My people, there are some strange folks around. That’s a mighty fact. Strange folks abroad.
You know them. I know
you know them. I have met a few of them
in my time. And I am sure you have
too. Strange, strange, strange. Straaaaaaaaaaange folks abroad.
That loose mouth friend that talks about you all the time
behind your back. You know it, and other
people know it, but you never ever quite got the proof.
The people who say the nastiest horribliest things. Just.
For. The. Sake.
And feel nothing. As you struggle
for breath.
The person who knows things about you. Many things.
Things you never knew about yourself.
You are awed by the psychic power as they fill in your memory ga(s)pses
in your life.
Your best friend for life, who never gets you any help. Nada.
Never. The one that everyone goes
to for help. The one that gives help to
everyone. The one that knows where you
can get everything and where you can find anything. But never when it’s your need. Never in your case.
The today your pal, tomorrow your enemy person. It’s a “wrong side of the bed scenario” that
you will never understand.
The unavailable. Never
available when you want to meet up with them, but requires that you be available
when they need to see you. And sulks if
you dare deny them their emergency right to you.
The bouncer. Always
always bounces. Be it a call. A drink.
A meeting. A delivery. And they always have a good reason.
Always. And you never meet them. Or get the goods.
The shadowy lovely wonderful honest, full of integrity
person. Totally transparent person. Except the constant little niggling rumours. That they never resigned from any of their
previous jobs, but were “advised to leave”, for reasons unknown. That they had a child when they were in high
school, that no one ever saw.
That somewhere
they have a spouse and child/ren. No proof
at all. But the rumours never quite go
away.
The blockhead. The
one who who never understands anything.
Ever. Directions. Plans.
Plots. Novels. Books. Nada.
The constantly on replay mouth. Tells you the same story over and over and
over and over and over again ad infinitum.
And every time they tell you, you tell them “you have told me this
before”, until one day you snap. And do
something “what happened”.
The unoccupationed.
The person that no one knows what they do. You all see them. All the time.
All the places. No one knows what
they do. Where they live. Where they come from. Where they go to.
The vague person. Who
does nothing. They do not work. They do not have a business. They are always busy. Coming from meeting someone at somewhere and
going to the next place, next body. They
tell you they have mad hectic days, all up and about, but you know not what
they do. Or what they do.
The uncalculatable. Their
life just does not add up. Or subtract
down. You do the math. Where they live. Who they live with. How they live. What they do.
Who they do. And it just does not
add up. Their one plus one looks like
minus five or plus twenty.
The traveler. Person who
disappears. Every so scheduled
often. Or makes a journey. E very so scheduled often. Where they go. Who they see.
How they see. What they do. Who they do.
No one knows. Will ever know.
The person who knows everyone. Everywhere.
All the time. They walk into any
room, any time, any place, any town, and they know someone. You wonder what life they are on right now. Eleventh?
The person who never picks up their phone but always calls
you back. Shareholder in phone
company? You wish. Why can they never pick up the phone? Busy persona?
Expecting your gratitude that they managed to squeeze in a quick call to
you in between their back to back appointments. As they dot-not with KOTs and take a huggie.
The chameleon. Whose
past changes, depending on who they tell and when they tell it.
The corrector. They know
everything about everything and can never ever ever EVER be wrong. At all.
They are correct all the time.
Their knowledge is fact. And they
correct you.
Strange strange folks abroad.
Remain normal.
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