Exit from a Nightmare

TO ALL THE THOUSANDS WHO HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR ME TO START CHAPTERING BECAUSE I COULDN'T DEAL WITH ITALICS. SOMETHING WORSE HAPPENED. ALL OF GOOGLE SHRUNK DOWN TO THE SIZE OF A PEA AND I COULDN'T READ ANY POSTS. SOMEHOW IN THE WAY THAT THESE THINGS HAPPEN WITH COMPUTERS, I APPEAR TO HAVE FIXED IT BUT NOW I AM MUCH TOO UPSET TO START READING OLD POSTS WHICH I AM NOT SURE I COULD READ ANYWAY. ASSUMING I HAVE MY READABLE GOOGLE BACK, HOWEVER, I WILL TRY TO STICK TO MY WORD AND READ THE FUCKING THING THOUGH IT'S NOT REALLY GOING TO CHANGE ANYTHING. NOTHING EVER CHANGES ANYWAY.

Don't Fuck The Italics Yet Chapter one/half

How the fuck am I going to find 15 or 20 and then write a chapter or whatever about it. I am not sure I can follow which I did in what order thought they are all dated in many ways. I cannot write chapters about 15 or 20 arbitrary posts. This requires way more study than I am capable of. That, of course, will not stop me for a moment. Hang in there.

Fuck the Italics

According to Blogger I have 143 posts. It seems to me if I make a chapter out of every 15-20 posts, something might happen. Of course,it is more likely that nothing that has not happened already will happen, it will just be further layered. But I will try to be objective (also increase my height). I will, with all the scholarship I am capable of,uh, lots, will examine how BLOGG is progressing toward its ultimate goal--oblivion. In order to do this I am going to have to read these fucking posts (which I have not yet done) in order, no less. Why am I doing this? The reason for why I am doing this will become apparent after I have done it. I am now going to read the first five posts. Pray for me.

The Italic Conspiracy

A simple, stupid question. A patient, logical answer. I can now use all the italics I want to if I choose to. I can even use color. I tell you this merely so you can share with me the extent of the problem. I don't know if it marginally has something to do with the blog. But it's over and you can stop laughing now.

Italics?

This is going to be so painless you won't feel a thing even if you have been woefully wounded in the past. I went to a computer store last night and was well on the path toward learning how to use the italics (it has something to do with HTML) and I thought, "Fuck it. This is no way worth the time and numbers are better anyway."

The purpose of introducing a third skein was to simply judge the first two, and then either end the bloody thing or continue forever. I think it makes more sense to call this third set "chapters" and give them numbers and say I will introduce one every ten to twenty pages (chapter 1, chapter 2-- I get the feeling you've done this kind of thing before). In the chapters I will comment on the concept, my original comments, my editorial comments, my intentions and life in general. Perhaps the chapters will be so perky and distinct I'll be able to do away with the rest of all this shit. You realize that this means my going back and reading my first post (and I will try to read ten or twenty posts at a pop to get the narrative flow) while I continue to write new posts and edit the old ones. It is conceivable that new posts added after I have started the chapters will be influenced by things I hated in the first posts, such, for example, as the word "innumerable," which, for some reason I find inordinately ugly. (The same for "inordinately). I feel in complete control of the structure of Blogg now as if I were in front of the Big Screen in Battlestar Gallactica which should be italicized. This has not really been a post, although it is probably been no less postier than most of the other entries so we will call it a post. I have not yet decided when I will start adding the chapters but it will be soon, before I forget I said I would add them. So no matter what kind of shit befalls your life today, you have something to look foward to, Life. I just love it.

Italics

Somewhat inconceivable but this may be my stupidest entry of all. If I can't figure out how to use the italics (I am assuming they have them), then the grand design of this whole blog may be compromised. There is a little thingy in the top row of blogger that looks like a letter in italics. Here is what happens when I try to use it. kk/em> I suppose this means that everyone in the world except me knows what the ems mean. I have tried typing between them, inside them and I can't get my italics. If I go into "help" or something like that then you probably never will see me again. Should I try "edit html?" What could be worse. Nothing happened. I do not know how to insert my italic tags. This may just seem like stupidity and it probably is. There are any number of people I can call who I am certain will tell me what to do. But before that I should tell you the purpose of the italics which is to institute a third section, which, unlike the capital letters section which is editing individual posts, will be commenting on the entire concept because we have come to a point where I either have to justify this and continue doing it for the rest of my life or saying "goodbye, what were you on." Since capital letters were already taken, I thought italics would do the job, although a more complicated alternative would be to number these ubersections of which I do not think there will be too many. I could spend the next two hours trying to find the fucking italics but I think it will effect the blog in a weird way. So I think I will just tune out, do my regular edits, and hopefuly have the sense to call someone who will tell me how to do this very simple thing. Take the rest of the day off.

