getting serious

When I wrote the title to this post, I realized halfway through that I was still in lower case though I wanted titles in upper. Given the subject matter I am dealing with, why should that matter? Why should anything matter? (you're too old to be asking that). Seriousness is sort of like Einstei's cosmological constant, which I still don't understand despite having read two of Brian Greene's fine books on physics. But I think I get the jist of it. It may be the wrong just but it still illustrates the point. Seriousness is a sort of particle that gets into things whether you want it to or not. It can even get into so-called funny things. It fills all available space with its meaning, which is that whatever you are reading is something you are not supposed to yuk about. I fail to see anything serious in whether I lower or upper case my title but I approached the subject as if the fall of Rome depended on it. Point: the more I do this, the more (secretly, but it's our little secret)I think this is something to be taken seriously. This contrasts directly with the initial direction we took where the whole point was not to be taken serious and leads us to: I want my non-seriousness to be taken seriously. This sounds strangey like Becket or a French existentialist, neither of whom I have read.
The reasons I want my non-seriousness taken seriously are complex and may involve events of a personal nature which I am not going to reveal. On the other hand, they may involve nothing at all other than another LA march into a swamp which I am happy to reveal before you get your feet wet. If you are smiling as you read this, you are fine. If you are not, you need examine your frown and determine whether it is LA related.If it is, you are in deep shi and certainly I, the author cannot save you even if I could. I am aware that that last sentence makes no syntactical sense whatsoever but it sounded so good I couldn't resist. I probably could torture into makeing some sort of syntatactical sense but I don't want to wander off on too many tangents. We still have lots of work to do.

ASTERISK

In case anyone is mad enough to be going back and re-reading earlier blogs looking for revisions, I have left the most egregious fixes in capital letters and what they have fixed belongs to the ages.

ESAD

I HAVE LOST TRACK OF THE ORDER OF THE REVISIONS. DOES IT MATTER OR DOES IT JUST CONTRIBUTE TO THE GENERAL CHAOS?For no particular reason that I can think of, aside from the general circumstances of my life, I woke up sad this morning. There is also the possibility that I picked up some kind of bug. I often have difficulty telling the difference betweeen physical and psychological afflictions unless I run a fever or shoot someone in which case it becomes more obvious. Does my informing potentially millions of people of my condition (although right now the count is four) go against my goal of writing only about the blog? I don't know for a fact that either of these afflictions, if they turn out to be afflictions will affect the quality of the text. If they don't, then I would gratuitously have given away a state secret, so to speak. although since murder and fever are still possibilities now, I think an alice-in-wonderland court would give me a pass. Non Sequitur. I've now gone back and read three or four of the first blogs and edited some of them (not to worry, your favorite passages will most likely remain unharmed).THE ONLY WAY YOU COULD HARM THEM WOULD BE TO BURN THEM Typos, repetitions, sentences too stupid even for me have been sent to their electronic home deep in the bowels of my computer. But I did decide (which is not the same as making a decision in blogspeak) that I would edit old blogs as I wrote new ones. (Did I already tell you this ten times?) Early blogs will be marked EDITED at the end when I remember to do so. This creates a slight chronological problem. I edited some things out because they promised things that along the way I decided not to deliver. There will also probably be references to things in the earlier blogs that I decided to kill but not until I referred back to them. I plan on doing this at least three or four times, maybe more if it turns out as I instinctively feel it will, though this may be my faulty mathematical sense at work,the distance between each new post and each edit should gradually shrink until some time in the 22nd century I will reach a point where I have nothing to say and nothing to fix. My computer comes with only a two year warantee so I am worried. I am even more worried about the warantee that I come with since I can think of nothing so unfair as to slog you through this shit, then leave you high and dry (or low and soggy) in the middle, not knowing how it pans out. I will therefore make you this pledge: if my death comes mid-sentence (a cerebral hemorrhage or something like that), you are fucked. I am fucked too but that is not your problem. If I feel myself coming down with a debilitating disease but can approximate the point of my demise, I will put together some sort of smash-up ending or just stop writing and edit what I have written so you will at least have edited non-completion which is better than non-edited non-completion, which feels to me like walking nude in a blizzard. (You have to think about that one and it might make sense). Anyway, I don't think there is anything you need to worry about now, since it may turn out that I am neither physically or psychologically ill. If I murder someone I don't know if they will give me a computer in jail but I will smuggle in an iphone or something. Is everybody happy? ASIDE FROM REPETIOUSNESS, THE GRACELESSNESS OF THIS POST IS TRULY ASTOUNDING FOR ANYONE WHO HAS COMPLETED FOURTH GRADE

eIncipient Crisis

Someone I know only marginally but whose opinion I respect a great deal told me that they liked LA today in such a way that it seemed that they really saw what I was trying to do, whatever that is. These are the sorts of unexpected hazards one runs into when one tries to communicate non-communication. I am flummoxed. I would be lying if I said the compliment didn't please me, but I would be false to my mandate of isolation if I did. Well, maybe not. Is it possible for me to accept someone liking and understanding my words when their purpose is meaningless? Probably not exactly. But author is not a saint and authors, even authors of meaningless texts get a charge out of sharing their work. This raises a question which I am having a very hard time articulating AS OPPOSED TO THE GRACE WITH WHICH YOU HAVE ARTICULATED ALL OTHER QUESTIONS. LA is, of course, a cockeyed quest for pixelly love masquerading as a cockeyed quest for meaninglessness. Using what I remember of high school algebra, if you cross out the cockeyed quest in both sentences, reducing to lowest terms, you get love=meaninglessness. This was not remotely what I had in mind when I started LA.(FIND HIS HIGSCHOOL MATH TEACHER AND KILL HIM) If anything, I would have expected to end on a note like the only real thing in the world is love and I have blown it by wasting all my time on shit like this. But there is something tremulously true about love=meaninglessness. Or maybe it works better as meaninglessness=love.(OR MAYBE IT WORKS BETTER AS CANTALOUPES EQUALS TRUCKS) One of the clauses may have been gramatically negative.WHA? This is all a complexity or ridiculous and erroneous misreading of language much too deep to analyze fully in one post.YES, LET'S GO THROUGH THIS BULLSHIT 560 TIMES There is a faint chance I will come back to it tomorrow but it is more than likely that I will be distracted by something like a large piece of dust on the window sill.EVEN A SMALL PIECE WOULD BE A GREAT IMPROVEMENT But that tells you I write in a room with windows. I have to be careful about blowing my cover. THE AUTHOR DOES NOT THAT IT'S NOT REALLY A WINDOW BUT A TOM D'OEIL OR HOWEVER YOU SPELL IT OF WEST 17th STREET And it is suddenly obvious to me that the only place this can all lead is to madness.lEAD TO MADNESS/ WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU STARTED? But that is to imply that it started from somewhere else and that madness has a beginning and an end. Infinite madness. LA will not die until it has used every pixel and letter in the universe. And even then it won't be dead. It will just be silent.AND EVERY ATHEIST IN THE UNIVERSE WILL DROP DOWN TO THEIR KNEES AND THANK THE LORD.

emornings in manhattan

WE CONTINUE OUR RELENTLESS DOUBLE EDITS. IF I UNDERSTOOD CALCULUS OR BASIC MATH, FOR THAT MATTER,I COULD PREDICT WHAT DAY THE EDITS WOULD CATCH UP WITH THE NEW POSTS. AND WHAT WILL HAPPEN THEN/ I HAVE NO IDEA BUT IT SEEMS LIKE AN INTERESTING NOTION. I WILL PROBABLY GO BACK AND DO IT A THIRD TIME OR COMBINE THEM. OR I MAY GET A DOG INSTEAD. I REALLY WANT A DOG. I HAV INADVERTENTLY KILLED THE START OF THIS ENTRY. I'M SURE IT WAS NOT WORTH SAVING ANYWAY BUT LET US CONTINUE, CLASS.Oh have revealed. And what would a good or even mediocre psychiatrist make of all this; first, the concept, wrter/patient writes long piece without revealing anything of his life. And then LA iteself, can this be done? HE'S BEING ORIGINAL AGAIN. NOTE THE DIFFERENCE IN MEANING BETWEEN THE SENTENCE THAT PRECEEDS THIS INTERRUPTION AND THE ONE THAT FOLLOWS IT. THERE IS NONE. THERE IS NONE ANYWHERE. Can you write a long piece without revealing anything of your life. No, a good shrink(ACTUALLY A BAD SHRINK WITH NO BUSINESS) would get in there and word by word analyze everything I am trying to hide including the mass murder I committed when 13 (just kidding). HA. The psychiatrist then might ask why the writer, who while not Faulkner,(NOT FAULKNER/ WHAT PLANET DOES HE THINK HE IS LIVING ON/) does possess talent sufficient to take on more than this electronic parlor game, has chosen to squander it in this fashion. Has he spilled his seed on the ground? A session might begin: "And what did you do today?" "I wrote in LA?" "What did you write?" "I wrote about nothing and you know I told you when I started therapy I would give you no back story. I needed you to tell me what it was."
"You are playing a game and hiding yourself from me. What exactly are you hiding?" "Would you say I was hiding the same thing from you that I am hiding from all other readers? In that case my effort is a triumph.THIS MAKES NO SENSE AT ALL But if you think I am hiding something special from you then I think you may be in need of help because my hiding is finite and there is only one level of it, so, with all your degrees you are grouped with everyone else. I think it would be great if you could reconstruct the writer from the blog, from little details dropped here and there. (MUCH OF THIS IS DIRECTLY QUOTED FROM FREUD)Then when the blog is discovered and declared a national treasure, you can come forth with the name of the writer and a wickedly smart paper on it which will make your career. All right, you are giving me that "tell me what's really happening intense look that melts me. It's about my mommy and my daddy." "Which one...." "Neither."MOMMY AND DADDY ARE HAPPILY IN THEIR GRAVES.

