Life’s Red Card, Changing Rooms and Existential Hokum

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.  

Positive  vibes.  

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. 

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Sparks of Insanity

Haphazard Explorations & Experiments In Fiction

The Bloody Book Blogger


Wordsmithery's Occasional Blog

from the people formerly known as ME4Writers. Head over to for the most up-to-date stuff!


A blog about nothing but nonsense...

Jack's Nonsense

Home of Bernard, Clive and any other rubbish my brain cacks out

Kathren Elizabeth

Make-up Artistry & Special Effects Make-up Student

Linda Y James Author Blog

Jump Into My World

Can Solar Power Work For You?

Just another site

Joseph A. Pinto

barflypoet & author of dark fiction

Empire of Sludge

Made Of All That Glitters In This Strange Mind Of Mine

Death Rattle

Welcome to the darkest corner of the web

Our Darkest Fears

The Official Site of Author Brent Abell

Space Monsters

Smile! You’re at the best site ever

Head to my new website

The T Party

A group for UK writers of genre fiction


South Coast Powerviolence

House of Bizarro

By Esteban Silvani

Burning Bulb Horror (a division of Burning Bulb Publishing)

We write the words that keep you up at night.

Model Culture Vulture

The weird, bizarre and wonderful in model kit form.

Exploitation and Cult Cinema Webzine

Merita King

science fiction novelist, perpetual daydreamer & autistic visionary

Stigmatophilia's gore splattered corner of insanity.

Horror, Gore, Exploitation, Trash, Cult Movies; Reviews, Interviews, Music and More...

JarlAdam’s blog and reviews


MorbidbookS. Read Like The Devil.


The Tale Of Bitter Truth

Everyone, at some point in their lives, wakes up in the middle of the night with the feeling that they are all alone in the world, and that nobody loves them now and that nobody will ever love them, and that they will never have a decent night’s sleep again and will spend their lives wandering blearily around a loveless landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake somebody else up, so that they can feel this way, too.

Anne Michaud

Author of Dark Tendency

Geordie Lass in Oz

A Northern Girl upside down

Memoirs of a Midnight Masochist

Chronicles of a South-bound Spiral


Welcome to my blog. I hope you dig it.


The Mail Daily

Strange Nighttime Journeys

Tales of the Ghostly & Macabre by Ambrose Stolliker

Six Pack o' Strange Tales

Are you ready to make the trip?

%d bloggers like this: