The Man Whose Essence Is Off is a storyline I have always imagined as a series of Saturday Night Live skits…when Saturday Night Live was funny.
I think The Man Whose Essence Is Off’s premise is ripe for many comedic scenarios, but I’ve been wrong before. It’s never stopped me from trying.
(In the image, Horatio had better duck, as the bird's about to fly into the essence of his head.)
The Man Whose Essence Is Off
Horatio E Slednep
Spends his life, quite literally, out of step
His image and essence not superimposed
His image and essence quite juxtaposed
Once normal
Not unlike you
Not unlike me
Essence attached
To the image he sees
Essence attached
Assumed and living blissfully
Until an accident, a crash
Threw his essence out of whack
Now it moves with him
Separate but intact
Still a part of him
Though loosely attached
Only Peter Pan could understand
But he had Wendy’s shadow-sewing hand
So every morning when Horatio wakes
He must find his essence
And what it takes
A memory foam wall
With the intent
To find where his footfall
Leaves an indent
Is it two feet higher
And three to the right
Better figure it out
Or when going through doors, might
Bang his head on the top
Slam his knee on the right
Is he ahead of himself
Or did he leave himself behind
A good day’s heaven
A bad day’s hell
He’s had more bad days
Than he can tell
Just ask his neighbor Dante
He knows this as well
And some days sound as if he’s throwing his voice
Whether spoken, sneezed or coughed
Since he has become the man
Though not by his choice
The man whose essence is off
Through the literal school of hard knocks
Out of necessity learned
To adjust his Vitruvian box
To align with where his essence is found
Outside the circle that marks
Where an essence is normally bound
So though he’s supposed to be at work
Won’t get there until later
As he’s explaining
Like a dork
To a lady on the elevator
How he needs the corner she is in
All the while the door repeatedly slams
On thin air
At least she sees nothing
While she stands firm in her corner
Having been there first
She isn’t budging
But she does not understand
The reason behind his pleading prose
It is the only spot where he can stand
If they ever want the door to close
Then the week after next
He hits his head on a hanging sign
A good three feet above his head
And to the left
Because his image and essence
Do not align
People stare as he reels on the ground
Head bleeding
Sign swinging
Defying physics
They gather ‘round
“Couldn’t jump that high if he tried,” they’re thinking
Though society and science may tend to scoff
Not Horatio E Slednep
The man whose essence is off