Thursday, 20 January 2011

Does Elvis Talk To You?

Madame has a headache.

This is of course entirely the fault of her Inner Voice. It won't bloody stop yapping.

It's always been the same Voice - naturally - but I mean it has always had the same questionable motives. I can remember at age five The Voice planning disruptive yet undetectable random acts of dissent to perform when I got to Big School. Maybe clapping under the desk when the teacher's back was turned may not seem so dangerous now but when I was five it kept The Voice happy.

There is a file of our lives somewhere, held as ransom against future deviances. Mine will have concerned scrawls across it from toddlerdom. I wasn't especially naughty, I don't think, but The Voice didn't have much patience with adults' nonsensical requests. I remember a 'test' thing once, must have been only three or four, when the 'doctor' chap asked me to place all the little dolls housey things he had in 'the right place' while he yabbered to my mum. So I did. The dog in the basket, the cake in the oven, the cat under the table, the vase of flowers on the table blah blah blah. 'Done it.' Yabber yabber yabber....... 'I've DONE it!' 'Pardon? Oh yes.' Then he UNdid it. He messed up my house. 'Now do it again' he said all brushy-offy and carried on yabbering to my mum. The Inner Voice probably didn't know the word 'wanker' at that time but was definitely thinking it. Hmmmnnn.... What to do for the best....? The Voice knew a verbal protest would have been futile. Knew those doctor types. Children are to be peered at and scribbled about. So, in a silent protest, I placed the cat in the oven, the dog on the table, the cake in the basket and the flowers under the table etc etc. 'Done it.' 'What! No. You've done it all wrong.' He didn't understand my humorous yet superior stance. He started talking all patiently to me like I was stupid. This just made my innocent blood boil but I still didn't crack. The Inner Voice just took notes on the idiocy of the adult. Especially doctors.

The Voice still holds firm this opinion. Not just doctors, although believe me I could list a thousand affirmations over the years. It has a problem with any hint of authority in general. This explains my utter lack of an employer's good reference. Even I wouldn't give me one. It also explains my utter lack of success of any of my great creative plans. I would have to employ myself to carry out these projects. And without a decent reference from any former boss, including myself, I'm afraid I cannot concievably offer myself any position I may have at present and will unfortunately be unable to place me on a waiting list for any future opening. I hope I may enjoy more luck with an alternative conciousness and who may be better equipped to fully appreciate my talents. Now if I would be so kind as to remove my delinquent self away from my presence as I'm detecting an unpleasant odour ...... like singed fur or something.

In quieter moments I do wonder if The Voice was the fittest survivor of many weaker sibling voices. Like baby birds of prey, did it somehow smother its rivals, maybe devouring them while they were looking the other way? Is this how our individual consciousness is developed? Would a parallel me in a parallel dimension share this Voice? Were there parallel me's born to my parallel mum? Would they have a Different Voice? Were there parallel me's born to my same-dimension mum with parallel Voices? Before I ever knew I could form a choice, was choice performed by variant Voice victors? Would an other-dimensional Voice be so bloody annoying? I want to go to bed. WHO SAID THAT? HOW DARE YOU. I AM YOUR VOICE. But I'm really tired. YOU WILL GO TO BED WHEN I SAY YOU DESERVE IT AND NOT BEFORE. I want a New Voice. I'm getting too old to stay up all night playing on the computer instead of getting some beauty sleep and then I could be all perky in the mornings and maybe even write a book or something. YOU? WRITE A BOOK? WHAT ABOUT, FOR THE LOVE OF TUPELO? Um.... me and um.....we. WHO IN THIS DIMENSION WOULD WANT TO READ ABOUT YOU, YOU PITIFUL NEVER-BEEN? DROP AND GIVE ME 20 MESS UPS ON THE DOUBLE. But it might just, you know, give some other people out there some kind of hope that someone like um me could like...... do it. YOU? WHAT IS YOU? YOU MEAN ME! HMMNNN..... YES. I'D LIKE A BOOK ALL ABOUT ME. BUT I DON'T WANT YOU TO WRITE IT. YOU'RE TOO BLOODY UNRELIABLE, ALWAYS LATE, NEVER FULFILL YOUR POTENTIAL AND EVEN WHEN YOU TRICK SOMEONE INTO BELIEVING YOU'RE SOMEHOW WORTHWHILE YOU ALWAYS FUCK IT UP BECAUSE YOU ARE PERENNIALLY SUBVERSIVE FOR NO OTHER REASON THAN TO SIMPLY SEE THE FLIP SIDE AND ARE CRIPPLED BY YOUR FOSSILISED INGRAINED INSUBORDINATION. NO I'M NOT LETTING YOU WRITE IT. You mean I haven't got the job? NO PISS OFF YOU'RE MAKING MY OFFICE LOOK SHABBY AND TAKE THAT BLOODY CAT OUT THE OVEN.

It was you who put that bloody cat in the oven. I just want to be normal.


I wish.......


  1. Oh yes. THE VOICE.

    Write that book. Or else.

  2. That doctor sounds a complete arse. Maybe he fancied your mum and wanted longer to talk with her?

    I wish my voice would tell me to write something: I can't think of anything that would last longer than a few paragraphs.

  3. Hmmmm.... I wonder what cat tastes like?

    I'm with Big mamma frog; write the blinkin' book! .... Actually maybe it's a movie??

  4. I think it's a turkey.

    Do I mean the roasting beast in the oven, or the fantasy tome?

    I haven't a clue. I've got my fingers in my ears but it's no good - all I hear is that organ crescendo........ oh - my mistake. It's just Spongebob Squarepants again.......

    Business as usual.