Transcription of Vlog of a Nobody. Illustration brief. (B/W pen and ink.)
Track One.
Illustration: ECU profile nose and mouth muttering.
VO: “Only speaking, this only is left. Everything else about me is nowhere. A dead end arcade game in a high-rise office block. A life on hold."
PAGE 2
Illustration: Night office. Foetal figure under a desk, back view.
VO: “Fest and Pol came to me again as I cowered in the cave under my desk, unrewarding work piled over my head, deadlines looming. Loathsome, rattling, cackling cleaning crew mocking my overtime hours. For how long I slept and suffered in dream I don't know, but I found myself fully awake only much later, at first light, gripping the frosted bridge railing, squinting at the cold light, Fest's jeering still echoing in my head.”
'Pathetic barrel of sludge. Inarticulate bone sack. You have the charisma of chewed-out gum. Why don't you do us all a favour and just off yourself before the world discovers you're an almighty fraud? Stand down or stand up, man. Gird your slack loins. Erect your spine if you can find it. Stop gaping at the world like a bemused baboon.'
Illustration: Back view of squatting figure, large man's hand in twisted belt
VO: "He'd dragged me out of hiding into the middle of the floor by my belt and twisted me up to sit upright next to Pol's slop bucket. 'Fifty reasons for staying alive. Quick!'
Pol's grin churned my gut. 'Yes my lovey. You want more! You want better! But when last did you feel that old prospecting magnet pulling you eh? When last did you feel real desire – not the eating, mating kind – real gut rippling, heart squirming, antenna quivering deeeeesiiiiiire...'
Then things got really crazy.
PAGE 3
Illustration: Back view of squatting figure digging in earth.
(In case this vlog ever gets transcribed, this madness is a malady of urban survival alone; no other mind-altering substance is involved.)
Through a narrow aperture, the clear highveld night sky. Surrounded by a 360 degree mountain in reverse. In a titanic hole. Kimberley. Fest with a sjambok, Pol with a bucket, grinning to make your blood run cold. Fest cracked his whip.
VO: “Fifty shiny ones you good for nothing wimp! Dig! Deep! Show us what you've stored away in that miserable cage of bones!” Squatting apelike in the mud I felt the sjambok hiss inches above my naked back as I clawed into the dirt, searching blind for anything that felt to be something, anything that would make a clunk in old Pol's bucket..."
To be continued