Monthly Archives: August 2011

I heard the Machine call my Name

On nights when I am unable to sleep, I find myself going down into the basement, to the “time machine”.

Most nights, I just sit and watch, looking for some blinking light, listening for a sound.

Last night, for the first time I put my left ear to the sealed compartment, hands on either side of my head and closed my eyes.

I don’t know what I was hoping for, but amid the humming and subtle vibration reverberating through the metal, I heard sing-song voices, much like those of children playing in back gardens somewhere in the suburb, in late afternoon light that filters down through the trees.

I listened until, through the almost imperceptible sounds, I heard my name:


Soft and whispered.

At first I though it was my imagination, but I heard it again, this time, more certain, more audible.


Gentlemen Brown, The naming of.

It is said that on the day of my birth, my mother turned her head and blasphemed.

My father, I am told, rushed to the Registries Office and when asked what the name will be, he stood back, clapped his hands together and exclaimed:

– Gentlemen, Brown!

And that was that. A comma and a pause. So I was named.

Gentlemen Brown.

Crime and Punishment

Shortly before my sixth year, my mother locked me in the basement, moments after receiving an “unexpected” gentlemen friend.

She, however, informed me that I was being punished for failing to wash my hands prior to tea, contrary to her instructions.

When I heard the grandfather clock strike twelve midnight from the sitting room above me, I knew that my mother had forgotten to let me out.

It was then that I shat my navy blue sailor suit, a gift from Aunt Edna.

Today is the anniversary of my mother’s death. I say it serves her right.

Driving with a drunk male companion behind the wheel could get you killed.