EGood News

I have just edited my second post which I assume hardly anyone has read. It is less awful now, less redundant. I can see my then self groping toward the sublimity he has now discovered but did not have the wherewithall to let fly at the beginning.ENGLISH TRANSLATION IS VERY EXPENSIVE THESE DAYS. Actually, very little is different. It is the sort of editing I would do on a manuscript. Just cleaning it up. I think the new system will be to do a new post and then go back and clean up or even eliminate another one. There is a reason for this. It is the quest for perfection. Perfection does not require a subject.PERFECTLY INCOMPREHENSIBLE, OUT OF PLACE, OUT OF TIME, OUT OF HIS MIND. THE THIRD EDIT GO ROUND WILL BE DONE WITH A PAIR OF ELECTRONIC SCISSORS.

eErureka

I can never be certain but I believe that Literal Ally contains all its entries and that I can edit them and they will stay in their proper place. I wrote 'ENTRY FROM THE FUTURE' on one of the early ones and it stuck and the entry is still in its proper place.GIBBERISH. So I can go back and edit, though neither of us knows (nor probably cares)PROBABLY1?? if it is a good thing. I also realized that my previous edit test may have been on a post that I thought was the first but was really 5th or 10th. The only thing you have to know is that we seem to be in control as we go out of control.WE SHOULD NOT ELIMINATE PSYCHIATRIC INTERVENTION.

EConfusion mames

I am now utterly confused. I can't quite tell whether my edits took to my post because I cannot remember them. I did, however, find my very first post which I thought I had lost. I am going to try to insert it in LA first, the proper order, but I may lose it, in which case my second post, which bemoans my loss of the first makes more sense. The first one is not particularly good so I do not know why I am trying to reinsert it other than some misguided honesty but I can always kill it later.You may not believe it (I don't believe it) but I am going to get awesomely efficient as this thing some day, possibly even in this lifetiME. BUT NOT IN THIE PARTICULAR LIFETIME

eConfusion Kills

I believe I promised yesterday that I was going to go back to the beginning and read and edit my posts 1) to see whether they were worth keeping and if they were to (2) give them their final homeric sheen. I was surprised to see that in the first blog I edited, which I was frightened to try to find because I thought I might inadvertently erase that entry or another-- but it was one of the first, if not the first, I was already concerned with my technological incompetence in keeping this thing going. Anyway, I edited two entries and after I post this one I shall go back and see if they still exist and if they got edited. If they still exist in their old form, that makes life easy because it means I don't have the capacity to edit them. That will spare the reader one labyrinth of having me comment on my success or failure in generating nothingness. On the other hand it will also spare the reader reading my prose at its finest, which is blindingly beautiful. I think the former trumps the latter because LA could end up being one entry about nothing endlessly rewritten with a narrative about the rewriting. Is this better or worse than having many posts about nothing not being rewritten. Tought call. I would like the option of the former so I can screw time up by inserting later comments in some of the earlier posts.THIS IS UTTERLY UNFOLLOWABLE BUT TOO FUNNY TO CUT. I will try to get someone to show me how to do it but in the meantime, unless my first edit attempt took, just mindlessly march forward. My confidence is high even if my readership is low. I am now going hunting for my edit and my post to see if either exist and I may do a short post to let you know since I know you are breathlessly awaiting the results.MAN, WHAT WAS HE ON?

eEPM POST

USUAL COMMENT ABOUT NOT KNOWING WHERE I AM OR WHAT I AM DOING. Decided tocay that I would go back to the beginning and edit the posts-- both to check out grammatical and spelling sloppiness, also to see how far I could get before I started going crazy, also seeing if it had any effect at all-- there's been so much wind-up in LA about how earth-shattering it is. It has probably been done thousands of times.NO, JUST THIS ONCE. CIVILIZATION COULDN'T STAND IT. I want to read it (and I promise the reading will have no effect on whether I continue or not-- that is is separate issue) to see if it can be read, to see what I remember, how many times I repeat myself, if it's stupid enough, if it's honest enough, if it's enough. I plan to mark each edited post EDITED but there have been few times in my life that I have stuck to a plan that simple.I THINK YOU HAVE NOW INTRODUCED THIS SIMPLE IDIOTIC CONCEPT MILLIONS OF TIMES AND WE CAN SEE THAT IT IS TRIVIAL AND MAKES VERY LITTLE DIFFERENCE It will probably end up a sort of alternate LA about editing LA and the whole process of editing.OR HOW TO COOK PASTA AL DENTE But at this moment my heart is full of hope that it many not be as moronic as I think it is TIME FOR THE WHITE COATS?and that this act of editing will both improve the content and influence for me to continue. HE MEANS TO EABLE HIM TO CONTINUE. May the force be with me.ME FROM THE FUTURE SAYS THE EDITING IS NOT REALLY DOING ANYTHING.....YET. HE FEELS A STRANGE AFFINITY WITH BATTLESTAR GALLACTICA. WHY ARE THERE NOW TWO REFERENCES TO BATTLESTAR GALLACTIC? WHY IS HE TALKING TO HIMSELF IN THE KIND OF TONE OF VOICE AS IF HE EXPECTED TO MEET JESUS? AND WHY CAN'T HE REMEMBER WHAT HE SAYS FOR MORE THAN FIVE MINUTES. BY THE WAY, THE EDITOR IS A REALLY NICE GUY.

eLITERAL ALLY QUIZ

It's time now to separate the men from the boys, the people who read LA because they know it is going to change their lives from the people who read it just because they believe its four followers are trendy. I have therefore prepared a quiz-- it's graded on the honor system-- and you can decide which category you belong in. It won't take you much longer than reading a post usually does. It's just 5 questions:
1) LA stands for: a) lost animals; b) loNgitudinal arhythmia;3) a note to follow "so:
4)none of the above.

2)If LA were a beagle I would name her: 1) Lavender 2)Laroux 3) Lapham 4) Charles

3)The concept behind Literal Ally a) is a screw located just to left of the ac outlet where I plug in or recharge my computer b) a way of starting a RIGHT WING political party 3)a way to pass the time before it passes you 4)all or none of the above

3)Literally ally began: 1) When the writer went off his meds 2) when he knocked the cinnamon bottle over and it fell to the floor and broke leaving a trail of glass and cinammon that has still not been repaired even though it's weeks later 3) for no particular reason- just like when Beethoven went ba ba ba bum 4)possibly one of the above

4)If Literal Ally were a dog: a) it would be a beagle b)it would never get adopted; 3)the cinammon and glass would be off the floor 4)there would be one extra star in the heavens



Aside from attempting to provide amusement for my precious but limited fan base, the above quiz offers a humorous (if you think i am funnY) or pathetic break from the usual handwringing about what the fuck the purpose of this is; why anybody would read it and why so few people are (though the author is gratified and stunned that ANYONE actually does. In reference to the author's frustration with his lack of net savvy, he has decided to actually read all the drop down buttons on google to see if there is really anything on them and also to see if they can help him with his quest to enlarge his readership into the double numbers. The author does not know if he can do this in one sitting but promises to report on anything interesting he learns. The author fantasizes that effective with tomorrow's post there will be a one dollar fee per post on LA.It is the reader's busines how to find the author and get the money to him. If you don't have a dollar or can't figure out how to get it to me (six degrees, man), then you must clap three times, the middle clap being the loudest and I will accept that in lieu of cash because of the generosity of my character. If you cannot do either you may continue to read but you will no longer be one of the people who I talk about when I refer to my readers. You will hitherto be known as a guest who lives off the generoisity of others but I love you just the same. This post should be regarded as a plateau where the writer is looking off in all directions from the small mountain cave where she writes to decide which direction to pursue. The inside of the cave is too dark to see the keyboard so that is not an option. And it is raining outside so walking out is not an option either. Also there is no cave and the author has pr0blems telling his right from his left.There are no options.

eSAVE THIS SPACE

Having woken obscenely early, coffeed, meditated, cheerful classicl music on the radio from a station I will never find again since it's on Microsoft media player, a device which if I knew how it functioned, then I could also do a proper blog. I did notice an ad for something on google which is supposed to make your blog look beautiful. Would you love me more if LA were beautiful? Or would it conventionlize it to have it look like anything but dull meaningless word after dull meaningless word. I will go back later and see if I can figure out how to make it more attractive in a content-free way. Then I will decide whether to do it. Speaking of distraction, assuming, as I am, that you are just starting your day, did it ever occur to you that your day will, if you are like most people,most likely be filled with meaningful interactions with meaningful people in your life? Whereas LA is more like putting paprika on your avocado gelato. I am thinking of you this morning, dear reader, as opposed to me for a change, and how I can possibly expect you to "waste" your time here (as if there were not ultimately a way to "waste") time. I try to keep things relatively neat, mind my punctuation and paragraphing and keep bad jokes to a minimum. If LA were a book my guess (using blog humbers) is that you would be somewhere between page 50-75, the moment when you decide whether you are going to really vest yourself in all 400 pages or toss it aside for something else. The latter, of course, would be the sensible reaction here, but then you have to ask yourself why you came this far, when it was obvious by page 5 what was going to happen. Is it just masochism? Or is it your regard for ART, facing that first A as if it were an archery round and you were going to keep staring at it with me as we tried to shoot arrows through the triangle (what the fuck is he talking about). If it is any consolation, each morning I basically have to ask myself the same question you do, the only difference being that I dig the dirt and you step in the hole. We can both delude ourselves into thinking that something important is going on and in fact it might really be. It's tough to describe, really has nothing to do with blogs, but does have something to do with relationships between strangers, trust and finding proper un-pharmaceutical solutions to continue existing in this odd time. I think a thank you is in order from me to you for sticking with it this far. A few therapy sessions might be in order for me, but I really don't believe that. I am just banging a nail into a hole and I hit the head occasionally. Very occasionally.EDITOR OF BLOGG APPROVES OF THIS ENTRY. HE JUST WISHES HE DIDN'T WRITE VARIATIONS ON IT 60000 TIMES.