eA Whole New Direction Possibly the Beginning of the End

OH MY GOD, I AM EDITING THE POST I JUST POSTED. I CANNOT CONTROL THE EDIT POSTS FUNCTION. SHALL I REALLY EDIT SOMETHING I WROTE FIVE MINUTES AGO? WHY THE FUCK NOTIt's obvious, even to me that this can't go on much longer in its present form. I don't know what's more excruciating, writing it or reading it. I think I've proven whatever point I set out to prove and if I did this for 500 more days I don't think I would prove it any more strongly. Floss after each meal. Just kidding. I'm already editing the old posts but I feel like some kind of structural thing is in order. Truth be told, I have not read any of this past the first entry. I feel that as punishment, if nothing else, I should be forced to. Now if I could find the fucking italics on blogger it would make it easier for me to have a third thing going.You just sit there for a minute while I look. If the post ends with this sentence it means I didn't find it and disconnected myself in which case I will count this as a post because I don't feel like writing the same idiitic thing again. Here goes. I just pushed the italics tab and got the ems you see. Why do they make it so fucking complicated. Let me try bold. Now it's just saying strong. Fuck this unles I play with it later. One way or another ( I may have to resort to numbered posts), I will read them all and periodically inform you as to what I feel I have or have not accomplished, possibly while I continue to write regular new posts and edit the old ones. It all will land at an end point eventually, I promise and then I will go out and buy an ipad so I can damage myself in other ways. I have no handwriting left. I can only write letters by typing them on computer and printing them when I can get my printer to work which is infrequently. I think this all heads to some kind of unwritten mental transmission at some point. Perhaps in 50 years all our heads will have keyboards. What a wondeful world it will be. Stay tuned.I am not sure which of these idiotic choices I am going to adapt and I have not given up on italics and bold. That's why God invented young people-- so they can show me how to navigate this shit and then go home and laugh at me.MY EDITORIAL COMMENT IS THAT IT IS REMARKABLE WHAT AN EARNEST TONE THE WRITER MANAGES TO WORK UP AS IF SOMETHING IS REALLY TAKING PLACE. AND IT IS. THIS. I WONDER WHERE MY NEXT EDIT POSTS WILL TAKE ME. MAYB SOMEWHERE WITH ITALICS.

NOW

Now i am going to read the newspaper. Hallelujah.

DISASTER

Thl is one is going to hurt-- both of us. You (if there is still a you" out there) and me because I am going to have to do someting awful, possibly many times. It is early in the morning. I could be reading the newspaper and drinkig a cup of coffee, neither of which would do the world harm. But instead, FOR REASONS THAT TOTALLY ELUDE ME (Italis) I am back here at the keyboard with a head full of so much nothing it makes a black hole look like a beach ball. (Does that analogy make any sense whatsover? It's the sort of thing I would add on editing. Am I editing as I write now?) I thik I owe it to you whether you are real or not to try to read this thing from beginning to end 1)to see if it s possible 2) if it is not, then pull the plug. There is only one question. Will I do this? It seems like such a chore as opposed to the clackety clak of just writing and not worrying abut whether it makes much sense or not. But it seems the adult, responsible thing to do and I hereby pledge I will make every effort to read what I have wrouht and give you my honest opionion. I am not sure how I am going to do this. I already use caps for my editorial comments and there is no red color and I can't find the italics. So I think I will give every critical mass a catchy title like CRITICAL MASS 1. When I finish all my critical masses, we will set down and talk, mano a mano and decide what I should do. No I decide what I should do. You decide what YOU should do (like split) and either way this all becomes a bad dream. I was thinking yesterday about a blogg app (have I said this already) that turns all your other apps into miasmas of self-doubt. Books are becoming apps anyway and BLOGG has to stay current. If there is a you and if you are still reading, may the Lord shine his everloving light on you and may all your children grow up to be President, even if you don't have any. May your dog never pee on your rug and may love and understand lead to all the other things in the first two lines of THE AGE OF ACQARIUS that I don't remember. I have to go edit now.

Where?

I am in another place in a large room. There are strangers watching me type this. I must be wary that one does not look over my shoulder and steal a glance before this even gets posted. Would that be fair? Would that make you feel like a second class citizen when you are really beyond first class because you are reading BLOG? I have not even had my coffee yet though I almost dropped it due to the unfamiliarity of the surroundings. I am barraging you with details about my real life when previously I was barely admitting I have one if I do. There is an evil genie churning in me saying that I could tell you all the details of my life and it would make not one iota of difference since they are nearly as meaningless and boring as the details of BLOG. But no, at least for the time being I shall clutch my personal reality privately to my heart. It provides the fuel which enables me to transmogrify it into BLOGG, the keeper of all nothingness. It makes me feel like I am working on a secret government project. If BLOGG succeeds perhaps it can be turned into a weapon. Or an app. There could be a BLOGG app that takes the meaning out of your other apps so you personally can see what it feels like to spend your life churning this shit out. It ain't pretty. It's occasionally amusing (at least to me) but that's a high price for a human to pay. I must stop before I inadvertently reveal where I am an ruin everything regardless of the fact that it will have no effect. Care must be taken. This is fragile. Who is that large woman staring at me over her shoulder?

Vacation Wisdom

Vacating under circumstances, which, under the idiotic rules I've set up, I cannot really tell you about. I can tell you, however, that while the rule about only blogging about blogging seems ever more constricting and limiting, the alternative would seem to be generating into some sort of memoir or literary thing. Somthing significant has happened which I would like to share, but can't. I can only hope that it gets absorbed into my protoplasm in such a way that it comes out deciperhable when I go back to the usual shit when I get home and when I've forgotten about or are less stunned by the thing that happened. Alas, I guess that's all for now (vacation time). I am not editing while I am on vacation. The editing might quite possibly be even stupider than the material it is allegedly improving but it shows you that I recognize bad writing even when there's not much I can do except insult it. Lord, what kind of corner have I painted myself into and, most importantly why, This is not the Lord responding, but I think I do have an idea of why I am doing what I am doing though I am not certain I will ever be able to articulate it, which means it will fit right in here. Don't worry about me, fab 5, everything is really ok. Life issues have a way of worming their way even into idiotic pieces of prose which may or may not be blogs.

