Locked in Syndrome (three parts)

I used to see people in wheelchairs, drooling and twitching, and I used to think what a waste. I used to wonder why they were kept alive. Why people wanted them around. I mean, it’s not as if they were going to recover and become rocket scientists. They would never do anything but nothing. Just nothing. Just a drain on resource. I used to think all of that until I woke up one morning like this.

Locked in syndrome. That’s what they call it. Stupid name. I mean, everyone’s locked into a body when you think about it. Apart from those that are dead that is. And even then, who’s to say they just haven’t moved on to another body; like what the Hindus and Buddhists believe. Yeah, I’m locked in a body and so are you. The only difference is that you can move yours about. And you can talk.

I was never much for talking anyway. At parties, when someone was stupid enough to invite me to one, I’d stand on the edge of the room and watch other people do all the talking for me. And dancing. And fun. I wasn’t really up for fun either. Best that I watch everyone else making a fool of themselves rather than the other way around.

I’m not sure that I’d want to go back to that. As I am now, there are no expectations for me. I don’t disappoint if I don’t go out there and get on in life. Get a good job. A beautiful wife. And kids. You know what I mean? I can just lay here and read, watch movies, browse the internet and write on my blog. It’s kind of the life I always dreamed of, to be honest with you. Some stroke of luck.


Rock a cage a bye baby. No treetop. No fall from grace. She left me. Woke up day one in none. Thought. Was. Dead. Not. The screaming wasn’t there and never a twitch. Not the lids. Not the toes. Wherever he goes, he’s gone.

Came back in a black limo. Not in a casket, not in a bar. Old rhyme, new words. Took ’em shook ’em ages to find me locked in in the old body old chap. Ages. Time. Old never young never old never shouldn’t. Long. Long. Bloody long. Like stretched taffy. Like dark and light and dark. Mostly dark. Sleep eludes. Runs away. Itch no scratch no nails no fingers no …

Tried to move. Mind and matter. No matter. Mind inside. Funny the dreams come faster in the day. Daydreams. Ha. Nightmare in the day. Hit the hay. Open casket. Watching me like a sick man. Pity party. Only one in the bed and the little one said. Am I the little? Me? How!

They told me. They told me the news but something broke in me. Not out but in. Broken line. Trains not running. The man throws himself. Blood. Pieces but not many. A foot in a shoe. A shovel. Full. Bin full. Bag me up and where’s the key. You see me? See. See!

Wake-sleep. Snake-sleep. Hot rock and slow day.

My eyes? Blink and stop. Blink, blink and stop. Dots and stops. They know. See me in here. Know I’m in. At home. Never out until I go out. Candle flame. Where’s the wind, mother. Blow. Blow, Mother – please. But not enough. Not enough to say to stop or stay. Stop. Stop. Please, mother – make them stop. Plug out. Unplug. Off. I’m ess oh ess but not to be saved. Blow, mother, now.


Head hoppin’ be-boppin’ couldn’t stop it if I tried and Uncle Ernest has a lover lady on the side and I see him thinking about her with Aunty Ruth at his side the sly sliding out old dog and she don’t suspect nothing and he ain’t stoppin’ and neither am I ‘though it’s sad to see the face of the old gal in her sloppy shoes tattered trews on the table when the nurses ain’t looking and they’re never looking ’cause I don’t say nothin’ to no-one not never and I can blink and wink all I like but they don’t hide their pity pity party.

‘Nother day another nothin’.

God’s not home today they say and who’s to say they’re not right ’cause I can’t find his face in the sun neither and when you can’t find a face that fits under the hat or the sun then hun there’s none to say he ain’t gone to the big house in sky where by and bye we’ll all go soon and I know ’cause I see them slip away into the bay on their ships of silver and gold thinking they’ll keep them with but they won’t and that’s never the way with gone and some stay but not so many as they say.

Inside the face is the eye of the never seeing the sky that’s blue more like the sound of you saying look at that guy on the bed with the locked in head and he can’t say a thing and what’s the point of that might as well put an end to that and I see you say switch it off but I’m he not it and I see you that says this and you can’t even see me now and dry my invisible tears.

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