eCRISIS IN THE TOYBOX

Once having decided to embark on this insane venture, one would think that if the writer had any decency whatsoever, he would try to make the reading for people who wander in as pleasurable as possible, even if the results are pathetic. If he doesn't have readers he should make it is as pleasuarable as possible anyway, in case he goes back and reads it. LA is not masochistic.WHEN I REMEMBER I AM GOING TO START CHANGING LA TO BLOGG. I KEEP THINKING OF CALIFORNIA ABOUT WHICH I HAVE MIXED FEELINGS It does not want to depress itself. I am stuck on the audience factor. I feel now like a trapeze artist who has done a triple somersault with a flaming flare in my mouth to an audience composed primarily of blind people. But the performer thinks: "Who cares if anyone else saw it? It's the best performance of my life. Shouldn't that be enough satisfaction in itself?" Yes. it should be but it's not. The performer/author wants people, friends and total strangers to come over, pat him on the back and salute his magnificent achievement. LA realizes that this probably takes him out of blog world and puts him back in the disgusting environment of conventional publishing where it is not enough to do something great, it must be acknowledged by the New York Times bestseller LIST. Otherwise, one might question the point of continuing. There would be a point (and I believe I have said or implied this before)9(only 15,000 TIMES) if there were a valid point inherent in the writing itself. This is all starting to become tedious work for me (I can barely imagine what it ust be like for you if there is one) and it is hard to imagine anyone going past two or three posts, saying, "I get the idea. Next," and proceding to read something less idiotic, which is about anything.And yet, and yet, and yet, like a Bruckner symphony, there is something about length itself that changes the nature of the thing that is in lengthening. Hopefully two or three posts may be boring, but two or three thousand posts may be so boring that it crosses over into astonishing. I have yet to receive a response from any of my dear readers,(THAT IS NO LONGER TRUE. I HAVE NOW RECEIVED TWO UNDOUBTEDLY FROM SICK PEOPLE) but if one of you is technologically adept and knows how to take this from the millionth level of readership on the web to the 999,999th, do tell me.(IT'S EASY ENOUGH TO FIND OUT. THIS IS SHEER LAZINESS IN THE FACE OF TECHNOLOGY THE AUTHOR DOES NOT UNDERSTAND) What is the point, exactly?" The point is that I am going to continue doing this until OUT OF SHERE ORGANIC EXISTENTIAL BOREDOM A POINT ARISES. And when will that be? TODAY SEEMS UNLIKELY. Perhaps when someone buys me a large sticky bun and it mucks up my computer and makes it impossible to continue.

eEl Cd

I just put on a cd so this post will have musical accompaniment. I'll bet you're dying to know which cd I'm listening to, but that would violate the rules, wouldn't it, and we wouldn't want to do that.(HEH HEH) Suffice it to say it's cutting edge and uptempo. It gives me the strength I need to keep doing this but it's so good it also distracts me. I think I'll go turn it off now. There, isn't that better. Now you have my full, undivided attention and I have a quiet room and a boring chore. Perhaps I should let you in more about the mechanics involved in LA,which does, after all, employ a cast of thousands. I usually do it third thing in the morning (I think I've told you this)) after coffee and meditation. It's essential to make it a habit so that you are doing it before you have time to ask yourself, "Why the fuck am I doing this?" Asking yourself a question like that at a time like that is likely to result in your erasing the whole thing. But then some months later you'll find a shred of it somewhere and go, "Shit, did I really erase this? It's fucking good." I have been asking younger associates how to connect LA to things on the web (I am not going to mention the t word) so that I can get my total readership up from a record four, but that includes me I think so it's three, and one of them may have just whizzed by on their way to something else.WHAT THE FUCK IS THE T WORD? The stupidity of the enterprise is apparent on a three-minute glance, but the stupidity of doing it for months, spinning out a web of nothing hundreds of pages long. now that's so fucked up it's positively comic, not to mention masochistic. IT'S ALSO OFTEN BORING. I also believe somewhere in my milk chocolate heart that I am going to be typing away and suddenly I am going to be hit by a blast of ultra-meaning which is going to justify everything, not just in the blog but in my whole life. In a sense, the less feedback I get the more that is possible. Also the less feedback I get the purer the enterprise. Does it get lonely doing this? you may be asking yourself as you sip your latte. You fucking better belive it. It's the goddamn human condition I'm playing with here. I usually don't like to end a post until I can convince myself that at least it has some sort of subject, preferably one hat's not completely depressive. This one went from the cd I was playing to the human condition, shedding light on neither. But it did get me one post closer to the end. But of what? MONTHS LATER I HAVE TOTALLY FORGOTTEN WHAT THE CD WAS. IT PROBABLY SUCKED.

ECLIMBING MT.TINKERBELL

Sentence by sentence it sucks, why should it not, the words are all inexact grappl and toward ineffable states, the heartbroken feeling you experience after hearing a Mozart symphony and realizing he is the same species as you.. The gimmick grows stale. Two, three, a half-dozen times and we get it. The constant stupid reminders of the difficulties in accomplishing or not accomplishing something idiotic start to turn the mind into mashed poratoes. And ultimately who is to judge (assuming there is a final uber-blog to judge from) whether it has acnhieved its dubious goal of commenting on not commenting on its medium? THERE I MEANING TO BE EXTRACTED SOMEWHERE INTHAT SENTENCE. I KNOW IT. I JUST KNOW IT. There is something incestuous about this-- using the tricks of the trade as forceps to extract a baby trick from its mother. The baby trick is A story or an article or a nonfictiOn peace, FUCK IT'S ANYTHING BUT THIS, anything that reaches out, however tenously into the real world. A piece of prose where you can create one coherent sentence that start with "It's about...." and continue until you make a point and don't sound like you are desrcribing THE WIZARD OF OZ as written in Summerian. No, let's shake up the emphasis and talk about the writer, even though we are not permitted to talk about him. Let's talk about the inSANE feelings he hopes to experience as he crosses the finish line, the line being, ultimately his death, since as long as there are free bits to be had, by definition there is no reason he should stop writing. To the writer of LA this is a giant I AM, an ego trip of monumentally insane proportions where the writer gets it in his head that anything he writes is interesting because HE has written it. Does he allow the fact that it bores even him stop him? No this is the stomach disgesting the stomacn. Content becomes the process, not the objective. Content as a verb. Ultimatey content as an adjective-- a content writer content to no longer be spewing contentless content at a mostly uncontented audience who are willing to content themselves with drek of the lowest order for reasons only they can know. The task does grow harder with each post, especially not having read the previous post where I often say what I am going to do to make it easier. Ultimately what is called for is a true friend to come and pull out the plug, BUT THERE ARE FUCKING BATTERIES. WORDWORTHIAN, POSITIVELY WORDSWORTHIAN.

ePHILOSOPHY IS IGNORANCE HONED TO GENIUS

Hi there friends. Yo, it's moi back again to put a little smile in your day. I could actually use a little smile in my day.I will go through all the blogging sites and find one. That shouldn't take too long.When you are traveling through Nevada or someplace like that and the road is endlessly straight as far as you can see, it gets kind of boring and makes you sleepy. That's where I feel I am now with LA but according to the rules I have set up I can't seem to change anything very much. Except my tone and vocabulary. I can modify those as much as I want and still be true to the concept. Today I am going to practice being perky. It makes me so happy to sit here writing to a non-existent audience about a non-existent subject, I put seven extra strawberries on my granola. Can I reveal that? Then I hopped around the kitchen on my pogo stick while trying to read the newspaper (with the granola and strawberries in the other hand. I leaned my chin on the handle of the pogo stick). All this because of the joy I knew I would eventually bring into the lives of millions whether they ate granola or not. Granola is very nutritious and tasty too. The crunch goes right to your brain and shakes up your cerebellum and nerves so you feel completely different. It also works with blueberries but not quite as well because the blueberries just toll around your brain and don't have the little hair st that strawberries have that can stimulare tiny little neurons. Blueberries are very tasty with yogurt and here their round shape helps them slide down your gullet effortlessly and they are also useful if you take a vitamin pill. The gullet thinks it's a blueberry and makes no distinction. Gullets are not very smart but they lead to important places that are so we should treat them with respect and love. LA hereby declares today Gullet Appreciation Day. Gullets and LA have a lot in common-- like people don't think about them very much but they are both crucial for optimum mental health. I think tomorrow I shall try a more depressive tone. Perkiness sucks.

ePIECES

WHY ARE YOU FUCKING REVISING THIS SHIT/ WHO CARES/ A two-hour medititation during which my mind is supposed to focus on nothing but the breath. Let's say I was fifty percent successful--- still pretty remarkable for a butthead like me. Thought of LA on time during the meditation and shot it out of my mind like an arrow. No room for the likes of obsession in an exercise that is supposed to termninate obsession. Still, there are similarities: focus on the breath vs. focusing on non-focusing; feeling you are in the groove; wondering whether what you are doing is remotely worthwhile for any reason and if so how will you be able to tell. My ego keeps telling me that I have to find a tecbhnologically abled person who mat be able to get me past my four followers, not that I am not in dire apprciation of their attention, espcecially since I'm pretty sure one is me. I want a debate with someone who only says things that are substatial, like "blogs suck." I will engage him en pointe and point to how these pages prove the pointe. The posts, incidentally are written in bursts that usually take about 15 minutes. By the end of a reasonable period of time I am going to attempt to read them to see if any unexpected format has happened (unlikely but not impossible), but mostly to see whether what seems to a jerk like me witty in a post sinks like a dead balloon in a long narrative. I am not sure that this is fair. Isn't this like taking a sentence from every paragraph reading a novel and seeing if the medium still makes sense or not. And since I am defining sense the answer is senseless anyway which is why I need feedback from thee, o reader. I am on the downward slope of LA, thinking I can keep it up for a few more weeks tops unless I get feedback, good or bad. I don't have enough confidence to judge it on my own and I have a feeling my shrink might not think this is the best use of what little mental health I have, as opposed to reading a book or writing a real one.