Pass the Suntan Lotion

The blogger is on vacation and while he should be emptying his brain of whatever sawdust remains in it, instead he is using these precious hours thinking of the special treats we have when he returns. I have to figure out how to work in a car being blown out of a skyscraper window.

New Post

The keeper of Blogg is leaving for a vacation today. If the wi-fi works he will fill you in on every boring detail of how it does not effect anything. If the wi-fi does not work you will probably not notice the difference since all this stuff is pretty much the same anyway whether there is a tree in the area or not. I am feeling more and more like this blog is heading somewhere but relative toward where it was going that could be a ditch and it would be progress. Am I social networking (with 5 people). I do not want to be social networking. It sounds like the old erector sets but with people instead of metal bars as the parts. I have nothing to say. This is not my normal "I have nothing to say." I mean I just hit a wall and can't think of a fucking thing to put in here. I have to prepare for my trip which is in real life and I have so little of it and am so excited at the prospect of having some that this thing just feels like the nothing it is. I have had many years of therapy and I am trying not to get angry at myself for the fact that at this point after wasting all this time (mine and yours) I can think of nothing to say. So I will take it a step further before I sign off. The fact that I have nothing to say does not mean that I am not thinking about things. But they have not yet passed through the espophagus where thinking turns to saying. You probably have more than enough to read anyway, especially if you are social networking and I have to pack. Adios.

The Death of Blogg

I just read in a highly respected serious magazine that the growth rate of blogs has slowed, died in some cases, while that of social networks like Facebook, has skyrocketed. I had previously threatened to look up "blog" on Wikopedia to find out if I was indeed blogging or doing something else like writing the history of 16th century Germany. It says (ok, it's The Economist) that blogs are "a confection of several things that do not necessarily have to go together, reverse cbronological ordering, a breezy writing style and the ability to comment. But for maintaining an online journal or sharing links and photos with friends, services such as Facebook and Twitter (which broadcasts short messages) are quicker and simpler."
Well. I could have a lot to say about this, starting with the fact that it probably represents the most blatant intrusion of "reality" into Blogg since it began and it may have killed the whole fucking thing. But it rings true on some things. My chronological order is indeed reversed, but the editing attempts to unreverse it. I leave the "breeziness" of my writing style to the reader's opinion. As for "the ability to comment," I don't know what the fuck they are talking about. S for sharing links and photos with friends, I don't have any friends. For that matter I don't think I have any photos beyond babyshots of my kids and the only links I have ever experienced have been composed of sausages.

You can always count on real life commentary to confuse things. I still don't really know what a blog is or if I am writing one and I am now much too pissed off to wander into the bogs of Wikopedia which probably is to reference books as Blogg is to blogs. Besides, does any of this shit matter? It's just definitions. Is everyone having a good time? That's what really matters. I am having an interesting time because I have no idea where this fucking thing is going, though my instincts, always a reliable indication of reality,tell me it is going somewhere and probably not where either of us think it is. Is five people a social network. Is "social network" the dumbest combination of two words in the English language. How about "purple incapacitation?" Toss-up.

So I have wasted an entire post in which I could have been repeating myself with a rational attempt to define things. It is no fun. I will not do it again. I do not care if BLOGG is a blog. It is more interesting than a blog. It is a schlogg- but to where, at this point, no one knows.

New Postette

Not that you would ever expect more, but expect less than usual today. Though I usually keep these security sensitive details to myself, I woke up at 5, there is no room left in my stomach for any more caffeine and i am still a wreck. I was so fucked up I cleaned my bathroom at 6 a.m. Enough. If Blogg security ever discovered I was telling you this, I could be castigated or even something worse as long as it has "ated" at the end.

The tiredness cuts both ways. The obvious one: why the fuck bother? and the one that only a true neurotic could even approach, "there is a message in this tiredess that ties in with the theme of the blog." With all due respect, I think the message is "take a nap," whihc now that it is almost 10 a.m. and I have been up for 5 hours and eaten two breakfasts, I feel permitted to do before I start the day if I ever get enough energy to start it. I apologize to my faithful following for not providing them with any new red herrings to filet but the body has its own demands regardless of the condition of the brain. Perhaps I shall nap and later come back at you with something indescribably brilliant. Perhaps my hard boiled eggs are ready. There is nothing worse than a runny hard boiled egg, except, perhaps, a blog with a purpose.

New Post

The hardest thing about trying to revivify this thing is that once you get into Part 2 it begs the question of whether there will be a part 3 to summarize it all for slow readers and also whether to really carry the thing out the window and have notes and maybe even an index. "Meaningless" would have thousands of entries. But we are nowhere near there and I sense, although it could be horse sense, a bend in the road, in fact a number of bends in the road, in fact, there may be just bends and no roads but that blogg is headed somewhere other than the electronic trash heap. In case you haven't noticed, I am walking a very fine line. The line is so fine that I can bearly make it out but it has something to do with doing something and not doing something at the same time. I know what I want to do and I will keep it secret because it suits me and its good for a dramatic narrative to have secrets. But as to whether I can do it, whether it can be done or whether it even exists-- these are questions that even a mind like mine can't answer. It has an interim answer. The interim answer is to keep writing and gradually the thing will reveal or not reveal itself. If it finally does reveal itself it will probably not surprise you and just be a variation on the same old shit. Or it may be a revelation. If it does not reveal itself, well, when you've set up the card table the way I have everybody loses anyway. The remarkable thing would be if anybody read enough of the thing to tell one way or the other.I have just noted that I am writing with the same style I would use if I had a purpose, if I had something to say or some information to convey. On a secular level, of course, I don't. This entire thing is bullshit. But I know my clackety clak index and the fact that the clacks are coming more rapidly tells me that something is happening. Perhaps I need to trim my nails. I leave with this message: if there is anyone who has been faithful and stupid enough to follow to this point, don't leave now. If the narrative rubber boat has carried you this far you might be about to enter a canoe. Or sink.

