man, cut you right to the bone on those funny little right-angles, not left, left, left, but right. Oh man, oh man, oh man, words are right angles, they’re right angles! They cut me up so bad, and wait, wait, wait, that’s it.