A Beautiful Day

Yes,sir. I's a beautiful day. The kind of spring day you wait for all winter if you are prone to do that sort of thing. I rarely do. I've got too much on my mind. Like keeping LA going so you will be able to read it on those unseasonably cold and rainy spring days which are sure to come. Also, the LA offices do not have climate. Everything has been sterilized and they are made of stainless. steel. The temperature has been set to maximize my creativity: too warm and I get drowsy; too cool and I get manic. That's why you've been enjoying the consistency of tone over the months. LA likes consistency. If you were looking to learn about the history of macoun apples you would be unlikely to find it here, even though they can be quite tasty. Or a discussion of your latest favorite film. Or, as in facebook, to find out who Mary got engaged to (Jason). No, it's just impenetrable consistency that keeps us going about our appointed chore. And when the singularity comes and people like Mary and Jason are running around like chickens with their head cut off, you are going to be calm because you have been privy to a running singularity for months, so there is no reason why another, which can only be inferior, should frighten you. What should frighten you is why you have been reading about this singularity which will never come. LA, only for this week,at the same price, has been offering a duality, which contains twice as much as everything than a singularity. The author wants you to know that he's in there deep in the darkest recesses of the internet to get you and those close to you the best deal possible, even if it makes no sense.Amen. ONE OF THE BETTER ONES, I THINK. IT SEEMS TO BE STRIVING TO SAY SOMETHING AND FEELS FRIENDLY.

eMELLOW JELL-O

Decided to give myself a day off from the earth-shattering issues raised by LA and just play. Decision lasted about three minutes after meditation when I felt cramp in stomach and too much stupid information in head. What would a calm entry even look like? Average Joe (not Chelsea Joe)putters around on computer because it gives him pleasure to hear the clak clak, feels there's a possibility he may be amusing a couple of friends or passers-by, passes the time, makes his technophobia 10 percent less phobic and eats chocolate. But no, the significance angle is rearing its ugly head demanding an explanation for expenditure of all this internal stuff which conceivably could do some good or earn some money.
Fuck it.
Why don't people give themselves a hard time over doing a crossword puzzle? If I could approach LA in that way, I could be a happy man and perhaps LA could be a happy place. But crossword puzzlers don't expect to become known for their prowess unless they are in some competition in which case only other crossword puzzle doers will care. And crossword puzzles are not comprehensible to the general public, as are words, the content of LA, so there is less at stake if you make an asshole mistake. Still, what's the worst thing that can happen here if I fuck up (if?). I will not be flayed or boiled alive in oil. It will be worse. I will be ignored. But then I would be in no worse place than I was when I began. That ought to mellow me out. But nah, it keeps me striving to do something brilliant tomorrow, if I don't bag the whole thing. I have to get my followers from 4 to 5 to prove I am on the road to world conquest. Thanks to us all for hanging in. May the other parts of your life be more rewarding. Be thankful that you at least have other parts.











i

eCOMMUNICATION IS A GREAT WAY TO KEEP IN TOUCH

So maybe today we can skip the usual claptrap about why, what we are trying to do, how hard and stupid it is etc., and dig down deeper into the heart of things. As you read I am digging. I can tell because the mounds of dirt are already knee high. When I stare into the hole I don't see anything except more hole but maybe that's because I haven't dug deeply enough. I remain supremely confident in the realities of the physical world. Sometime before China I will hit something, perhaps even be able to remove it and then I will understand. Digging is dirty work. Not only because you have to wash your clothes often-- I mean existential dirty work. It really depends a lot on faith. There you are all muddy, sweaty and busting your chops and you have no real reason to believe you are going to find anything other than the fact that you want to. You may be wondering what spot I decided to dig in. It is a really nice spot, not too hot, not too cool. Little white flowers surround my hole and periodically samall children come by (I don't let them too close to the hole) and sing me nursery rhymes. The reality of digging this hole is so different from blogging to find out why you are blogging. It has purpose. It builds up your body. You can whistle (I can't whistle and type at the same time). It helps build up a hardy appetite (not that I am overweight, I just don't think about food that much.) You don't have to think about revisions. You just go where your hole takes you and if you don't like it you can just start another hole. I've just looke at the title of this entry and see the tenuous connection to what I am doing. Somehow I have to strengthen it so as not to mislead my posse. Truth is I am not a very good hole digger and I don;t know how much further I can go beyond dirt around my knees. But I can blog infinitely. I know. No flowers, no whistling, no children. But when you come right down to it,a similar result. The next time I did I am going to try using a shovel. They tell me that just like a word processor it helps you get where you are going faster, even if you don't exactly know where that is.

eTHAT MOST BEAUTIFUL SEASON OF THE DAY

Greetings from the 5 a.m. shift. Can it be that my excitement over LA is interfering with my sleep patterns? I don't consciously think about things to write about but who knows what is going on in the part of my head that I don't know anything about while I sleep. Perhaps I was dreaming that I put this all behind me. That my life had shifted to a plain of such utter bliss that I no longer had time for this nonsense and was having pillowfights with angels. Enough hyperbole. I face a crisis of sorts. I am tired of having four followers-- actually three, I don't count myself. Not that they are not people of the highest caliber and not that I don't love them. But I want to share the wealth more. My technical prowess is nil so I might have to borrow the computer skills of a twenty-something who can probably make LA more accessible physically, but substantially will very many people want to slog through it anyway? No, LA will remain LA and it will have few followers. If I lose three then I will be the only follower. But will I stop? Not a chance. I will stare at myself writing into the mirror for fifteen minutes each mormning and try to figure out what I am trying to say. Something about the act of writing, audience, fame, self-flagellation, futility and macaroni. I just don't know what these things are yet. But I am, as you can see, desperately trying to find out. I am a striver. See me strive. Does one have to strive for something specific or can it be a general sort of strive? Or is it a generational strive. Or perhaps it's just the enjoyment of my fingers going plinkey plink on this keyboard which has a nice bounce to it.What does this have to do with morning? Not a fucking thing except that I wanted to use that quote from Thoreau. Take care of yourself. Don't drink and drive. Stay with me. There are so few of us. It's going to be very special.

edISCOURAGEMENT AND FORTIFICATION

For those who have had their heads in a washbasin or those who have read this whole thing, the latter probably outnumbering the former considerably, the recurrent theme here is can he do it and why, it being this. The answer lies hidden deep in LA's subconscious and he is not even sure that HE wants to know it. But there is no denying that there are mornings such as the current one where he wonders if he lost all his marbles in a game when he was eight. What happens then, which is what happens now, is that LA finds reasons to encourage himself to trudge on. The reasons are invariably just as stupid as the concept but occasionally they sound logical once one accepts the insane premise. To be or not to be. Once LA shows up at the computer, his fingers get juiced (this is way before the caffeine has hit his brain) and he is rarin' to go. Any nighttime unhappiness vanishes in the clear pool of nothingness he washes his face with. He is as convinced as if he were starting a new religion in the irrevocable value of his crocked venture. This morning it all feels like an endless joke with no punchline. The joke is the punchline. LA has it in itself to strike out into the realistic world with talent at least equal to many not very good books. But LA also has the restraint to know that the world does not need many more not very good books. It is getting lonely in here. I think a new character must be introduced. I am thinking about a chipmunk named Fred, as a sort of mascot, so we can mix up voices a bit. What do you think?UTTERLY NONSENSICAL AND SORT OF DELIGHTFUL

eIN THE MOOD

If the blogger is sad, does that sadness enter into the post and vice-versa. And can nothing be happy or sad. These are the issues, dear reader, that will occupy us this morning. My short answer is yes. There may be a long answer if I do not get distracted along the way. Having just scanned a few posts, when I dawdle on about self-doubt, what are you doing, is this worth it and shit like that-- that would qualify as a sad mood. Whereas, what an incredible work of genius, turning the web into a reflecting mirror of itself and the sheer physical and psychological strength it takes to do something as loony as this would be the blog equivalent of happiness. I mention all this because I am feeling a bit under the weather today and did not get to do my post immediately after my meditation but had to get to work, shut the door and here we are. The loneliness involved in this enterprise is not always easy to take. Some bloggers get thousands of responses so they don't have that problem. I have not yet gotten one, not even an insulting one, so it feels a bit like whistling in a very dark room. Sometimes the sound is scary, sometimes sweet. The key is (and I know there are hundreds of zen stories with a similar outcome) to just keep whistling and let the listeners take care of themselves. There will be moments, say a month from now, where if I have not heard anything from anybody it will be hard to continue. Hard but not impossible and it's amazing how far sheer cantankerousness can carry you. So coming back (and I did not get distracted) sadness shows long term over a number of blogs just as happiness does. My job is to confuse or rather fuse the two into a light beam which simply keeps the blog going. My personal moods are much too informational and confessional to be dealt with anywhere outside my psychiatrist's office. I have given him my blog url but I am fairly certain he has not read it, getting enough of me in the course of a week to allow him to take a pass. The song translation of this entry is "Sometimes I'm happy. Sometimes I'm sad." This no doubt enriches your life. I want you to see how I struggle with quality control, sometimes more successfully than others. Perhaps tomorrow I shall awaken whistling a happy tune.GOOD WORK. POSITIVELY READABLE.

