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NUMBED DUMB
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NO EMPATHY FROM THE DEVIL
SOMEBODY REMINDED ME2
no empathy from the devil
I just wanted to get to the gym but all these people kept stopping me wanting to talk. They make my brain tired. I’d been stopped and had to talk to a fat woman in a purple mu-mu. It was the size of a two-man tent. She’d walked up to me wearing a bicycle helmet. Thick mascara dripped down her cheeks like the marks of a clown. I asked her why she was wearing a bicycle helmet when she wasn’t on a bike? She asked me why I was in a wheelchair? I said, all right fair enough. Her face opened and I heard her tell me stories about her life. She just needed someone to hear her. I wondered if she knew that I didn’t care until I saw her madness
A randy old lady I always see walked up behind me. Her bony hand was ice-cold as it touched my shoulder and started rubbing me. She said, see I’ve been following you. I sighed. I was turning around to say hello when she said, gee you’re always talking to women. She smiled and said, I’ve never seen you talking to a man. I nodded and smiled. Gee, she said, the ladies love you don’t they? She started talking about what a handsome man she thought I was and I switched off. I told her I had to go. I turned and pushed my chair away from her. I would rather be ugly and have the woman that I love
I always feel rude when I tell them I have to get going. As I leave I wonder why I hadn’t said it earlier? There is something kind inside of me. Maybe I should start pushing my wheelchair down the road instead of the footpath. I turned around to ask mu-mu if I could borrow her bicycle helmet. I turned around and she was gone. There was not another human in sight. Did I imagine her? I am surrounded by madness. I am surrounded when nobody else seems to be. I let go of the wheels on my chair and kept on down the hill. I’m still waiting for new gloves. Friction has burned a hole on the thumb of my right glove. The heat of descent on my thumb told me that everything happening to me was real
I saw the face of None and it cooled me. He’s a drifter who’d come back to Bondi for the summer. He reminded me of what it is to be human. I looked at the sincerity on his face and it made me hate him. It made me feel like vomiting. His face shone like a candle. Open all hours. He asked me how my art was going? I told him nobody liked it. He looked me in the eye and told me he’d give me an example. He told me that he used to be a landscape gardener. I rolled my eyes. I thought, what man hasn’t been a landscape gardener? I looked at his face and watched him tell me a story I was clearly not interested in. He spoke to me like he was explaining something to a child. They told me in a calm way that they had to keep the garden the way the owners wanted it, not the way that he would have kept it. He said that he knew horticulture and there were better ways to keep a garden
What an example. Comparing ownership to apples. I serve no master. I can do anything I want. I still do it even when I don’t have it. I don’t care. I write with my mind in mind. I know why. It’s because I can release the grubby little pervert who sits between my two souls. I told him that it wasn’t for him. I told him that I write to keep myself happy. He said, yeah but if you wrote what they wanted you could have an audience. I looked at the sincerity in his face. It made him look stupid. I grimaced shrugged my shoulders and said, what? They said, well I’ll give you an example. I rolled my eyes at his stale opinion. I used to be a landsca…
People recognise pain. People like to watch pain. They say if you’re being robbed or raped the best thing to do is scream FIRE!!!!!!!! People will come running then. Most people will cross the street to avoid helping someone in need. If you scream, fire, someone will come running to watch you burn. They will only want to watch someone else’s pain. They will stand and watch while thinking, thank fuck it’s not me burning. People like to watch others suffer. If you yell out for help they would turn their back
A strange woman walked up to me and told me I should come along to her church. She said that her congregation had made a man in a wheelchair walk. I looked at the sincerity on her face and it made me hate her. If people could be cured in church there would be no hospitals. Wouldn’t that be great? Just say ten Hail Mary’s. You’ll be able to give yourself a sponge bath in no time. Religion is a good thing for some. Show me your tits and open your legs. That’s my religion
The Church Built of Science is always trying. I’ve seen her three times at the gym. Sorry, she’s seen me three times. She pushes the line too hard. It’s the third time she’s come up and told me I should be a guinea pig for an experiment in Science. I am trapped between The Walls of Polite. Her eyes are too close together and her breath smells like rotten pumpkin. I told my Ninety Year-Old friend who said that I should report her. I told my friend that I’m not a snitch. Yeah but, she said, they might be pushing the same on to other clients at the gym. I’ll tell ANDRE the GIANT tomorrow