REVELATION

It's not a blog at all. It's just stuff. It's just stuff that I'm thinking that pops out like a bm. But electronica will not allow random thought. So it's a blog. It's really easy to blog. You don't even need training wheels. All you need is the alphabet. Sometimes a subject helps so I have one-- what is a blog. No one will ever know if I am right or wrong in my definition since no one knows exactly what it is. What a relief. Now on to the serious stuff.

Yawn

My age-induced periodic insomnia has me work at an obscenely early hour, wondering wheher that will affect the content of what I say, as if there were any. At any rate, getting the no content off your chest early in the morning lightens one's existential load and paves the way for a meaningful day.

There is a subtle (am I capable of being subtle about anything?) difference between part one and part two of blogg which perhaps one or two of my favorite five may have noticed. Attitude when we began: "I'm going to create something as original as Ulyses." Atitude at end of part one when we too a hiatus of a month or so. "This sucks. It's meaningless (meaningless in its meaninglessness in its writing, not the deliberate meaninglessness of the concept). I'm tired and bored and why would anyone in their right mind, or wrong mind, for that matter, want to read this when there are so many other more pleasant, more distracting goodies, many with moving images featuring celebrities available on the web." Atitude upon resumption. "I don't give a fuck. I'm just doing it."

Now that we have that out of the way we might ask ourselves what, precisely, I think I am doing since I have just said that writing about meaninglessness sucks. But that's not completely true. Writing about meaninglessness in a boring way sucks. Writing about meaningless in a perky, interesting way is a sort of meaningful meaninglessness that can affect our perception of prose in general. It also gives me something to do when I get up early. Have you noticed the influence of the hour? I have no boundaries but now it's almost like I have no clock either.

I admitted a few posts ago that I have no real idea (does anyone?) what a blog is and that I was going to look it up on the source of all knowledge, Wikopedia, to find out. I have not done that for a number of reasons, the two most significant of which are that I don't give a shit and I forgot. But I may yet get there so I can gave you the state-of-the-art definition of all you are not getting by reading this.
I wish there were an app where the keys on your computer could be pressed down simultaneously with mine so you could feel the tactile joy of writing this even if has some defects in other departments. It really does feel like you are doing something.

I want to end on a semi-religious note. Most religious services (IDIOTIC GENERALIZATION--I DID THE EDIT SIMULTANEOUSLY WITH THE WRITING, A FIRST) are endless. This does not make them any less stupid but eventually they wear you down to the point where you may say something like, "All right I believe in the fucking Lord. He is a great guy and I am a shit. Can I go home now? Blogg will march on until it hits that apocalyptic moment and I have ruined the lives of millions and possibly brought down Western civilization, or at least the internet. And you, because you were one of the first brave ones to venture down this path,will have the joy of grinning at your friends as they disintegrate because they have no idea of what the fuck is really going on.

Maybe it's a Diary

Having posed the question of how I can possibly write a blog without knowing for certain what it is, what do I do now? Is this a blog because it appears on blogger? Because it sounds like a blog? Smells like a blog or what? Definition time. Later today perhaps, if I have the time, I shall look in Wikopedia, the source of all knowledge to see what they have to say about blogs. Do they know who wrote the first one? Do they know why blogs are called blogs and not clogs (too much shoe confusion).Do they know if as many people read them as write them? Do they talk about the great satisfaction it gives to clackety clak along the keyboard with very little regard for the leter formations the claking forms. Perhaps this isn't a blog. Or even a clog. It's my instinctive guess as to what I think a blog is which is somewhere between a diary and a lemon. It bypasses the publishing process by allowing the blogger to say things much more idiotic than he would ever show an editor. "I think you're not clear about the fact that you don't know what you're doing. Can we get a little more of that. Also can you think of ten questions we can give to columnists to ask you to encourage them to do a piece on your blog?"
I'm nothing if not cooperative. "Certainly."
1) Were you groped during childhood?
2) Did you harbor any unnatural feelings toward any of your teachers or their families?
3)Did fame always seem inevitable to you?
4) If we could only publish your blog in pig Latin would you be willing to put in the time necessary to translate?
5) How often to you wash your hair?
6)Have you ever used a hotplate. Describe the circumstances.
7) Since electrons are immortal do you think your blog is immortal. If not, how would one go about killing it?
8) If your computer made no noise when you pressed down the keys would you still be writing this?
9) Could you write a two thousand word essay on the function of dogs.
10) Do you think the name Henry will ever be popular again.

No time for edits now, maybe later. Control yourselves. You are grown-ups.