EBLOGOREAH

Sometimes I have a quick ten minutes to peck something out and sometimes I have an amount of time limited only by how long it takes me to get bored. Does this effect the rhythm of the thing? The more I progress, the less casual the enterprise seems, partially, I guess, because I am that much more vested and partially because of the way it feels, taking on a completely unjustified significance in my life, as if it were something real. What if it is something real? Then what is it? A would-be psycho-artistic electronic mudbath that attempts to eliminate everything from view save the occasional glimpses of missed objects as if from a moving train.(ANYONE WHO CAN DECIPHER THAT SENTENCE DESERVES TO BE GOD) It is my religious belief (I may have said this before) that anything undertaken in a spirit of honesty and invention must eventually go somewhere. And here we are. Look how far we have come. Those of my 2-4 followers have suspended their disbelief enough to allow for the existence of a narrator who narrates about nothing save the fact that he is a narrator.(GOSH, YOU NEVER SAID THAT BEFORE) There is something of Camus in this (not, for God's sake) in the quality of the prose. But I guess one can call it existential to let it just pour out and not attempt to build levees.(AND BAKE IN THE SUN AND ROT) The it that is pouring out, of course, precludes the building of levees unless it tries to build them. It is definitely not so inclined, feeling secure enough participitating in the narration and not worrying about drowning. It is an instrument in the hand of LA engaged in the non-stop activity of yelling, "I AM. I AM. I AM" to reader's cries of 'WE KNOW. WE KNOW. WE KNOW" and ' WHY SHOULD WE GIVE A SHIT?" Perhaps a velcro hook from the narration grabbed something on the reader's shirt and what started out as a casual browse developed into a concentrated excursion into the neurons of a sick mind. But the narrator rejects the sick mind hypothesis because he know the enterprise does have honesty an energy. The narrator from this point on should try to stop defining it because 1)he can't and 2) it gets repetitious and boring. But that removes the main justification for any narration so what are we to do. Can the narrator declare independence from his narration? Comprehensibility would immediately vanish and the narrator would find himself mutter a strange language into his sleeve. The fact is that all the narration can be reduced to one short sentence: this is a blog about writing a blog. Where is the rest of this stuff coming from, what does it mean, and does it ever end? Does it ever shift gears and change.If I leave it am I a wimp or maintaing my sanity. The narrator of LA is genuinely flummoxed at the fact that for weeks now he has been expanding upon one not very important sentence. But then again, how long did Proust do his madeleine thing in Remembrance of Things Past.Of course he did have characters but this is 2010 and no one importants eats Madeleines anymore. I tried revising once today and was not very successful. Do I try to make the prose better? Eliminate duplications? Or just let it stand as what is. This is all taking us to a natural stoppin off point but I don't know what it is unti I get to it. I can't just leave us hanging. How will I get us unhung? No, I should not get hung up about leaving us hanging even if it is midsentence, My organs will regenerate and I will take to the keyboard tomorrow like a Golden Retriever to Alpo. (low quality food, I know). But the dog still barks. THE NARRATOR SINCERELY BELIEVES THAT THE NARRATOR WAS ACTUALLY TRYING TO SAY SOMETHING IN THIS POST, WHICH IS NOT TRUE OF MOST, BUT HE HAS NO IDEA OF WHAT IT IS, WHICH IS TRUE OF MOST. BUT GOLDEN RETRIEVERS ARE STILL PRETTY NICE DOGS.

eSHARE YOUR LIFE ON LINE WITH A BLOG

That's what the copy says where you post this stuff. Is it true? Am I sharing my life? No, I am sharing the detritus of my life, but just as if you scrape aound in the bottom of someone's trash can you can get to learn a lot about what brand of toothpaste they use, I am probably unconsciusly dispensing clues about my fabulous life to all who who don't mind sifting through avocado shells. My life has many other parts too, but obviously some parts are lacking to send me day after day to this screen to obfuscate them. And if you were to learn about my life, how would that change things? LA would then become another piece of fiction or nonfiction and you would file it accordingly. Perhaps you would use it in your reading group. I imagine long silences during which more than average coffee and cakes would be consumed. Some brave soul would say something about the character (me) who really thinks he is not character but with every fact he withholds gives clues as to who he really as as surely as someone God in the Bible. If there is a teacher in your group, God help you, because surely he would create a character by cracking the symblisms embedded in the text and discover that I was born in New Orleans,which I was not, am really a best selling author, which I am not and and analyze how all of this is true and none of it relevant. I could be Kafka if I weren't not Kafka.Is LA just a comedian's monologue? If it is, it is completely and it's more pathetic than funny to me. Effects, however, when they do randomly pop up, make me happy because they seem closer to constructive literary productivity, something which I aspire to but am absoutely unable to achieve. LA has a psychological ailment which makes him more desperate than the average person for love of other people and perhaps this is his way of asking for it. Love given from reading LA would certainly be unconditional which is the best kind of love because all you have to do is sit there and make cooing noises while people hug you and do other things with you that make you feel good. The writer could, of course, make these efforts in real life (he rarely does) ratter than going for the million to one odds that he will achieve it herein. But achieving unconditional love in real life is hard whereas achieving unconditional love in LA is just nearly impossible. So I play the odds. The theme of loneliness flits throught these pages like a fresh southeasterly wind and that is valid. But when I am aware of it I send in a cold front from the northwest, dispel the smog and become chipper again. There is no room for depression in LA. Depression belongs in diaries and shrinks' notebooks. But if LA comes from a place where I write it before I can even think it how can it be trivial? How can it be less than essential, at least to me? How can my determination to walk through forests, cities and oceans in a straight line be viewed as anything but cockeyed bravery which must eventually be noted and rewarded even if only by the author. If we were walking from New York to California now, in the author's mind, we would be entering Pitsburgh, a fine city from what I have heard. I shall try to describe it in imaginary detail in the next entry provided that I read the last page of this one. (YOU DIDN'T. YOU DON'T) I may ask my merry band of readers to send me reminders which may or may not help. Why wait? Pittsburgh has a lot of gray streets and some hills, some fine universities and is near water (is it one of the Great Lakes or the Allegheny River or neither). If I were writing this in Pittsburgh, which I am not, would it be any different. WAIT, THE OFFICE IS IN PITTSBURGH.Possibly, if one believes that one's external environment effects one's internal environment, something so obvious that I am instinctively skeptical about it. I do not like the word "influence." Beethoven did not "influence" Brahms. Special K did not influence NewTotal with a full day's supply of all necessary nutrients. Things slide beside each other and are oblivious or the blogosphere would be filled with incoherent rants like this which, for all I know, it might be, thought it would be hard to imagine that my 3 followers are that influential. I see two of their pictures. If I count myself as the third, then the fourth would have to be a cross between Oprah and Obama to exert a pull like that. This seems highly unlikely but not completely impossible to me in the same way that quantum mechanics cannot definitely tell us that an atom cannot puncture a 100 foot thick lead door, something to which my brain shows an uncanny resemblance. You must all be exhausted from out trip to Pittsburgh. We will probably stay put here before we take to the road again, Relax and thank you, good reader for accompanying me, It would not have been the same without you.THE IDEAS IN THIS POST ARE THICKER THAN USUAL, BUT SO IS THE INCOMPREHENSIBILITY. BUT GIVE THE BOY A B FOR DETERMINATION, WHATEVER THE CAUSE.

eWHO IS CHELSEA JOE?

I believe he is a false character created by blogger when one doesn't give enough information about who one really is. This may be absolutely untrue. Which is why it belongs here, in a safe place where I can ponder the limitlessness of my electronic ignorance as I tell the story of my non-life in non-detail. I am at a point where I am struggling with the development of a character who is struggling to emerge out of the abyss. The character is the narrator and I have to kill him before he gives a certain predictable swaythe (did I spell or use that word correctly?) to the enterprise. Non-narrator has trates of his own. I want to discover them by just letting them arbitrarily splat on to the page. I want to see if non-narrator can walk the walk, talk the talk, engage. Let me entertain you. A subtheme of LA is that the author is always worried about what comes next, which is true of his life as well. But when he and the narrator free themselves enough to be able to say, "whatever comes next, I fully accept it," then they are circling back into the meditational haze from which these entries emanated. The fact that the author can worry about what he is going to say tomorrow in a blog that by definition contains nothing is odd. He should be feeling unlimited freedom, not worry. But he still thinks in terms of achievement. He is the fool on the hill, but a foll preoccupied what is coming in the future even though he has defined it. Perhaps some day I will write the autobiogra[hy of Chelsea Joe.YOU HAD THE CHOICE BETWEEN WOEFULLY DISJOINTED AND REPETITIOUS VERSUS MOSTLY INCOHERENT. I CHOSE THE LATTER. THE KEY WORD IS MOSTLY IF YOU WILL GRANT IT TO ME.

