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Resuscitation of the Ramblings

In the beginning the Inane Rambler was brimful of optimism. I had just enrolled at University, the world was fresh, new and exciting; I was experiencing freedom like I never had before. However, this sweet feeling of freedom soon turned sour in the cold stark face of responsibility and the decline came at an unstoppable pace. Of many an evening I would frequent the many guzzling holes of Newcastle Upon-Tyne. Indecent exposure, thinly-veiled ‘tongue-in-cheek’ bravado, and alcohol theft were regular features. However, during light-hours, I became lazy, often hungover, and spent most of my days in my bedroom sat at a laptop all day. With a lock on my door I was beginning to isolate myself during the day, gradually building up mess and filth. There were fruit-flies emerging from my bin, urine stains in and around the sink, and hardened underwear strewn across the floor but I just sat there at my computer oblivious to my living conditions; seemingly unaware of the sty I had created. Whilst my right hand, clutching at my mouse, was steadily being engulfed by mould, mould which had continued to grow out of a bowl of leftover milk and cereal, my other hand (that’s right, the left one), served only to pull and push my foreskin back and forth, respectively, over my smegma ridden glans as I clicked through more and more degrading and debasing pornography (or differing and/or diverse, if you want to put a positive spin on it).

At this point an existentialist crisis ought to be galloping over the hill towards my morally devoid, masturbatory bubble. It took a while for that to happen and for me to shower. It seems needless to say that, at this point, the Inane Rambler’s resonance had been muffed.

By the time I had realised the errors of my ways graduation was already behind me and I was working full-time in a local bar in my home town. The three years previous were a blur, now these times were droning on. Long days, long nights, anti-social hours, and a Scotsman as a manager made this period particularly difficult. At first I managed to contribute to Inane Rambler on an inconsistent basis but work was choking me, restricting air to my creative lungs whilst beating me across my head, holding my legs down and punching me in the groin repeatedly. There was nothing I could do.

So then, like the stagnant pseudo-corpse of Ariel Sharon, the Inane Rambler had lied lifeless and almost entirely motionless. The huge cerebral haemorrhaging brought on by full-time employment in the service industry had almost destroyed any hopes of the Rambler living to waffle on another day yet random twitches; small explosions in the brain, if you will, have kept hope of the continuation of bizarre ideas and musings alive.

After a brief visit to the Holy Land to espouse offensively irreligious viewpoints, I have risen from the role of lethargic-lackey into the luxury of unemployment and state-subsidised binge-drinkery. No longer am I slaving for people I’ll never meet and no longer shall the inane ramblings be swept aside at the will of The Man.

A new determination has emerged and one must prepare oneself as I will often blur the lines between reality and fiction, satire and straight-forward comment and analysis; a Nietzschean diatribe, if you will. It will attack and seduce from all sides, it will overwhelm and confuse, arouse and stifle, explode and implode; it will fart and follow through whilst making the most orgasmic love to you.

The time has finally come again for blind righteousness to break free from the shackles of the recently deceased guide-dog of reason.


One response to “Resuscitation of the Ramblings

  1. SOTL

    4 years I have waited…. alas. No more?

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