Whither. Wither

No corrections of old posts today as I am doing this one p.m. as opposed to the usual a.m. and don't have the patience, a piece of information which will no doubt change your life. The writing a blog about writing a blog with no content is a fraud. It is full of content. It is full of me. It is full of my faux attempts at withholding while I reveal myself in all my splendor. It is because of an atrophying brain which is capable of only limited narrative at this point and must use that at work or I will be utterly useless as opposed to occasionally useful. A good sentence is a good sentence whether it means anything or not. A good sentence that means nothing is better than a good sentence that means something since it has so much less to work with and leaves the narrator with so much more to do. This requires and example: Good sentence that means something: The dog finished his dinner. Good sentence that means nothing: The dog finished the letter, put a stamp on it, walked to the nearest mailbox and posted it.

What does this have to do with blogs? That was a good question that means something. What does this have to do with kumquats. That was a good question that means not very much. In that case what is a bad question. A bad question is why did the yellow bird shower his lemon jello all over the steaming asphalt? Try answering the meaningful questions, the good ones and the bad ones, then figure out what it all has to do with blogs. When you know, comment me.

Part 2 marches on

Something has happened to the blog form I produce this on which may have serious consequences regarding my decision to edit two old blogs for each new one I produce so I may catch up to the present. What will I do when I catch up to the present and why am I trying to get there? I have no idea. In my deluded mind I might think I am creating some kind of new creative form. Or maybe a can eliminate a few of the thousands of repetitions. But the blogger now keeps sending me back to the blog I just edited so I can only do one at a time unless I log on and off which seems effortful. It is typical of the trouble I get into with computers when they start acting like dumb puppies (or I start acting like a dumb puppy). I mean where you do the same thing 7000 times in a row and on 70001st time something different happens for no particular reason. What can you do? Either I will go back and log in again or I will just edit one blog at a time which, given the dubious benefit of the edits, probably won't matter much although I do enjoy inserting sarcastic capital letters as if I were an actual human being coming upon this thing for the first time. That said, it aroused such a fury in me, I have no idea what I was going to say in this new post. The newfound determination continues as does the ferocious new blank space where the content should lie. Why. I think in my last entry I said "why?" is the last question one should ask. I could apply that to my displeasure with my forgettin what I was going to blog about before the technical fuck-up, assuming I knew, which is not at all certain. As a matter of fact, I may be hiding behind the technical fuck-up because I had no idea what I was going to say, which of course says something. I think we should call it a wash- I may actually have some to do which would be a much more valuable expenditure of time than writing this thing. I shall try one more time to edit a past blog. Few of my followers (saying I have followers make me feel like a biblical prophet) will know the difference anyway, nor, for that matter, will I probably. So thank you for your time and patience. I shall try to inject renewed fury tomorrow to make up for this waddle.

A Bit of History

The blog rreaches reach far into the roots of my family. References to it can be seen in family albums and diaries from the nineteenth century: "That was no bluefish, maybe it was a blog" (we were a nautical family). Blog jokes were especially popular among the young: "What goes bloak, bloak?" My Aunt Estelle who was given to hallucinations, started a blog in the 1930s before she was hospitalized, her last words, as she was wheeled out the door being, "You'll see. You'll all see. Then we'll see who's laughing." My own son, when he was two rode toy trucks across the computer keyboard. Of course, this was in the 1979s before computers were a home item or even existed for that matter but it shows that the genomes were already present. My son currently does not blog nor is he mentioned in BLOGG, but there is a natural shyness that runs through my family and we like to keep personal matters to ourselves. It was a very short period of time between when I first learned about blogs and they were beyong my comprehension. That may be the space we are occupying now. I bring up my family history not for the sympathy of the readers, if there are any, but just as an example how lines from it may be written across your grandchildren's cofee cups and you will have both hands on your ears and will be saying, "Oh Lord, what have I done?" Relax. You are forgiven. At least by me and whatever powers of forgiveness I have to grant. It is good to be forgiven. It took my wife a long time but I think she really did forgive me for the lime green Honda I bought in 1987, a great forgiveness, considering that her first reaction was, "I will not drive this grasshopper turd without wearing a blindfold." We currently have a black Toyota and aside from killing three teen=agers because the brakes don't work, there are not problems.

As I sit here in my writing room (I really do not have a writing room. It is my living room and I am sitting on a sofa with a laptop waxing romantic),I notice strange objects all around me: a rectanular black and white rug and a round re and yellow one. Is there any particular reason for these shapes? Nothing we can ascertain with the level of knowledge our race has achieved thus far. The room has four plants and all I have to do is water them periodically and they are conent. Is there not a lesson to be learned from that? Or from the doorknob with a Trader Joe's shopping bag filled with my tax returns hanging from it. Not to mention electronic keyboards, a round lass table with two black fake leather chairs. Two green tables which my wife said were uglier than the Honda. A round telephone table with a black telehone which has been waiting a year and a half for its audition. I do not count wrong numbers. A television with a large screen, a lamp, two picutres which are really framed wrapping paper, two red floral pillows one of which I am leaning on as I write this so I do not totally destroy my back. There are book cases that contain many titles and not just books, cds and dvds as well. There is a glass vase that contains all my ipod minis and their headphones hopelessly tangled together, a picture of my son a t about age 10 perchd in a corner of he window, the NY Times from the last two days which must be taken to the garbage, the tv and dv remote which lie silently on the green table, piles of white and black wires and extensions which were hastily assembled by son. They make this blog, my email and my life possible but I have no idea which one is connected to what and when they periodically go off as electronic appliances are wont to do, I feel a loneliness and despair that is indescribable, being cut off from the whole electronic human race. And these are just the quiet things, The expensive bose stereo is playing Pandor which now features advertisements from Carnegie Hall. I want to ask my psychiatrist why relaxing music makes me tense-- can it just be anticipation of relaxation disorder. I have no problem with loud music that I hate because I can just turn it off and it is gone and I don't have to think about it anymore. I know I have left out more things than I have mentioned, although truth be told I do not have that many things. There are some of you (if there are any of you) who are wondering why I am voluteering all this personal information. Indeed, sometimes I wonder myself, But I see that here in part 2 stronger measures are called for as we said to Elysium together. It is not impossible that I will subsequently itemize for you in a smiliar manner the items in my kitchen, closets, bedroom and bathroom. A great number of those are disgusting but I hardly see them. I have more important fish to fry.

