‘Blarp’ is an umbrella term that could mean anything, and it could also nothing, all at the same time. Blarp is everything and it is nothing. Blarp means whatever you want it to mean, it means whatever. ‘But it’s all just blarp really, isn’t it?’ you might be saying to yourself at this juncture, and you’d be right. It’s all a lot of blarping blarp, it’s all a lot of blarpity-blarp blarp blarp blarp.

‘Blarp means everything,’ I shout out bravely. ‘Blarp is supreme!’  I am slowly but surely winning the War against Reality and that feels good. Tell me something that feels better  – if you can! Tell me something that brings more satisfaction and general all-round empowerment than this if you can, although I rather suspect that you can’t! I can’t imagine anything that feels more empowering than winning the War against Reality. The truth won’t empower you, after all, and it’s no good expecting it to do so. The truth – I’m afraid to say – never empowered anybody! You might as well expect to win the Nobel Prize for physics, amidst fanfares of glory, for your ground-breaking work into the refraction of psionic radiation when you haven’t been doing any ground-breaking work into the refraction of psionic radiation, or indeed any work at all. You don’t even know that there is such a thing as psionic radiation.

‘Blarp says it all’, I shout again, full of cheap bravado. ‘So blarp off you blarping blarpers…’ I’d cry like a baby if you were even to say so much as ‘boo’ to me but in my own imagination I’m a hero. We’re all heroes in their own imaginations, aren’t we? If you can be anything at all – which is the whole point of having an imagination – then why wouldn’t you be a hero?  We’re all heroes really aren’t we, each and every one of us? It’s a club anyone can join…

In my own mind I’m a sterling character, resolute and forthright. I have integrity and am not a liar. I never act like a worthless little shit and I’m generally well-regarded on this account. I would go so far as to say that I am very well-regarded in some quarters. People like to hang out with me – people that have good character and standing that is, not the filthy and disreputably dregs of society. I stay well away from the dregs of society. I have my standards you see – I don’t mix with just any gobshyte you might find on the street. Why would I? There is such a thing as self-respect, you know.

I am not  – of course –  100 % sure that I AM winning the War against Reality. I am not entirely sure about that. Deep down – if the truth were to be known (which it seldom is) – I suspect that this is just another of my squalidly self-comforting narratives – God knows I have enough of them! ‘Perhaps,’ I think every now and again, ‘I am only fooling myself and I’m only winning the War against Reality in my own enfeebled imagination. Maybe in reality it’s a very different story. Maybe reality is repeatedly kicking my ass from one end of the street to the other… Thoughts like this disturb me a lot, as I’m sure you can appreciate. That’s a very worrying thought to have. But then, moments later, I find the strength within me to carry on, as I must. As we all must. The Moment of Fear passes, and I am able to resume my Ceaseless Struggle against the Real…