I was halfway down the street when I saw her. She’d zeroed in. She couldn’t take her eyes off me. I said under my breath please, just let me get out of here. I looked down. The curb cut was too high. I couldn’t cross in my wheelchair. She started running towards me. She looked like an ironing board. Once she had caught her breath she asked me if I went to church? I recognised the first part of the pitch so I turned my wheelchair on her and started pushing back the way I came. I felt rude but I’m sick of meeting women wanting to heal me. I know that I’m disabled but I want (will, please?) to meet a woman who wants me for the man I am. I’m sick ** **
A wonderfully stacked woman was walking towards me wearing a black bikini and high heels. We were five blocks back from the beach. Her chest jiggled as she walked. Every single man stared at her. She knew it and it was making her smile. She smiled directly at me as she was about to walk by. I leaned across and said, you are more than your breasts. She stopped and spat, what? I was halfway through saying it again as she reached down and grabbed the back of my hair. Her long red fake fingernails gouged my scalp as she took a fistful. She took my head and buried it into her pussy. What, she screamed, what did you say? I couldn’t find the words again. All I could do was smile as she released me. Her fists were clenched. My phone rang so I said, excuse me, to her and answered it. I put the phone up to my ear and my face back in her pussy. Her hand went to the back of my head again but lightly. Her phone rang so she answered it. She spoke to someone while fluffing the back of my hair. I hung up the phone and moaned into her muff. I sat smelling her wondering what she would smell when she had hung up
I was still only halfway home. I allow room in my life for magic but I’m a realist. I saw a thirty-something peroxide blonde walking towards me wearing a tight school uniform. She smiled at me so I smiled back. She lifted the hem of her kilt until it was under her chin. She wasn’t wearing any knickers and was bald down there. There was a thin trail of brownish blood running down her left leg. I told her that I once ate out a woman who had her period. Neither of us realised until I came up for air. I realise it, she said. Yes, I said, I suppose you do
I kept pushing the wheelchair towards my dwelling. I saw a bloke I know on the way so asked him where I could buy some mace? He asked what I meant? I said, you know mace, to spray at people to keep them away. He asked why? I said because today I’ve been chatted-up by a lonely old lady, I’ve had my head rammed in a woman’s crotch, a zealot tried to prime me up and a woman flashed her bloody pussy at me. I feel like I’ve been raped. Religious, at least you know she’s not a slut, he replied. Maybe I want a slut, I said. Do you know, he said, that some rapists still try to rape even after chemical castration. They still want what they can’t have. There was a moment’s silence as we both thought about what he’d said. Thanks, I said, after talking to you today hasn’t been a total waste. Saying it out loud has helped me realise something. She really is more than her breasts, I would rather have a slut than the woman that I love and a man is still a man even after you’ve taken his balls
watching me burn
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xxx
Andrew Stuart Buchanan
jbjb(p(p
jbjb(p(p
THE SECOND COMING IS NOT WHAT I WANTED TO SEE
I got a thing in my mailbox the other day telling me the second coming is drawing near. It was a small piece of white paper folded in two and was coloured green white orange and yellow. It was folded so that a drawing of the back of a Man on a horse was on the cover. The Man was wearing a golden pointed crown. The Man was holding a golden sword up in front of His face. He had pants with King of Kings and Lord of Lords written down the leg (I wear Adidas). The horse was white and had a white mane. The Man on the horse was wearing a cape like Skeletor. The cape was rippling. The Man was hovering in space looking down on the earth (with clouds above the atmosphere) brandishing a golden sword. He was somewhere between the earth and the moon’s orbit. The horse had its neck back and front left leg bent up at the knee. It looked like the horse was about to rear. The Man was looking down on planet Earth and you could tell by the way He was holding His sword that He was preparing to charge. Inside it told me the second coming of Jesus to the earth is called the RAPTURE.
The piece of paper told me that if I didn’t repent I would be damned. It told me that putrefying painful sores, seas of dead men’s blood, rivers filled with blood and the stench of dying aquatic life plaguing man and beast are coming. It told me the sun would scorch the flesh of blasphemous men (I am sunburned today) and then disappear into the blackness of full darkness as men gnaw their tongues (it’s been years since E’s) for pain. It told me the Euphrates River is going to dry up (is that in Sydney?) as great earthquakes pound the remnant of earth’s inhabitants. It went on to tell me that God will say it is done as his wrath is satisfied. This piece of paper told me that if I miss the RAPTURE that I would be a deluded non-believer and burn up in Hell for all eternity. I read it and thought wow. If you don’t believe like I believe you’re going to burn in Hell. Thanks a lot. Is that what its come to, scaring people into religion? Did anyone else get this in the mail or was it just me? Anyway, that’s all beside the point. I’ve already said sorry.
