All About Anthology
I sit at the laptop with the clean white keyboard, hands poised over the keys, ready to record the first thought that rushes into my mind. But because I want it, nothing will come.
Writer’s block, a sure sign of a rusty imagination? Frustrated, I wriggle my fingers, stretch my hands, grasp at thin air. Anything to pull forth the shadow of a story. I find nothing but empty space, void of the slightest wisp of an idea. I try to imagine inspiration alighting, seeping through my scalp like the porous whisper of water melting through sandstone and lying softly on my cerebral cortex.
And then there are four little men standing on me. First they aren’t there, and then suddenly they are.
Two balance precariously on my right shoulder, almost the same height at six inches tall, one is rock-climbing up my left arm by holding onto a lock of my hair, and one sits on my head, as if he were playing the drums. It really is the strangest sensation, but I have no time to ponder this because the one on my left arm speaks.
“Are you writing about us Nell?”
“Yes,” the one on my head pipes up. “Are you making sure you do us justice?”
“Let’s have a gander,” says the one by my ear.
I know who he is, of course. I know who all of them are. “What are you tossers doing here?” I say out loud in surprise.
“You know, you really ought not to shove so many bits about John into it,” one on my shoulder says, only half in jest.
“You ought to shove Paul into so many bits,” the one on my arm wisecracks with a deadpan face. The other on my shoulder has slid off and is walking on the keyboard, stamping on letters at his pleasure. “GEORGEISGREAT,” it slowly spells.
“Right you lot, get out of here! I’m trying to think,” I begin, trying to push the one on the keyboard out of the way. The one on my head, however has begun to dance a little jig.
“Write about the haircuts,” he sings down to me, making me look up, cross-eyed.
“Write about me guitars,” the one on the keys demands.
“Write about me contribution to holiness,” the one absailing down my left arm calls out to a huge racket.
“The only thing holey about you is your logic!”
“Aye! The only holey thing about you is your head!”
“Holy crap, that is!”
“Will you lads be quiet!” I hiss angrily. “Someone is going to hear all the shouting and then where would we be?”
“On your ‘ead, Nell,” the one up top quips cheekily.
“And in your heart,” the one with the chocolate brown eyes teases.
“Shut it Macca, you’ve wormed your way through enough birds for one lifetime.”
“Speaking of worms, you’re looking rather gangly, Lennon,” comes the lightning reply.
“Sod off, then. Or I’ll run Rings around you.” They all burst out laughing hard with this last riposte, throwing in loud barking sounds for good measure.
Someone next door begins to pound on the right wall to indicate displeasure at the cacophony.
“Shut up boys! Shut up! It’s past midnight!”
“Tch tch. You ought to be getting on with it then, oughtn’t ye?”
“I would, John, if you lads would kindly leave me alone. It’s bad enough I’ve got you in my head right now, let alone on it.”
“Hear that lads, she called me John!” He clasps his hands to his heart melodramatically.
I open my mouth to retort but he is already singing, “When you call my name, O-o-o-o-oh, Say you’re driving me insane,” the others are chiming in with ragged harmony and then I’m really laughing, doubling over and clapping my hands over my mouth to prevent the giggles from escaping.
“That’s the ticket Nell!” He-on-my-head says, pleased. “Thought we might cheer you up a spell.”
“Well, thank you very much. Apart from crazily swinging off my hair, you’ve been rather welcome.”
“Rather?”
“Very, Macca, only now, I need a little bit of silence to get my head back round the right way.”
“All right fellas, what say you we leave the lady alone?”
“I can’t, I’ve already departed,” the rock-climbing one on my arm jokes, and I am surprised at this offhand banter.
“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” I prod.
The one on my head pauses and listens. “She’s right you know. There’s someone out there who doesn’t know about the flaming pie.”
“Doesn’t know about the pie? What do they teach in schools nowadays?” The one on the keyboard grouses.
“Well then Nell, we must be off, it looks like there are causes more lost than yours,” the
one on my shoulder grins. “Still, we know where to find you.”
“Ye stand warned, lass,” the one on my left arm winks. “Bye for now though.”
“Bye Nell,” from the one on my head.
“Ta!” The on one the keyboard.
I can’t help giggling, just a little. “Bye lads—“ I begin, “Oh wait! Wait a minute, I meant to ask you about the meaning of –” but they are gone, one minute there, the next minute not, spinning fragments of crazy rainbow that stood solid for a little while.
Somewhere above my head, I hear whooping and laughter and – is that the sound of barking?
They’ll be back, I know.