e GETTING CEREALS

It is raining this morning, the kind of wind-driven rain that will last all day and make everything gray, silver and glass. Fresh from the meditation chair he pops to his computer table trying to remember the thoughts he was discarding from his meditation exercise while thinking about LA to see if any were worth writing about. But the blanket of meditation still lies on them and they will evaporate with the rest of my non-breathing thoughts. So we go from nothingness to nothingness. When LA started I thought the challenge was going to be to keep substance out of it. That, it turns out, is not much of a challenge at all. Nothing fascinates me and I have an endless supply of it to dole out. There is a meditation expression that says when you want to talk about meditation, shut up and meditate some more. That could be equally relevant here-- when you want to talk about something talk about your feelings about talking about something rather than the something itself. Where do you feel the something? How big is? Does it make you happy or sad? I feel like I can put my nothing in cruise control now and not worry about anything untoward sneaking in. I can rack up the miles without effort. I sporadically wonder how it will end-- whether I grow tired of it, die, or it just peters out. But if it is truly nothing it really doesn't matter. There is a page filled with drivel about nothing or there is a blank page. Is there a substantial difference? If there is one, I suppose it is the writer's stance toward the nothingness---in this case an embracing one. The writer feels gloriously free to word through space avoiding anything he does not know anything about, periodically stopping on stationery asteroids, surveying his turf and picking a new piece of empty space to inhabit and describe. There is a restless feeling about some kind of psychological or editorial apology that should accompany these pages since it feels that they are violating spoken and unspoken rules about each. I remember one of the thoughts I had while I was meditating now. It was about the connection between LA and music-- how in both cases there was no way or reason to describe the emotional reaction you were having to things that transcended "reality." The same is probably true of religion but we will not go there. Are there passages of transcendent beauty in LA that make it worth continuing even when neither you nor the author know what the point (if any) is and how it is being communicated? The blacktop whizzes by. I can make out silvery gray outlines of houses and listen to the rhytmic tapping of the wiper blades. I do not know where I am or where I am going but I feel secure. Whether there is a there for me to end my voyage at is still moot, but I am still learning much from the journey, which is really just beginning.THERE IS SOME PROMISING MATERIAL HERE--FOR HERE- IF ONLY THE AUTHOR HAD THE CAPACITY TO THINK ENOUGH TO MAKE THE MATERIAL COHERENT BEFORE HE WROTE ABOUT IT, FIFTY PERCENT OF THIS SHOULD BE EDITED OUT. BUT THE PART ABOUT WRITING ABOUT NOTHING IS ACTUALLY SOMETHING. I DON'T KNOW WHAT RAIN AND WINDSHIELD WIPERS HAVE TO DO WITH ANYTHING. IT OCCURS TO THE EDITOR THAT THE EDITING CAN BE A WAY OF EXTENDING THE BLOG UNTIL I GET TO THE LAST ENTRY AND I CAN ADD ENTRIES ABOUT THE EDITING SO IT REALLY NEED NEVER END. HOW DO YOU FEEL ABOUT THAT?

e FLOGGING THE BLOGGER

The blogger does not go unpunished. He knows he should know better. He knows he is wasting his precious bodily fluids doing a maypole dance alone in his bedroom, hoping someone will walk by and admire it. The blogger has aspired to write great novels and the blogger knows he has not a whit of the talent necessary to create worlds and characters. So he recreates the one world and the one character he knows and puts him out on display. Look on my works ye mighty and despair. To those who actually know the blogger this display may make a bit of pathetic sense. But for those who do not, what joy can they find in the anti-characterological machinations of a person they do not know and are likely to never know. Do they try to create a character by gathering little personal dribs of this and that that the blogger has dropped vertently and inadvertently along the way. How mant blog readers does it take to create an elephant and how many trunks would it have? The blogger himself, having no idea what he is going to blog about until he does it is not in a much better position since the words that emanate from him emanate from the same place that said goo goo and gaa gaa when he was an infant. But infants are cute and cuddly, which is why so few people throw them at spiked fences. Is LA cute and cuddly. Probably not but few people also throw computers at spiked fences. As a matter of fact,I cannot even remember the last time I saw a spiked fence. What has happened to them? Who will protect us now? There was a point trying to be made somewhere and LA is frantically searching for it. Ah yes, the experience of reading LA and writing LA are curiously similar, like some quantum process in physics. The writer is the observer, which fucks up all the results but makes for some interesting displays for the onlooker. But the reader is a different kind of observer so his results are fucked up but in a completely different way. The formula for this is 6pi.003/uk./852. When applied to any entry it clarifies it (LIKE CLARIFIED BUTTER) to the point where it shines like a newly waxed Mercedes which the reader then gets to drive away while the writer starts building another one. But don't feel bad for the writer. He doesn't like to drive that much, especially German cars. He also builds tin soldiers, cuflinks and can whip up a mean waldorf salad. So while he is involved in a lonely business it is his businesss and his loneliness. LA is a happy dude. And God bless Tiny Tim.IS THERE SUCH A THING AS ABSOLUTE INCOHERENCE OR IS IT DOOMED TO BE A RELATIVE TERM, LIKE BLIZZARD. THE PERSON WHO WROTE THE PRECEDING WORDS A MONTH OR TWO AGO CAN MAKE NO SENSE WHATSOEVER OUT OF THEM. THEY ARE A STRING OF RANDOM THOUGHTLETS STRUNG TOGETHER FOR REASONS WE WILL HAVE TO LEAVE TO NEUROSCIENTISTS TO DISCOVER.

E THE LONELINESS OF THE LONG DISTANCE BLOGGER

It's all so solitary. Writing by yourself into a machine to people who may or may not exist in the real world. In a way it's re-channeling your loneliness into a national pastime, or at least a little league team. The meager amount of feedback feels like a direct insult. The less feedback I get the more I get to feed back on myself, the more LA does not transmogrify itself into SF. The silences between thoughts are interesting. I don't know if I have ever taken more than a minute between sentences before I thought about what I was going to say, nor have I taken a minute afterwards to examine what I did say, assuming I could understand it. I have many deep existential and emotional issues in my life now. And writing intimately without allowing them in the door becomes a kind of meditation. Often it is not one' s loneliness that is the problem but the way one thinks about one's loneliness that is the problem. Having been in publishing for over 25 years (I think I've fed you that tidbit before, don't get excited), whenever I have wanted to do any personal writing, I have had to force myself out of the box where you can criticize what you have done or I would never get past the first sentence, which I would mark up, say, "This sucks" and stop. LA may suck too but it will suck by its own standards, not those of publishing. I am reading a novel that I am very much enjoying. It is a realistic novel about a character I like and to whom things happen. I lose myself in the book. My mind makes the scenes real. But I know if I hone in close enough I will see toothpicks and paperclips holding up the scenery and the strings coming out of the character's mouths. Does this destroy my enjoyment of the novel? No more than a hiss or a click coming from my ipod would destroy my enjoyment of a piece of music. I require novels with all their paraphrenalia to get me out of the world sometimes and I accept their contrivances and conventions. But LA abandons the training wheels and bannisters though it dramatically aspires to many of the goals of the novel--to find readers who enjoy and relate to it. As one gets older (and this one is getting older) one increasingly respects the habit of habit. LA has become a habit for me. I wonder whether it will bring me enlightenment or exhaustion. Perhaps enlightenment is exhaustion. But as I have been saying for the past week or so, the floodgates are open, the words are pouring out and the author has no intention of stopping as long as he is physically and mentally able to continue. And to you, my real or imaginary readers, I leave a pile of pastepots, rubber bands and paper clips.SWEET.

MELANCHOLY MORNING

I have decided to insert the titles of my posts, which were actually supposed to be aphorisms in the box marked title. I BELIEVE YOU ALREADY SAID THIS, ASSHOLE. I am thinking, stupidly, that this will make it easier for people to access particular selections that they know and love and want to read again. Also, my aphorism-maker seems to have dried up. I think when I started this little project, I imagined it would be somewhat perkier and nonsensical aphorisms would brighten the text. I will still use such an aphorism when I think of one. In the meantime the relationship between the title and the text will be more subtle, if there is one at all. I have had a friend do some more things to connect me to places where LA can carry and hopefully obtain a larger readership. But I still have my same two followers and I have a feeling they just forgot to turn their follow-meter off or are on automatic blog delivery. It would be virtually impossible to find this blind and even if you knew me from facebook or twitter, it would take a very faithful friend who would bother reading this knowing it is the usual level of conversation I provide live. Having said this, I realize I am at another one of those ubiquitous impasses when I really have nothing more to say, even about nothing.AGAIN?!!! By all logic I should quit now because anything that follows can be labeled desperation over desperation. But no, I shall continue becaue I regard myself as a doctor who is stuffing people's heads into a metallic frame, as if they were having neck surgery, that makes it impossible for them to turn away. Their eyes are held open with antiseptic, painless metallic toothpicks that make it impossible to do anything else until they have read the text and fully grasped that they are tacitly joining the author in a project of uncharted artistic merit. Such a person must be extraordinary indeed because the idea of having one's head put in a metal frame is frightening. And once they are safely ensconced and the toothpicks are holding their eyes open they start reading the story of how they were ensconced in a metal frame, their eyes held open by antiseptic toothpicks, they will become even more terrified and relize that they are in the pixels of a madman. Since this is a medical experience, it would be nice to think that painkilling drugs were also an option. Or perhaps the text itself is a numbing, painkilling drug. I titled this post Melancholy Morning. I think that was because I knew I was going to be driven in this direction with some surrealistic mindless enthusiasm to perk up the enterprise. Not that I will remember, but I will try to be even perkier tomorrow. It is Friday, usally a perky day.I will try to reward my pair of persistent followers with a chuckle. I will try to reward myself by allowing myself by not taking it all so seriously when I am uninspired about being unispired. There is an "I've read this before" quality to nearly every sentence in every post. Things are said differently but I'll be damned if I can find one thing here that I haven't said before and better.(MEANING LESS WORSE))My job, if I have one, is to try to be entertaining. I have no way of knowing if and when I am succeeding. I only know when I am trying, which is always and I will continue to try harder, not that that is likely to change anything.Stay with it. You're doing great.