Everyone picks they’re own ideals. It’s a means to an end. It becomes a reason when people can’t see a point to life. I can hardly see a point to life but I can’t believe like they do. I sat in my wheelchair trying to imagine what sort of people are trying to recruit followers to a vengeful God. Do they look like you and I or do they have it written all over their face? They’re normally easy to spot. They hang around train stations smiling inanely. It’s come down to pamphlets in the letterbox trying to recruit. I had an encounter with a beautiful woman in Bondi one day. She looked like a princess from a Golden Book. She was smiling (too much for a stranger) at me as she approached. She stopped in front of my wheelchair to tell me that she was part of a congregation that ran a healing clinic at a church nearby. She told me that I should come along and that they would cure me (I already knew better, there is no cure for what I’ve got, but couldn’t help wondering if I went along and joined up would I be able to fuck her?). I asked her what religion she was? She said Christian. I asked what denomination? She said Christian again. Yeah, but what denomination are you, I asked again? She looked at me like I’d just caught her kissing her good-looking cousin (you know guilty yet pleased) as she told me; I guess you could call it evangelical (I knew I wouldn’t be able to fuck her). For those of you who don’t know what that means, that means she goes to a church where people collapse. You’ve probably seen them before on television with their eyes closed and their arms waving above their heads in the air trying to catch God. You’ve probably seen on TV a preacher touching someone on the forehead and then the person collapsing. The person collapsing from the supposed power of God the preacher carries with them. I told someone that I was thinking of going along. Really, they asked? Yeah I said; it would make great fodder for a short story. They asked if I would be taking the piss out of the congregation. Of course, I said. The person frowned and told me that it would anger God if I did that. I haven’t gone along yet so I still don’t yet know how He’ll feel about it.
I had a bad day yesterday. It got me thinking about God. I had a day where I questioned the reason for my existence. I woke up feeling that way. I felt like I didn’t belong. I prepared then went through my morning bowel routine. It told me I wasn’t normal. I lay in bed and injected three enemas via a plastic syringe and length of catheter into my rectum. I lay in bed awhile then transferred over a blue sheet on to my wheel commode-chair and pushed it into the bathroom. I pushed the chair over the toilet, removed the blue sheet from under my bum, and waited to hear a plop. I sat for five minutes wishing that I were allowed to smoke on the toilet (oh Heaven, anyone remember that?) until I heard two plops. I put on a glove and stuck one finger in my bum to pull any stragglers out. I was clean inside so I took the glove off, chucked it in the bin and pushed the commode chair next to the shower. I transferred on to the shower commode char. I reached up and got the showerhead off the wall and turned the water on. I asked Him as I sat on my chair washing the tears that had started to drop down my face. I turned the water on to my chest and said give me a sign. I reached down to get a squeeze of soap. Just give me a sign that there’s a point to all this. I told Him that I understood why He hadn’t given me a sexy neighbour to spy on through my bedroom window but couldn’t understand why I was still alive. I told Him, just give me one sign. I need one sign. I turned the hot water up. It burned me well. I felt my stomach cramp. It suddenly smelled bad in the shower. I looked down to find I’d shit all over the floor. The shit was dark brown, almost black (too much seasoned seaweed) and was made up of three long skinny turds. I hadn’t even felt it. I asked Him to show me a sign (I meant give me a woman you Bastard) and He showed me by making me shit on the floor. I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see. I had to pick the wet turds of the shower floor. As I bent down to start picking them up another plopped out.
That’s how my day started. I washed myself then transferred out the shower. I put on a glove reached down and picked the poohs off the bottom of the shower. I flushed them down the loo. I wheeled back to the shower and sprayed it with disinfectant. I dried my face armpits balls and bum got dressed and pushed my way to Icebergs. It’s straight down Bondi rd to get there (sounds like fun aye? downhill in a wheelchair, it’s no fun pushing back up the hill in your wheelchair). I’ve worn holes in four pairs of gloves from the friction of hanging on to the wheels getting there. I love that place. It’s beautiful and the people there are nice to me. I did some standing and then swum two laps in the pool. It was on my way back from the gym I met her. She was with a friend and they both smiled at me. She introduced herself (I promptly forgot her name) and told me that she always saw me pushing myself ‘round and that I was an inspiration. I said, don’t say that. I didn’t tell her why. An inspiration? Fuck! Didn’t she know? I stared into her eyes. She really didn’t know. Everything I do is based on necessity. She told me that she always saw me pushing my wheelchair up the hill. An inspiration? Fuck it. I don’t want a woman to be impressed by my actions. I want a woman to want me.
