Monday, 22 September 2008

MR ASPIRATIONAL

His name was Mr Aspirational, so that is what we, I, you, they, shall know him as. The story begins with Mr. Aspirational finishing a cigarette before entering the post office to join the que. He stood in such a fixed stare so as to envelop eye contact with anybody, he did not know the reason for this. Every so often the loudspeaker would call, ÔCashier number six please,Õ or, ÔCashier number three please,Õ or, ÔCashier number four please.Õ There were twelve cashier points in the post office facade yet only 6,3, and 4 were in service. As the time drew itself closer towards the moment he would be face to face with the cashier at either 6,3 or 4, Mr Aspirational became slightly more agitated, he had within his mind rehearsed exactly what he would say and was keen to get it over with so as to conclude this task and continue with all else he must do with the remains of this day. Two women behind him were talking;

WOMAN 1: I don't understand why he never opens up to me, he is holding back valuable personal information, IÕm sure its to do with that problem I was talking about before, its all playing on my wits.

WOMAN 2: Yes, his inferiority complex is rather complex.

Mr Aspirational kept his opinion to himself, but if he were to share his mind he would have said something smugly; though he had no reason to be smug; such as;

MR ASPIRATIONAL: The reason he keeps from you his private thoughts, my dear, is that you blab them uncensored amongst friends and in public!

Mr Aspirational finally made it to the till and asked the turbaned man the cost of posting his parcel.

TURBANED MAN: Sixty-five pee.

MR ASPIRATIONAL: Thanks.

TURBANED MAN: Thanks.

Mr Aspirational leaves the post office and walked through the crowded footpath towards the supermarket, the frustration boiled as he dodged his way through the people all balancing on the designated walking area, the fact that people are second class citizens in favour of cars when town planners plan towns never failed to make our hero erupt out at the top of his raged voice some form of insult towards the world. Once inside the supermarket he picked up a basket which gradually became more and more full as he added more items which were required if he expected to continue living. He joined the que. There were four available tills but only one was being operated. In front of Mr Aspirational were three fellow customers, one, a woman shopping for a large family whose diet seemed mostly to consist of biscuits, fizzy drinks and packets of flavoured fat. The other two people were a young man and woman who spoke another language than Mr Aspirational, they appeared to be of intimate experience between each other. He reached the till and the young girl put his items over a barcode reader whilst simultaneously avoiding eye contact with him, he did not know the reason for this.

YOUNG GIRL: Ten pounds-forty-eight please.

Mr Aspirational produced a card from which the amount could be extracted, she put the card in the machine and he tapped in his pin code, transaction completed.

YOUNG GIRL: Thank you

MR ASPIRATIONAL: Thank you

He put into plastic bags the items which he had purchased and began to walk out with one filled bag in each of his two hands, back along the crowded pedestrian walkway he walked in his way, on several occasions the person walking in front of him stopped for no apparent reason blocking his way and without room to pass from the oncoming commution, he stepped out onto the road in order to continue. The rest of the journey home was mostly uneventful and for this reason he eventually arrived home, made his way towards the kitchen, put the bags of shopping onto the table, he looked in the direction of the cupboard, then towards the fridge then towards the shopping, then towards the camera and says;

MR ASPIRATIONAL: I cannot communicate this doom feeling of being trapped in an existence of ever repeating loss, of unescape, of mundane, of tragic self-examination, I walk around the afore mentioned block, as best as I can so as to not explode with misery (He then reaffirms his eye contact with the camera). And you don't even give a shit do you! (He sits at the table reflectively) I play a character named the human beast, the story never quite takes off and the overall direction is flawed, an enigmatic character, a person of duality, intuition developed to the point of genius, and yet all that becomes is a silent monitoring of the world around me (Pauses for a moment)...(considers his options).

Mr Aspirational then stands himself up and begins putting the shopping away into the cupboard and fridge and the plastic bag binward, then he leaves the kitchen.

3 comments:

Musiq Mayneack said...

WOOOOOOOW... I love this post!

i posted a new blog today... would you honor me with your opinions please?

-Rusty J

Wanja B said...

Thanks for the comment, but you must not just look, you must listen to this Album!!

Keep on looking ;)

WB

Red Eyes said...

Hello William,

Thanks for stopping by. This reminds me of a book I read a while ago on 'the death of the artist'...excellent blog.

Lets stay connected!