REVELATION

I realize why writing BLOGG is so difficult. I HAVE NO FUCKING IDEA WHAT A BLOG IS. So I've just cobbled this thing together, based on a thin, idiotic premise, linked it to facebook and twitter and every morning wait for my life to change in some profound manner. I don't understand when people say things like "you can look it up on their blog." You can't really look anything up on my blog. It just drones on endlessly and annoyingly. Yet, having sort of let it peter out once, I am back. What the fuck am I doing? If I can write why aren't I spending this time working on a real novel or story. Why do I feel as if I am talking to someone when I don't even know whether the three or four people who are allegedly following this blog exist and if they exist if they read it. And who is anonymous who sent me two positive comments. My mother has been dead for many years. These questions, which if you think about it very carefully (which would be easier to do if you were, say, a rock) will be the subject of part 2 of BLOGG. Sometimes why should be the last question you ask.

Part 2 continued yet again

At some point the author will change all references to Literal Ally, which was an attempt to be witty but ended up simply being a misspelling of literally to BLOGG which sounds like a frog which somehow seems appropriate. This morning, true to his word, the author went back and edited two earlier entries so if he keeps doing this eventually he will surpass the present and be editing entries he hasn't even written yet. In Part 2, the reasons for writing the blog are assumed. If you are this far into into you are sick enough to require no explanation. Connections are likely to be more vague and essays on subjects that have nothing to do with the blog may appear. Or not. But the main thing is that we are here attempting to learn why.

More Part 2

I was going to announce that because of mathematical calculations that took me weeks I realized that if I wrote a blog a day and edited an old blog a day I would never get anywhere. So I decided I would edit two old blogs a day but then I did one and it was quite effortful so I think I will start tomorrow. This is a strange morning. I am waking up at 5 again which changes the complexion of the day. May I go to sleep now although it's only 7 a.m. Waking this early does effect my mind however, making it much more succeptible to supernatural syntactical creatures who I will no doubt edit out. So why am I doing a part 2. I stopped the blog because I realized that saying nothing repeatedly was getting boring. I am now past the boredom into another state that is so stupid it doesn't even have a name. I shall call it Rudolfology for no particular reason. Now it has a name. Since I awakened so early I assume you (if there is a you to assume) will not mind if I call it quits, eat my oatmeal, read the newspaper and prepare for a day which to a person who did not know me might appear to have more significance than what I am writing. Let's let it be our little joke and hope they are from LA.

More Part 2

ANOTHER NEW POST

Third day, I think, of Part 2, which is going to be quite different from part 1 and not just because it has a different number. By this point the frisson (I know I am using this word incorrectly) of part one is gone. I started thinking I was going somewhere even if the somewhere was nowhere. I thought it would prove an interesting trip and there was a .0001 per cent chance that it was a work of genius and a .000000004 per cent chance that I would get more than three readers. I have, if google's statistics are to be believed (they don't tell you or at least I have not discovered) how they calculate them.

The operative words for Part 2 are FUCK IT. I don't know what I am doing, why I am doing it or why I would expect anyone to care. Maybe it's like scratching pictures on a prison wall with a purloined fork- another one of my spectacularly inappropriate analogies. This one isn't even near miss. It's not near anything. But, if I may close on an Einsteinian note (ha!) this all could have something to do with the dark matter of the universe. According to my knowledge of physics which is about as good as my knowledge of everything else, scientists can't agree what the dark matter is or what it does but without it there would be no universe. Now there's a premise that's almost as stupid as the one that motivates this blog.

NEW POST

Ihave done it. At last. By not blogging for a few weeks I have forgotten everything i ever said so I can say it again, even though I will probably have to discard it when I edit. BUT I WILL HAVE FORGOTTEN WHAT I EDITED TO. I live in a free world. I'm not sure I even know what a fucking blog is any more, if I ever did. If I do this long enough, it could become novel length. That must prove something. Perhaps in the forthcoming entries I will discuss the differences between novels and blogs or perhaps peanut butter and avocadoes. I hear cheering throngs-- or is it tintinitus. Welcome home. We knew it was just a tactical retreat and you would never abandon us. Lonely are the brave.

Sunny Sunday

We shall ease into part 2, blowing on its tentative ember to see if we can make it flame. I now no longer have nothing to say, even about having nothing to say, having said it in the previous entries. So what on earth can be left? Nada. This assumes, however, that the blogger has a rational mind-- and that nothingness has but one level. What is good is that this is the first time since the beginnng where I truly have no idea what I am going to say when I start-- or even if I am going to start, not to mention why.It's like I've taken a cold shower after rolling in the mud. I think my analogies need refinement. Have a nice day.