Right now, they have to be elsewhere, spreading the beat.
Writer’s block, a sure sign of a rusty imagination? Frustrated, I wriggle my fingers, stretch my hands, grasp at thin air. Anything to pull forth the shadow of a story. I find nothing but empty space, void of the slightest wisp of an idea. I try to imagine inspiration alighting, seeping through my scalp like the porous whisper of water melting through sandstone and lying softly on my cerebral cortex.
And then there are four little men standing on me. First they aren’t there, and then suddenly they are.
Two balance precariously on my right shoulder, almost the same height at six inches tall, one is rock-climbing up my left arm by holding onto a lock of my hair, and one sits on my head, as if he were playing the drums. It really is the strangest sensation, but I have no time to ponder this because the one on my left arm speaks.
“Are you writing about us Nell?”
“Yes,” the one on my head pipes up. “Are you making sure you do us justice?”
“Let’s have a gander,” says the one by my ear.
I know who he is, of course. I know who all of them are. “What are you tossers doing here?” I say out loud in surprise.
“You know, you really ought not to shove so many bits about John into it,” one on my shoulder says, only half in jest.
“You ought to shove Paul into so many bits,” the one on my arm wisecracks with a deadpan face. The other on my shoulder has slid off and is walking on the keyboard, stamping on letters at his pleasure. “GEORGEISGREAT,” it slowly spells.
“Right you lot, get out of here! I’m trying to think,” I begin, trying to push the one on the keyboard out of the way. The one on my head, however has begun to dance a little jig.
“Write about the haircuts,” he sings down to me, making me look up, cross-eyed.
“Write about me guitars,” the one on the keys demands.
“Write about me contribution to holiness,” the one absailing down my left arm calls out to a huge racket.
“The only thing holey about you is your logic!”
“Aye! The only holey thing about you is your head!”
“Holy crap, that is!”
“Will you lads be quiet!” I hiss angrily. “Someone is going to hear all the shouting and then where would we be?”
“On your ‘ead, Nell,” the one up top quips cheekily.
“And in your heart,” the one with the chocolate brown eyes teases.
“Shut it Macca, you’ve wormed your way through enough birds for one lifetime.”
“Speaking of worms, you’re looking rather gangly, Lennon,” comes the lightning reply.
“Sod off, then. Or I’ll run Rings around you.” They all burst out laughing hard with this last riposte, throwing in loud barking sounds for good measure.
Someone next door begins to pound on the right wall to indicate displeasure at the cacophony.
“Shut up boys! Shut up! It’s past midnight!”
“Tch tch. You ought to be getting on with it then, oughtn’t ye?”
“I would, John, if you lads would kindly leave me alone. It’s bad enough I’ve got you in my head right now, let alone on it.”
“Hear that lads, she called me John!” He clasps his hands to his heart melodramatically.
I open my mouth to retort but he is already singing, “When you call my name, O-o-o-o-oh, Say you’re driving me insane,” the others are chiming in with ragged harmony and then I’m really laughing, doubling over and clapping my hands over my mouth to prevent the giggles from escaping.
“That’s the ticket Nell!” He-on-my-head says, pleased. “Thought we might cheer you up a spell.”
“Well, thank you very much. Apart from crazily swinging off my hair, you’ve been rather welcome.”
“Rather?”
“Very, Macca, only now, I need a little bit of silence to get my head back round the right way.”
“All right fellas, what say you we leave the lady alone?”
“I can’t, I’ve already departed,” the rock-climbing one on my arm jokes, and I am surprised at this offhand banter.
“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” I prod.
The one on my head pauses and listens. “She’s right you know. There’s someone out there who doesn’t know about the flaming pie.”
“Doesn’t know about the pie? What do they teach in schools nowadays?” The one on the keyboard grouses.
“Well then Nell, we must be off, it looks like there are causes more lost than yours,” the
one on my shoulder grins. “Still, we know where to find you.”
“Ye stand warned, lass,” the one on my left arm winks. “Bye for now though.”
“Bye Nell,” from the one on my head.
“Ta!” The on one the keyboard.
I can’t help giggling, just a little. “Bye lads—“ I begin, “Oh wait! Wait a minute, I meant to ask you about the meaning of –” but they are gone, one minute there, the next minute not, spinning fragments of crazy rainbow that stood solid for a little while.
Somewhere above my head, I hear whooping and laughter and – is that the sound of barking?
They’ll be back, I know.
Right now, they have to be elsewhere, spreading the beat.
She said, she said at 2:25 am
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