Just last week it happened again. There was another woman who I’d met at the Icebergs before. I saw at the start of the week in the middle of the morning halfway down Bondi rd. She stopped and wanted to talk. I didn’t want to talk. I wanted to go to the gym. She had dirty uncombed hair and came at me from a deep and low tone about spirituality. She went on and on about the forces. She told me I was an inspiration several times in the conversation. I wanted to get to the gym so eventually put my hand out to shake and go when she told me she was sincere and had meant everything she’d just told me. She put her hand out. I shook it. I looked at her hands and saw dirt under her fingernails. Her voice changed as she said that it wasn’t the booze talking. I smiled and asked why? Did she have a few drinks the night before? No, she said, I’ve had a few drinks this morning. The smile dropped from my face. All the things she’d said were tarnished knowing she drank by herself in the morning. As I pushed my wheelchair away from her I understood and acknowledged that we are all broken. It’s just that you can see how I’m broken. I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see.
I met a twit as I approached Knotts Ave. He stopped walking and stood in front of my wheelchair to block my way and yelled at me, I WISH I HAD ONE OF THOSE! One of WHAT, I asked? A WHEELCHAIR, he yelled back at me. The look on his face said he was impressed. I don’t think I frowned but I remember my face dropping thinking what an idiot… he wished he had a wheelchair. He obviously had no idea of the ramifications of most wheelchair users. Now know that I’m not talking about old dears being pushed by their grandchildren. I’m talking about damage to the spinal cord. I’m talking about loss of bodily functions. He’s as bad as the twit who said he was jealous of me not having a job. I’ve pretty much had some sort of a job since I was eleven years old and I hate the fact that I’m not healthy enough to work. Twit obviously hadn’t thought properly about not having a job. No money no honey. I remember reading something where a man said that, no woman actively sought out a dishwasher. What chance do you think a man in a wheelchair without a job has?
Most people will go their entire lives without ever seeing a psychologist. A large percentage of those people could do with seeing a psychologist. I woke in hospital to have lost the use of my legs and have a balding …fat man (I’m a customer come on play nice) with a clipboard asking me questions. I may be dumb but I’m not an idiot. There was never a good question asked. Even with a brain injury I could see he painted by numbers. The GOLIATH has made me see two more within the last week. One was a garden-variety psychologist and one clinical. My life was made harder for me and it hasn’t stopped. I woke out of my coma to find them slowly pulling the rug out from under me. I’ve got a good DAVID fighting for me but all he’s got is a big bag of stones (he’s a good shot though). I sit (literally) and wait while the Avocado tries to smear some guacamole on GOLIATH’S sandal (doesn’t God wear sandals too? no wait, that’s Jesus… God probably wears high heels or gumboots). The GOLIATH had arranged the appointments. Seeing the clinical shrink made me feel dumb. She first read out a list of twenty-five words. She’d told me to remember as many words as I could from the list and repeat them to her. She spoke in a monotone (I would give you some examples but I’ve forgotten). I remember initially remembering the first four words. My ears were hearing the sequence she was saying but my mind was trying to remember the first four words (what where they again?). She repeated the same test three times. I got progressively worse before she told me she would read out words and I would have to tell her if they were on the list. I couldn’t remember. I had even forgotten the first four. The whole experience made me feel dumber. Now I know I wanted Him to show me but that’s not what I wanted to see.
Tomorrow’s got to be a better day. It can’t be much worse than yesterday. I keep getting up hoping my view’s going to improve. It has to… it better. People keep telling me that there’s a reason I’m still alive. I’m not so sure about that. To have then to have not is something else. It’s character building if nothing. Apparently He only helps those who help themselves. Well I have helped myself but now I need a little help (I need somebody, Help, not just anybody).
Some day He’s going to show me what I want to see.
PS. I hope I haven’t offended Him by writing this and I don’t want people to think I’m seeking pity or am angry. I don’t think I have offended Him. I’ve been smiling writing this. He’s probably got a good sense of humour. He must have. After all He sent his Boy down to us and we hammered him to two pieces of wood with three nails
Andrew Stuart Buchanan
NOTES FROM THE EDGE 