The man meant for me to be quiet. Technically the morning was at an end and the exam was near finished. He nodded as I rested the previously tapped pencil on the table. His moustache spread along his lip all the way to his irritant sideburns. I, the Man Remnant, found his manner appealing, but his orders and disregard for my rhythmic soul unstoppable-disgusting. The moustache encouraged the whiskers in his ears and nose to grow until they met, and I, the Man Remnant though that maybe they would soon. Fire up the noose and reach for the afternoon, the exam is done!
I sauntered out of the exam hall and reached the top of the road. The collapsing buildings of the street kept me alert and I progressed with attitude and enthusiastic arrogance in to the main road, crossing and continuing. The afternoon bell was sounding.
I, the Man Remnant came through town with the flannel of a flaneur and the modesty of the morning that had passed, this all in spite of the growing confidence that burst out of the previously tapped pencil.
I furiously licked at the remaining elements of my just bought ice lolly, confident in its coldness and ecstatic that I could walk and lick. The flannel was drawn across my brow and I skipped to the headphone provided tunes of the Razor Lichten Collective. Saluting the window cleaners, I progressed still further. I, the Man Remnant had begun to build the foundations of a movement upon the remnants of the last years. Stasis was my enemy and I was armed with the power of the neo post generation. All behind me and confident in the scenes of our music and the verses of our novels; clothes defined my movement, they didn’t restrict unless I wanted them to. Sweet brilliance in the independent labels of the highest man and the proper use of the second hand. I, the Man Remnant burned through the afternoon until I crossed the road again.
I couldn’t believe it as I saw the man, the tramp, the man reduced to syrup. He was being trampled on by a group of friends from my course and the surrounding crowd, they simply walked across him. I empowered myself to drag him to his feet. His clouded eye gave away an instant memory of my Uncle in Wiltshire. I, the Man Remnant became immersed in a bit of quiet. At his feet he was intimidating and to his sides came a morbid three. From this he built a quartet. He himself was bedraggled, but with newly cut hair and a grasp of a sharpened capo in his hand. The three were holding the same capo. A chase began as I tripped through the day. I was shocked that they chased so quickly after I had helped the first so adequately from the filth with my Paddington Bear coat. The reverse was so. So, I reversed quickly as I could. But I found myself parallel with the canal. I, the Man Remnant was threatened thoroughly. I bounded along said canal, shaking up my pointed boots and barely worn antique satchel. The quartet split somehow and appeared two behind, two in front. I, the Man Remnant felt the pencil snap as they threw me to the wall.
I awoke in the smallest of building sites close to the canal. I was faced with remnants of foundations built from solid platinum. I had overalls on and my poking boots were now steel toe capped boots. The overalls carried the symbol of the billed mammal, the gruesome platypus.
The quartet emerged, cleaner and wearing similar overalls. Each overall was individual in colour and shape but they were drawn together by their communal cut. Their shoulders carried triple capo emblems. They ordered me in to the platinum foundations with a pick axe, I took up and began to realise the coldness of the firm metal pillars that formed the base of the foundations. I, the Man, gradually made dents in the metal, beyond what I thought possible almost.
I worked persistently in this post, at these posts for six months, morning after morning, with little force or little slavery. The sparks that flew from the platinum gradually, strangely burnt away the lyrical tattoo on my forearm.
After six months of work and porta-cabin sleep the quartet emerged all together for the first time since I had arrived. They dragged me out of the barely changed foundations and in to the porta-cabin. On one table there was a sharpened capo and a pair of capo badges. On another table were pointed boots and lights and razors. I was asked to choose a table.
I chose the capo table.
I walked down the street and ignored the window cleaners. I carried my overalls in one bag and my capo in my pocket. My shoes were simple and I, the man, had destroyed all the platinum remnants that I could. In my right hand I carried a letter bearing the platypus and capo symbols, it read:
Dear Man,
Gather three and form a quartet. Then sharpen your capos and lie in wait for the man, remnant like you once were. He is named Post-Mod Ernie.
Yours
The Artist, The Illustrator, The Musician and The Actor.
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