THIS CANNOT GO ON

I am back, having read about half of my posts and finding the bulk of them utterly without meaning or reason for existence and not even very funny. So why am I back, for at least one day. Because I miss the clickety clak. It feels really good. I am listening to a cd called "The World's 40 Greatest Marches." Perhaps in this segment I will let you in on all the secrets of my personal life. Right now that's the only one I have. Go in peace.

Part 2

Beware. It may be back. The logical inconsistency of stopping it finally hit me. It may change or it may not. It may go somewhere completely different, but trust me, it will be fun. I need to think about this overnight. Check in tomorrow.

ePHASE TWO

WHAT A TREAT. A TWO-LINE ENTRY TO EDIT. OF THE TWO LINES, THE SECOND MAKES NO SENSE TO ME BUT THAT MEANS I AM BATTING 500 WHICH IS IMPRESSIVE. PERHAPS THE EDIT IS LONGER THAN THE ENTRY. DOES THAT PROVE SOMETHING? I SHOULD NOT BE SO FRIVOLOUS ABOUT THE ISSUE OF WHETHER THIS WRITER SHOULD OR SHOULD NOT CONTINUE WRITING THIS PIECE OF SHIT. HE OBVIOUSLY IS GIVING IT GREAT THOUGHT AND TAKING UP A LOT OF HIS TIME. PERHAPS HE IS A FISH SCALER IN HIS REAL LIFE AND WE WILL NOW HAVE THOUSANDS OF FISH WHICH WILL NOT BE SCALED PROPERLY WHILE HE DECIDES. I WILL SNEAK AWAY BEFORE HE NOTICES ME.Seriously thinking of starting up again for reasons to be divulged if I do. Make sure you have lots of canned food and flashlight batteries

REVISIONS

Don't look back but I have been assiduously revising almost all my posts, which means if you read them once you might want to read them again to see if they are any better. Most of the revisions are quite simple-- a word here, a line there. It's when I GET INTO CAPITAL LETTERS and start disparaging the entire venture where I really don't know what I am doing or what I am trying to accomplish. It's as if if I revised this enough it would turn into something real beyond its idiotic masturbatorial premise. The fact that I have taken a new post to tell you this is not a good sign if you thought you were through with me. I am feeling perverse. I may just write some more posts because I can and in my own twisted logical fashion they are saying something. My overall take on what I have read so far is one of abject disappointment. Not nearly funny or significant enough. I have not learned the hat trick and don't really know whether it can be done and if so why. On the other hand there were a couple of good lines and riffs here and there so it's not totally hopeless. In a rare personal aside I can tell you that the rest of my life has been pretty much a disaster during this silence and getting back into it might just function as a sort of B=12 shot, which might not necessarily make for absorbing reading but if it makes me feel better, who the fuck cares what YOU think? Don't insult your audience. You're back to four and I actually got an anonymous comment (at least so they said) from someone who though this was weird fun. So don't forget that even if I get pissed off periodically, I love everybody. I love the world. I love doing this. Sometimes asking why only causes trouble.IT'S A FEW WEEKS LATER. I HAD SORT OF ABANDONED THIS VENTURE BECAUSE IT CAN'T GO ANYWHERE. NOW I AM HAVING SECOND THOUGHTS ABOUT MY SECOND THOUGHTS. THE FACT THAT IT CAN'T GO ANYWHERE IS WHAT MAKES IT WORTH DOING IN THE FIRST PLACE IF IT IS WORTH DOING (Shall I ask my now down-to-three followers?) AT ANY RATE THE REVISIONS WILL HAVE TO BE REVISED.THEY ARE DREADFUL-- WORSE THAN THE ACTUAL TEXT. WATCH THIS SPACE.THE FAT LADY MAY NOT HAVE SUNG.

PLAY IT AGAIN, SAM

If you loved this particular inane post, read it again. I've moved the inanity around a little. Have a nice day.

ALZHEIMERS

I just edited another earlier post and it was not nearly as bad as others I have edited. Editing a blog about nothing is an experience that can be as interesting as writing a blog about nothing and writing about the editing may get us through this interminable dry period.

Another Goodbye

I just edited an earlier post. It was worse than my wildest dreams. I thought I would pass that along. I will only post my reaction to edits when they are truly dreadful or truly outstanding, which seems about as likely as a fish doing the macarena.

last post

For reasons far to complicated to explain this may be my last post. The rocket ship doors are sliding shit and I fear a long and tortuous journey. Farewell to my loyal friends and God Bless whatever deserves to be blessed.

p.s. it is not inconceivable that revisions to older posts might still continue.

