The Rage Monologues

By Christopher Nosnibor

Modern life is full of niggles and frustrations. It’s also bursting with ballaches and tempestuous turmoils on a global scale. What is it that winds you up or grinds your gears? Sometimes, it’s an accumulation of the little things that push you to, or over, the brink. So, what gets under your skin, gnaws away at your gut, and drives you crazy? For Christopher Nosnibor, the answer is pretty much everything. Evolved as a spoken word project over the course of three years, 'The Rage Monologues' is the hoarse, enraged, spittle-spraying voice of one man against the world. Politics, media, poetry, and post office queues – it’s open season in this collection of splenetic, profanity-laden tirades. By turns amusing, sad, and simply ire-fuelling, 'The Rage Monologues' is a relentless, uncompromising, and eye-poppingly vitriolic tour de force.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Oct 22, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326825034

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The Rage Monologues

The RAGE Monologues

Copyright © Christopher Nosnibor 2016

Clinicality Press, York, 2016

The RAGE Monologues

Copyright © 2015, 2016 Christopher Nosnibor

Revised, expanded edition published 2016 by Clinicality Press, York

http://clinicalitypress.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral right of the author has been asserted. This is a work of fiction.

ISBN 978-1-326-82503-4

All rights reserved

Contents

Introduction: My Life of Rage

That Guy

C-Rant

Small Talk Stinks

Cheer up... it might never happen

Corporate

Kate Tempest: Outside, Now!

Ambition

Blogger

Clubnight Photos

Evolution and Technology

Neighbours

News

Poet

Folk Scene / Poetry Set

Women

Fuck Internet Porn

Perspectives

Lunch Break

Technorage

Ski Jump

Reality TV

Dedicated to Iain Duncan Smith, Sadist

and Mass Killer

On Leaving

Dawning

Rinse / Repeat

Introduction: My Life of Rage

Look, you know nothing about me, about my life. You think I’m just some surly groucher with a short fuse and who feels hard-done by? You haven’t a clue. You probably don’t want to know either. But since you’ve broached the subject, I’ll share a little. After all, you think I’m a bit closed off, a bit distant, not much of a one to socialise, an outsider, a loner, right? Right? Yes, you’d be right, too. That’s actually my choice, not an indication of my social maladjustment per se.

I’m fucking knackered, deprived of sleep because the neighbours are cretins who party all night blasting out loud music – shit music, at that, and when I say loud, I mean it sends vibrations through the floorboards and the walls in every room in the house.

But that’s the least of my worries, the least of the things that keeps me awake at night. I’m not pleading special case status here, but turn on the news, read any kind of reportage and you’ll soon appreciate the fact that everything’s fucked. This concerns me. Yes, the future – especially growing old and actually existing in the future that’s being mapped out – concerns me as much as the prospect of premature death. I’m equally terrified of both.

As for work… don’t start me on work. We’re all slaves, and if you think differently, then you’re deluding yourselves. The stranglehold of capitalism means there’s no escape from The Man.  Especially now. Tune in, turn, on, drop out? The Man will cut your benefits, ostracise you as a crazy person, incapable, or, worse still, a conspiracy theorist. He’s reading your emails, checking your texts, scanning your Tweets and storing your Facebook updates. One word out of place and you’ll be removed. One way or another: made to disappear. The closure and deletion of your social networking sites is tantamount to deletion from the world now. If you’re not on-line, you don’t exist. Might as well be another whistleblower who turns up dead in the woods. They’ll call it suicide.

The point is, there’s no escape from The Man. You’ve got bills to pay, you need to survive. So have I. Sticking it to The Man doesn’t pay the bills, and if you’re not paying the bills, what have you got? Fuck all. And with fuck all, you have no voice.

I’m not advocating or selling anything here. Far from it. The point is, I’m beyond the bigger picture, past it. I’m too busy dealing with the day-to-day do expend any real energy on the big issues.  And the day-to-day, it fucks with my soul, raises my blood pressure, twists my psyche.

The details. The small things. They gnaw away at me. The make me angry. So, so angry. They piss me off. They enrage me. Corpuscle-busting, eye-popping, splenetic rage.

This... this is about those things. Welcome to my world.

That Guy

You know that guy who doesn’t seem to quite fit? You don’t really know him all that well, you’ve not spoken to