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