e CONCERTO FOR THREE HANDS

I take my place at the keyboard and start to write before I have any idea what I will be saying, although I have had various thoughts during my daily meditation. Usually however, when I make the thoughts go away during meditation I do not remember what they were by the time I get to blogging. I am in a particular determined state re LA stemming from the premise that if you do anything personal and weird enough for a long enough time,it will become interesting, if only by virtue of the fact that you are the only one doing it.9NEW SPIN ON OLD WINE). The attention I expend on writing LA and the reader on reading it could both be put to more constructive use. But constructing what? Constructing more information, more myths,more stuff? No, we are merrily deconstructing and the longer the deconstruction continues the more areas of both our brains will open up and we can fill them with m and m's or anything else we choose. Nothing is required. There is no link. There is just a person mindlessly pounding the keyboard about mindlessly pounding the keyboard. He could just as easily hold the keyboard up to a mirror, take a photo and post that. Is there a solipsistic selfishness to all this? Most certainly. That is being held up to the mirror as well. There are no outside references allows us to become intimate in a way, since they only nothing. But the link of nothing is as strong and powerful a link as exists in the universe, especially when carried out over a long period of time.I mean light years and mega-verses and stuff like that. Is it necessary for LA to be written and read every day or may we occasionally take a day off. No, we must take our vitamins every day. But if we miss a day, we just pick up where we left off since the reader has not concept of where the days are in this thing. Nothingness is fragile and has a tendency to materialize into real things unless it is constantly stopped in its tracks. One day soon, the writer is going to read LA from old to new to see if it gives any sort of meditative effect. Or he may not, out of fear that if he reads it he will find it so inane that he will cease posting. One stupid entry at a time may suffice. In the meantime LA informs you that yes, there is time and temperature today and the odds are that you will encounter them and perhaps even interact with them. But at LA the time is always midnight and the temperature is always zero. Can you handle it?A CURIOUS POST, ONE OF THE BETTER ONES, I THINK, ALTHOUGH I HAVEN'T THE FOGGIEST IDEA WHAT IT REALLY MEANS--MAYBE THAT'S WHY.

e HAPPY DAYS

One of my friends adjusted the settings on LA so that it will now be easily available to a broader spectrum of people on the assumption that they have any more interest in reading it than the two followers I have. I now declare LA to be available in HD. It will be a much more clearly defined blog.Like. You will not just be wondering what kind of asshole does this kind of thing indefinitely but that very asshole will be sitting in your lap, so to speak-- so close that you can almost ask him directly. "Demented asshole," you might say, "what the fuck do you think you are doing by writing this day after day, wasting good pixels and electrons in the name of....in the name of what, Good God, in the name of what??" In the name of the father, the son and the holy ghost who have given me (can I say shriven me? I love that word) this strange gift. People (not many) from near and far come to gaze and wonder at what I have wrought, sort of like the early days of Christianity. I'll bet there was a time when Christ only had two or three followers and look at him now- the biggest thing in the blogosphere. And why? Because Christ believed, just as I believe in the validity of what I am doing, even thoughI don' know exactly what it is. He knew he was answering to a higher authority than the scoffers, just as I know that the goodness of LA will eventually become apparent to millions once they understand that it means them no harm, that it is merely here because it is here, because I am here and my hereness is sufficient. There does not have to be a thereness factor to my hereness and the fact that both of you reading this have not pierced your eyes out with sticks though you may be taking nausea pills shows both that LA is harmless and also worthy of interest. And the longer I stick with LA the weirder and more worthy of interest it becomes,THIS WAS WRITTEN A WHILE AGO. I QUESTION WHETHER IT IS STILL TRUE which is why I now declare (this is a good entry) that I am going to post LA forever. As long as the web exists or make that as long as I exist, LA will exist and you will all wonder at its wonderfulness. Centuries from now legends about my origin, how I was hatched from a dragon's ipod, will spring up. There will be worshipping ceremonies. Debates will spring up over what I meant by particular phrases and where my grave is. Was he Jewish?, will be commonly asked. Did he make fun of us or did he try to lead us out of the wilderness? These, alas, my trusty pair, are questions I cannot yet answer because I do not know the answers or even if there are any answers. But make sure you have lots of rice cakes and soymilk available because LA is definitely in this for the long haul. No matter what. No matter who tries to stop me or what they offer. No matter who imitates me. I am yours. You are mine. You are what you are. I forgot the next line, but no matter, there will be thousands of others. And you, my two (or three) shall be known as my disciples. Future generations will be in awe of your perspicacity in extracting this rhinestone from the trash heap of the internet. And you will answer, "Yay unto me it was said, be there a blog that is not a blog and ye shall find it and therein shall lie thine immortality." And thou shalt answer, "Aw, shucks. I was just lookin' around and got lucky. It weren't nothin'. Anybody in my position would have done the same thing." Not.USING THE GRADING SYSTEM DEVELOPED ABOUT A MONTH FROM HERE IN WHICH BLOGG SEEMS TO BE HOPELESSLY FALTERING. I GIVE HIS POST AN "A" AND REMIND MYSELF TO STAY OPTIMISTIC. WHEN YOU'RE SMILING....AND ALL THAT SHIT.

e BECAUSE THIS IS WHY

GOD, THIS FUCKING THING IS LONG. Crummy Monday morning. Sort of late for work but will be ten minutes later so I can do this. Why? Excellent question. Because. That's what it's come down to. That's what everything comes down to when you think about it. We have transcended ego and meaning in our little LA home, so what is left? Transcendent ego-meaning. Meaning the ego still desires to transcend even when it knows that transcendence is impossible. If it didn't keep doing things like that it wouldn't be an ego and then where would Dr. Freud have been. Where would we all be if we had egoless Mondays. We would be hugging each other and staring at our watches waiting for fucking Tuesday to begin so we could go back to being our usual selfish selves which, with the exception of the few enlightened PEOPLE, of whom I certainly do not consider myself one, is basically what we do. We me. "Me me me me me me me" "You?" Me me me me me.I am important. Yes, I know you are you, but you don't understand what it is to be me. It is me-ness, which utterly transcends you-ness. Let's ask me. Just as I thought. You are not insignificant in a minor sort of way but when compared to me, you sort of dissolve. The earth does not go around the sun. I go around the sun. Or the sun checks with me in the morning if it's ok to go around anything. LA conquers the universe. Maybe the bizarre nature of this post has something to do with it being Monday morning or maybe my coherency barometer has just dropped.No matter. It's over. Regrets.

e NOTHING TO BE AFRAID OF

Once more into the fray, feinter of heart than yesterday, but insanely determined nevertheless. I apparently want people to read LA simply because I have written it. They are going to learn nothing of use except how big the writer of LA's ego is (very). Why should I ask this of people. Because I am vapid and selfish. Because it is the secret wish of every writer and non-writer who doesn't have a dog to be unconditionally loved. The blog is just an excuse for you to unconditionally love me. "Hey, what a great personality he has. He's witty. He's funny. He's existential in an elementary school sort of way. I think I'll love him." So far only two people have taken me up on the offer of all this free love but that may be because I still haven't figured out how to spill my power to the people. A friend promises to help me with this. Then dozens of people will love me and I will feel truly adored, right? Then I will either no longer feel the necessity of keeping up LA or it will make me a confirmed LA-er for life. Love is nice. It makes you think there is a reason for all the bullshit you go through in your life, which may or may not be true. Love is simply the intense emotional regard of one human being for another creature. Why should that matter so much? It's like music. Why does one series of sounds do nothing to me and another make me want to convert and love Jesus. Fortunately Google has not figured this out yet but since they are attacking all the mysteries in the world,I would not take odds against their not doing it. They attackjust technologically chewing away at them on the grounds that this will improve the life of people while making Google a lot of money. Since Google will know the answer to all mysteries,they will know how to spend their billions and be happy. That hurts more than their having them. LA will always be honest, poor and stupid. And grateful to its two mysterious guests waiting for the party to start.

e MINE DISEASE

It is not your disease. I missed a day blogging yesterday and felt perfectly fine about it. Did anyone notice? Highly unlikely unless they were ridiculously high and bored and this was this the best use they could put their illegal substances to I just read a real blog about a psychological disease. It was full of real information that could help real people. It made me feel sort of bad being unreal, but then again that blog could have been written in the form of a term paper or news article and done the same where as LA can exist only in its blogginess. Every day a new electronic whiffle ball bounces into the park and every week one or two of them get hit. Do people then abandon their old whiffle balls? How many whiffle balls can the park of the human mind hold. Supposing they even contain information. How much information can the human mind hold? Where will it end? Will it ever? Can the web sustain an infinite supply of whiffle ballsbefore it falls down from the sky and buries us all in a sea of arbitrary shit (like this)?. It is becuause of the imbecilic nature of what we as a civilization are engaged in on the web that inspires things like LA. It may be transcended by a device to get your phone to open a can of peaches.AGAIN AUTHOR IS SKIRTING TOTAL INCOHERENCY BUT HE SEEMS TO BE HAVING A HARD DAY SO LET'S LET IT STAND AND SEE WHERE IT GOES. Author is being kind to his overreaching, would-be creative self because he is a nice guy. (And there's a personal tidbit for us to end with. Don't tell anyone).

