 |
||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|
|
|
 |
|||
|
This is an appeal to all those with hearts.
You’ve seen him in the street.
You may have ignored him.
You may have pointed and laughed if you’re inclined towards cruelty.
You’ve read about him in the anthology, Life and Limb: A Study of Detached Body Parts. You’ve seen him in the documentary, Alive and Kicking.
But what is a typical day in the life of The Disembodied Leg?
Allow us to enlighten you.
The Disembodied Leg wakes at four in the afternoon. An unsociable time to rise, but he was up all night listening to punk rock, and can’t seem to get out of this nocturnal sleeping pattern. It is winter, and he has risen just in time to see the sun set.
“He", by the way, is a he by virtue of once having been attached to a male body. Just as amputee victims still sense their missing limb, so The Disembodied Leg feels the body it was once attached to.
This is how The Disembodied Leg continues to live. It is the reason why when he moves along the street, it is not so much a “hop” as a “half-stride”.
The Leg steps into its trouser, sock and shoe, and leaves the house.
It is still light, so he half-wanders into town, just for the comfort of being around other living things.
The living things in town, however, ignore him.
In the windows beside him, heads are nodding; arms are lifting cups to sets of smiling lips.
On the opposite side, inside the cars, hands are turning wheels, with fingers pushing buttons marked “fast” and “slow”.
The Leg suffers a sudden attack of dismay that cannot completely be accounted for, as he already knew there would be nothing in town that he could be of use for.
He ponders over this sadness as he half-walks out of town and into the park, where stationary living things are arranged in attractive rows. The Disembodied Leg cannot see them as such, but he senses them, and they are a comfort.
He senses the sun is setting, and imagines he can see it through his non-existent eyes.
He returns home before it gets completely dark, not wanting to get mugged.
He exercises, making himself stronger, fitter and more determined to survive.
He turns on the stereo and listens to more punk, jumping up and down until the early hours of the morning. He enjoys the music, but it is a comfort to him mainly because he is angry, and needs some peaceful outlet in which to release his frustration.
The Disembodied Leg is not without hope.
He is nourished and strengthened by invisible food.
He sleeps, and has dreams of unrequited sex, entangled against a slender, shaven version of himself.
Again, he awakes at four in the afternoon, and the whole process begins again.
Not much of a life, you may think. But to this lonely, redundant appendage, it is the only kind of life available.
Remember: The Disembodied Leg is not eligible for state benefit.
He needs money to pay his rent, keep the central heating running, and to continue to download his precious punk rock albums that are fast becoming his life force.
Please give all that you can.
If you can’t give anything, please pass these words onto someone else so that the plight of The Disembodied Leg may be recognised by all.
Thank you.
|
|||