Yesterday upon the stair, I saw a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today. I wish that he would go away.
That’s how I feel at the moment.
Everywhere I look, I see something that isn’t there, like we all used to when were kids. Mad fuckers with fangs on their foreheads hiding under the bed waiting to grab your ankle. Crazy, hairy bastards hiding behind the curtain, ready to jump out and bite your feet off when the light goes out.
Of course, as every child knows, the crazed mad fucker can’t come out and tear off your eyeballs as long as you pretend he isn’t there. He’s powerless until you talk to him, or talk about him, or worst of all, peep under the bed.
Every child knows that, and so, it seems, does our government.
Every day that passes brings worse economic news, but the fucking government won’t talk about it. They’re bringing in an emergency budget at the end of the month, which means they’re going to take every penny you have, and a few you don’t possess, but they won’t say why.
I understand that. I understand perfectly why these men and women are afraid to say what might happen if it all goes arse-over-tit. You see, they might be dressed up in ill-fitting adult-man suits and bad mother-of-the-bride grown-up-women outfits, but beneath it all, they’re just the same as the rest of us. Children playing pretend.
Tell us a story instead.
All right then, I’ll give you a rhyme.
|There’s been an accident, they said.
Your servant’s cut in half . He’s dead!
Is he indeed? And will you please
Bring me the half that has my keys.
Oh how we chuckle as the beast behind the curtain grinds its teeth and shifts weight from one bunioned foot to the other.
Children, our government of pretend adults. Frightened children who don’t understand why a strange family has moved into their playroom. Or why their parents look so scared. Or why the car is gone. Or why they have to move into a cheap hotel. Or why the neighbours are saying those things about them.
Tell us another story.
All right then. Would you like to hear another nice poem about a horrible demise?
|Little Willie from the mirror
Licked the mercury right off,
Thinking in his childish error
It would cure the whooping cough.
At the funeral, his mother brightly said to Mrs Brown
‘Twas a chilly day for Willie when the mercury went down!
They don’t understand, they don’t know what to do about it, and they’re afraid, because there’s no Mammy or Daddy to make everything all right this time.
They’re all hoping the fat kid with the glasses will know what to do. What about one final rhyme concerning horrible expiration? Thanks to Mr Belloc for this one.
|A python I should not advise,
It needs a doctor for its eyes,
And has the measles yearly.
However, if you feel inclined
Allow no music near its cage;
I had an Aunt in Yucatán
She died because she never knew
It seems appropriate. The Snake. Wasn’t that what they used to call the exchange-rate mechanism thirty years ago, when they were laying the ground for the Euro?
Let’s hope it doesn’t devour us for our stupidity and corruption.
Meanwhile, a floorboard creaks.
Pic © Achilles