Ennamuelle Von Soulmüncher was born Renate Mannheimer in Bern 1851 and was a rare and exceptional human being. She was not beautiful, but rather pretty, not a genius, but able and intelligent, nor was she hilarious, but pleasantly witty. However, Fraulein Mannheimer had an extraordinary ability for filling invisible holes, and consequently anyone with the gnawing sensation of something missing in their life would flock to her and her spiritual novocaine, in order to dull the ache of emotional cavities.
Never before, nor since, has there been anyone with greater inter-personal intelligence. How then, could such promise of melioration be reduced to a hideous little ball of gnashing teeth, endlessly gnawing its way through contentment, trust and the other abstract nouns that make the human condition even remotely bearable?
The veritable oceans of platonic elixir possessed by Renate Mannheimer vanished suddenly one day in 1881and all that remained is what we see here today lying on the arid, cracked expanse that only the previous day contained the glittering sea of her medicated soul lotion. No one noticed a process of depletion, in fact, it seemed that Renate Mannheimer, the metaphysical skeleton key, her existence even, had only been a mirage. The disappearance of her transcendental ointment resulted in a wave of personal turmoil amongst those close to Miss Mannheimer, most famously, the philosopher Freidrich Nietzsche suffered a catastrophic crisis of faith resulting in his 1882 publication The Gay Science where he emphatically declared God is Dead and subsequently descended into madness. The correlation between the evaporation of Renate Mannheimer and Nietzsches mental illness is, of course, utter speculation.
At this juncture it is important to emphasise that Miss Mannheimer was much liked by most and deeply loved by some, therefore it is unlikely that the aforementioned disaster was due to a lack in loving reciprocity. Ironically, almost the opposite scenario is more plausible; overly reverential and tender treatment is known to be fatal for those who seem to deserve it the most and no one deserved, or indeed received, better or more, care and attention than Renate Mannheimer. Tragically, all she needed to survive was the inept, clumsy and desperate kind of devotion most people are awarded, the kind that promises little but a broken heart and bad breath.
Although none of you will have heard of Renate Mannheimer before now, the memory of her being too unbearably painful for anyone to ever mention, all of you will, sadly, be all too familiar with Fraulein Ennamuelle Von Soulmüncher. She has become the monster whose devastation she once cured, now creating the holes she once filled. Her incisors piercing through your faith in mankind and tearing chunks out of your capacity for acts of altruism, while her molars gnaw away at your well-being, turning a psyche that might have resembled a solid block of vintage cheddar into a veritable emmental.
So next time you are called in for a disciplinary at work, your adoptive child tells you they met their birth parent, you get jibbed in favour of a futile pastime, or someone who bears an alarming resemblance to Ken Dodd, just sit quietly, pretend you dont give a shit, and let Ennamuelle Von Soulmüncher do her worst. Then botch up the holes with a putty made out of a healthy dose of sarcasm, big words and a visual aid. It works a treat!
Mia Tagg 2009®