Were any of us actually children?
I mean I know I was a child because I was told I was and there are photographs of a small boy that looks like me doing things that a small boy would do. But I don’t really remember being a small boy. I don’t recall ever being a child.
There are memories but again most of them are triggered by what people have told me, like my parents reminiscing on a time when I wasn’t a huge bag of neurotic doom and gloom.
I have scars in my flesh from the adventures of youth but how did I get them? The pain of the cuts from falling off my bike or trying to jump something a little over my ability has long since faded.
Maybe it’s paranoia, too many late nights and early starts catching up with me. Sleep deprivation working its bony fingers into my subconscious like a physical manifestation of death kneading my brain like a baker fisting dough.
I mean, we must have been children… right? Right? There are times when I look back at my school years and think “what the fuck was I actually doing?” I was just there. Existing in a reality laid out for me by a comity. A group of people got together and agreed that it was what was best for me, to throw me in with all these other kids and shout “GO!”
I guess that’s when I came online.
Presence switched on.
Became aware of the things around me and the way that what I did affected others. I guess that’s why I spend great periods of time on my own. I don’t want to affect others. Who am I to make any kind of impact on the people around me?
The audacity some people have in making others feel things. How fucking dare they. Some people just have no consideration to the people around them like a guy that farts in a packed lift without even laughing. Like it was no big thing. Just the contents of his digestive tract expelling his inner stink, his essence shared with the rest of the world.
Not even a sorry.
Like a dirty secret held between two people that had rough sex but on the casual, a one night stand; a knowing blushed smile across the office but no matter what happens to you both, no matter where you end up that butthole still got eaten and you can’t take that back. You can’t tell anyone but it’s there ready to be let out like a fart in the lift, no apology, with no thought for the people around you.
Rumbling away in the gut of your subconscious.
How many of you out there are smiling but feeling a twitch in your sphincter?
So here I go, beaning out another section of my life into the world, documenting my further adventures to the edge of my personal oblivion.
A step closer to the void every day, preparing for it to look into me when the time comes.
What will it see I wonder?
Will it see all the good you have done, all the times you have been noble or brave, the proud moments and the joy you have shared? Or will it be that school kid on the first day, that moment when you came online? Scared but puffing out your chest like a little bird cornered by a cat, make yourself look bigger that way it will leave you alone. Looking for an exit and wanting to be back home with cheese on toast and a glass of strawberry milk.
But enough of this, it bores me so to think of myself in this way.
Everyone goes through the same thing no matter what their situation and circumstance.
So I decided to give up smoking. No big thing just time for a change in direction, milk the teat of life for those extra few minutes at the end. Get in one last episode of my favourite show whatever it may be when the time comes.
I’m not going on some mad health kick because I don’t think that will do me much good. I have the feeling that if I did turn to a healthy life style the comedown or the relapse would kill me.
I do go swimming now, not often but it’s something to do with my time I guess, reliving my youth. But there is a downside. I had forgotten that old men really don’t give a fuck about who sees their penis.
I have never been one for communal changing rooms, not that I have anything to hide, I’m what you would call an average guy. I just feel uncomfortable when an old man stretches near me with his dong on show.
Or when they bend over to pick up a dropped locker key and you get an eyeful of fruit basket.
I mean, fair play to them, they have gotten to the point in their lives where they really couldn’t care less and one day I hope to be there but not yet. I’m not at the point where a nudist beach on the south coast looks like an inviting holiday destination.
Towelling the sand off my balls on a beach in Brighton doesn’t have an appeal to me but I applaud those that do. Well done you, you don’t care who sees your withered, wind puckered flesh.
Fuck em if they don’t like it. Let your balls swing free in the breeze but please if you’re at the pool can you at least sit a good few meters away from the guy next to you. I don’t want to feel the matted carpet of your leg hair when you stumble back trying to put a sock on.
I have seen enough penis to last me a lifetime.