e OH FRAYDOM

E Once more into it. It feels particularly difficult today. I think I said yesterday I might be forced to add some substance or information from my so-called personal life to keep this thing going.(I AM NOT PERMITTED TO ADMIT MY TRUE CALLING IN REAL LIFE BUT IT IS HIGHLY SEXUAL). It is starting to get even to me. Does the fact that I am having a hard time continuing it qualify as information outside the grid?iF A PANCAKE FALLS ON A HOT GRIDDLE IS IT PART OF THE GRID? Why if there is no substance should I be having a harder time delivering nothing one day rather than another.(BAROMETRIC PRESSURED DIFFERENCES?) It is not the substance delivery itself. It is the thinking about the substance delivery. It is the fear that I will DRIVE us both to simultaneously say, "Fuck It" and go off and twitter or something. But nothing is nothing if not consistent so I cannot blame the content of no content. Why do I care if you go off twittering, or for that matter, if I go off twittering EVEN IF i UNDERSTOOD IT? Because somewhere in my so-called brain there is still a prehistoric ego that thinks that this elementary school Kafka is going to have its moment in the sun, allowing me to walk off the stage famous, but with integrity intact. No, by definition the possibilities of continuing this sans content are infinite. What may not be infinite are the patience of the writer and the reader. I am periodically also wracked by the question, "Why are you doing this?" I have no answer.(NEVER HEARD THAT ONE BEFORE) Well, I have some theories. 1) Because blogging, whatever it is is a real medium and is fun and I think I know how to do it-- whether you hate this or notI think it at leastdoes have a bloglike rhythm, ALTHOUGH THE AUTHOR HASN'T READ ENOUGH BLOGGS TO BE CERTAIN.. 2) I don't have anything better to do. 3) It is a sort of intellectual flossing, spLaying detritus from my brain randomly around and hoping they add up to something. I think I have to do the opposite of what I said at the beginning. I have to fight the urge to give up, to give in. I have to believe in Tinker Bell. Because I have made a commitment and until I uncommit, which I am nowhere near doing, to cease would be nothing more than mere laziness. And what about my two followers. What kind of reward would this be for them after their staying with me for so long. No, we started today in the darkness but emerge into the light, more determined than ever to see where this weird road leads even if it leads nowhere. Nowhere may turn out to be a fascinating place, much more interesting than somewhere, which has been getting very crowded with cliches of late. Nowhere is clean, virginal snow, glowing with the light of the original creation.THE AUTHOR SOUNDS AS IF HE IS ATTEMPTING TO WRITE BEETHOVEN'S FIFTH USING A PIECE OF WET SPAGHETTI AS A WRITING INFLUENCE. I AM SILMULTANEOUSLY TOUCHED, APPALLED AND NAUSEATED AT HIS COURAGE.WHAT WOULD BEETHOVEN THINK?

e TOASTED TO TASTE BETTER

e I see now that I have 33 posts. I am impressed. I think when I get to 50 I will go back and read them all, perhaps even edit a misspelling or a repetition.YOU DIDN'T. Still 33 of this ought to get some sort of credit, like combing your hair and messing it up 33 times in a row, an activity not likely to result in anything productive, but you might learn about the texture of your hair or how strong your arms are. It is obvious that in its present form of concise bloat this cannot continue indefinitely.EVERYTIME I SEE THE WORDS THIS CANNOT CONTINUE INDEFINITELY I AM GOING TO CALL IT OUT AND SCREAM It is starting to drive the writer mad.THE WRITER WAS MAD BEFORE HE STARTED. So-- and this is a death-defying trick--while he continues to write LA in its current form, the writer must come up with a way to change it to make it more interesting for the reader and bearable for the writer.THIS HAS BEN SAID ONLY 10,000 TIMES BEFORE He could try writing it in French if he could write French. He could try writing it underwater if it wouldn't short out his computer. He could try writing it backwards which would accomplish absolutely nothing. Or, and this is the big one, he could let the reader in to inconspicuous corners of his personal life, thereby theoretically stimulating curiosity and interest. But what if the reader finds that the author's life is actually less interesting than the relatively anonymous blog-- that the author has really distilled all that is of any interest from his insignificant life and put it in LA and you, the reader, would be left with dregs like what color shirts he wears and what his favorite song is. No. This is all about staring at a dot for weeks and seeing what happens. Seeing whether the dot actually changes or your perception of the dot changes since if you were to stare at a motionless dot for weeks you would soon be as mad as the author and unless you were, you would have moved on to substance-containing blogs after a day or a month depending on how smart and patient you are. No, dance on dot. The suspense is that the author has no idea what the dot will do,l if anything or what perception of the dot will do. Perhaps it was this sort of nervousness that started morse code and we will eventually have meaning dots. Perhaps orange juice doesn't have as much vitamin C as they say it does. Perhaps we fold for now. FUTURE AUTHOR LIKES THE DOT IDEA NOW THAT HE IS TOYING WITH TERMINATING. THE DOT TAKES US BACK TO THE INITIAL PREMISE, DISCARDS INTEREST FOR READER OR WRITER AS A PARAMETER FOR CONTINUATION AND HAS AN ABSOLUTELY SICK, SIMPLE PREMISE WHICH THE AUTHOR CAN KEEP COMING BACK TO, LIKE RHYTMIC BREATHING. WE WILL SEE IF FUTURE AUTHOR PICKS UP ON THIS BUT IT IS THE FIRST INTELLINGENT (IN AN IDIOTIC WAY) THOUGHT HE HAS SEEN FROM THESE PAGES IN A LONG TIME. DOES ANY ONE OF HIS THREE OR FOUR READERS HAVE THE VAGUEST IDEA OF WHAT HE IS TALKING ABOUT. YOU MAY IN ABOUT A MONTH, IF YOU TRUDGE ON. MEANWHILE, JUST KEEP THINKING ABOUT STARING AT A DOT, YOUR CHOICE OF COLOR.

e IF A TREE FALLS IN THE FOREST, WHY?

E Writing at a much later than usual hour, as if you cared. This selfless struggle belongs to me and me alone. Suppose you read LA with your bagel and coffee each morning. Think how meaningless your life would be without it. Think if you had to choose between the bagel, the blog and the coffee. Could READ WITHOUT THE BAGEL BUT not without the coffee. Need that dose of caffeine to stimulate the cerebro-cortex so every last morsel of wit is UTTERLY absorbed, making me into a better person, a little at a time, day after day, in ways so subtle as to be almost indistinguishable from mere good will. Good Will. Good Dog. Will likes to take LA over to his water dish and crunch on IT WITH his apple, washing it down with bursts of good clean water. I think all LA readers should have a glass of good clean water before reading so as to prepare the mental digestive juices for the HARD WORK to come. Will was found sleeping in a bed of petunias and so has always had a rather cheerful, colorful personality. Will would probably chow down on any old blog. He cannot, however, live on them. They do not provide the nutrients necessary to sustain life, merely to enhance it. Will is tired now from his activities and from being called in from the sunshine to literature. He misses his flowers. But his fur is soft and pliant. LA goes to the dogs.FIRST BLOG WRITTEN BEFORE NEW POST TO BE EXPLAINED IN NEW POST. CUTESINESS OF THIS NAUSEATES ME. IT ADDS NOTHING NEW TO THE DEBATE, IF THERE IS ONE, ABOUT WHAT THE FUCK I AM DOING. IT IS A STORYLET. NOW TO TRASH IT IN A NEW BLOG.

E ALL ENDS MUST COME TO A THING

E Absolutely nothing special today, which is pretty special BY our standards. LA has no particular feelings about its mandate today. It is content to just be and let the devil take its foreleg. LA is the rorsach of blogs. It is what you see. What do I see? I see something large and slimey with big teeth. I see myself being seen. I see myself not being seen. I see myself trying to be seen. I see myself trying not to be seen. I see governments toppling because THAT IS WHAT THEY DO EVENTUALLY. Is the concept of government outdated. Will government go viral. What does viral mean and why is everyone in every two-bit bar using the term to describe anything? "Yeah, it was a good plan but then someone got hold of it and it went viral." LA can never go viral. It is the cure for viruses. It occupies the space between their little antennae that allows them to reproduce so quickly. They also have awesome libidos. LA has an awesome libido too but mericifully the author is able to hold it in check or it could mean the end of what civilization we have left. Government by libido. Is not government ultimately a way to hold our libidos in check by occupying us with IMPORTANT SEEMING STUPID THINGS, SORT OF LIKE BLOGG. What does any of this have to do with LA. It doesn't directly but everything does indirectly. Left unchecked LA would destroy every other blog in the blogosphere but fortunately only two other people seem to know of its existence so the internet is safe for now. What would happen if all those other blogs disappearedand only blogg were left? Absolutely nothing. People would take more time sipping their cappucinos. Perhaps they would hum more as well. Humming is a vastly underrated activity. LA is the hum of blogs. You think you catch a melody then it gets subsumed by a bunch of mmmmmmm's. What song was that? Gotcha. Are we a bit hasty today? I never know if I'm long or short since I don't read this shit but as a general rule (one of our greatest leaders) short is always better than long. Bye.A TYPICAL ENTRY COMPRISED MOSTLY OF SOPHOMORIC SHIT WITH AN OCCASIONAL THREAD OF A POINT. IT TAKES US NEITHER FORWARD NOR BACKWARD. IT DOES NOT ENCOURAGE THE AUTHOR IN HIS QUEST TO REVOLUTIONIZE LITERATURE BUT IT'S NOT BAD ENOUGH TO WISH FOR BEHEADING.