EDREGS

IT'S INCREDIBLE HOW I GO TO THE POST BEFORE THE LAST ONE I EDITED AND A DIFFERENT ONE IS THERE. I DON'T NOW WHAT THE FUCK I AM DOING. MAYBE THS IS POST-MODERN. OK, the thrill is gone. Being blogg for a month or two did not give me a blue uniform and a red cap.It did not improve my writing skills or increase my popularity.It underscored to me the difficulty of REAL writing, which, if I have the courage, I may attempt again. But it will be about something. The nothing/something is wading pool existentialism because the something you are avoiding isn't really anything to begin with. YES IT IS, IT'S NOTHING. We don't even know if blogs are anything to begin with other than ego and klackety klak.So we call it a day. Nice experiment. The best thing about it is having a half-hour built in to the beginning of your day, like praying, where you know exactly what you are going to do. I could throw in a couple of ENDs and FINISs now but, knowing myself, even though I am declaring blogg over, I will probably spend as much time on the concept of "over" as I did on the concept of blogg- probably to give you a fruitful end. I am, however, going to continue going back and reading and editing: first, because I had misspellings, repetitions and any writing that is less than the best I can do which isn't that great in the first place. And second because I may discover ingots in the earlier posts which can be blown back into flames and will postpone the end, not that the results of it are likely to be very different. I could go on for paragraphs thanking the keyboard and shit like that so why don't we call it a day (for now, still a day, not a blogg) and I will go back and re-examine my buried treasures while you (assuming there is anyone out there decide why you have spent all this time reading this shit. I AM STARTING TO GET THE IDEA THAT HE IS GOING TO GO BACK AND EDIT SOME OF HIS EARLIER POSTS FOR SOME REASON. DOES ANYONE ELSE HAVE THAT FEELING?

eBAGELS

AS SAID BEFORE AND WILL BE SAID AGAIN I HAVE TOTALLY LOST TRACK OF WHAT I HAVE EDITED AND WHAT I HAVE NOT EXCEPT FOR THE E'S I SOMETIMES REMMBER TO INSERT AFTER THE EDITS. BUT SINCE THE EDITS ARE SO MEANINGLESS AND DUMB AND JUST ADD ANOTHER LAYER OF NOTHING, WHO CARES? ONWARDS.Another illicit glimpse into the personal life of blogg, although he rarely has bagels for breakfast, though that is no less a personal glimpse than if he did. The point is that he blogs first thing in the morning and that is true. When we started, blogg assumed that providing a good text was the key and the process secondary. Midway (a quarter of the way? three quarters of the way?) blogg realizes that he has come to enjoy the process of blogging much more than the content of the blog, which may be part of the popularity of the process. We have spoken ad nauseum of the klackety klack. But there is also the logging on, the foolish questions about do you want to post now-- no, I want to engage in sex with a starlet, the semi-thinking about the blog during morning meditation and the semi-thinking about how one shouldn't think about anything but meditation during the morning meditiation. The fleeting feeling that so few people are going to read this, why bother? The strong feeling that that's precisely why. A blog is an appetizer for a meal that never comes. It is letting strangers in to your underwear buying process. It is a chess game with no checkmate, just an infinite series of checks. It bears neither more nor less importance to the other things in the rest of your life since when you die, your blog, your book, your symphony, yourself go somewhere out of your control. It is the effort of appearing effortless about something that requires a great deal of effort. It is trying to reason your way through an unreasonable process. It is a psychologist's field day. I don't know what it is but I do know it is something or I would not have just typed the word something. Something includes nothing. Nothing does not include something. A Greek must have said something (nothing) like that. It is he end of today's lesson. Tomorrow will be growing tomatoes in inhospitable climates.ONE OF OUR BETTER ENTRIES, NO?

EBACK FROM THE MUZZLE

SOMEWHERE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE OUT OF ORDER AND NOW UTERLY USELESS EDIT.I akipped another day yesterday for personal reasons (that you will never know about, ha). But this was a scarier skip than the previous one-- a why the fuck go on with this, no one is ever going to see it skip.OH MY GOD! I had to pull myself back into the middle ages (literally and figuratively) and remember that there was a time that people wrote things because they wanted to or thought they should be written and sudience was the furthest thing from their mind. Audience was not the furthest thing from my mind when I skipped yesterday, but today I feel a hale and hearty fuck the audience. I have given myself a job to do-- write intelligently and obscurely in a medium I hardly understand- and I am going to achieve my end even if it ends me. Now that I have made that clear, I have nothing to say, which is how things should be. No I do have something to say.I have the determination to say nothing. Nothing is the lack of something. But are particular nothings the lack of particular somethings or are the terms all generic: there is one nothing and one something. I do not know this yet. Perhaps I may discover some clues in the writing of Blogg. Having nothing to say seems to have stopped very few people on the web even though their nothings are allegedly about somethings but anyone with half a brain knows they are just ego-driven bullshit. Blogg is at least open about it, but will undoubtedly be tossed off by all the people writing critical things on twitter. Blogg will stick around for a while like one of those melodies you don't really like or don't like. but just can't get out of your head. It will not die for lack of substance. It may die for lack of trying, but I have jumped another hump and perhaps with each hump I jump the job gets a tad easier. Or not.CAN I STOP POINTING OUT INCOMPREHENSIBILITY AND JUST LEAVE IT THERE TO ROT. IT'S A BORING EDIT.

eHARD

NO MORE MENTION OF FACT THAT I DON'T KNOW WHERE THE FUCK I AM IN THE EDITING PROCESS. What I have learned: writing about nothing is much harder than writing about something. There are always more things to write about: people, scenery, cars, feeling, but when you eliminate them all because you are going to blog about blogging and nothing else, your mind freezes because it has nothing to seize on but itself. This can sometimes lead to a state of depression. Why aren't I writing about my first water polo experience (maybe because I have never played water polo). How much time am I going to waste continuing this nonsense, time that could be better spent with other nonsense which under my rules I cannot enumerate. Just be assured that it would be a very high class of nonsense and you would be very impressed, if not stunned. I was confident when I began this that I could do it indefinitely, careening off events without saying what they were. It's harder than I thought and the events I would be careening off aren't that interesting so I don't have much incentive to feel bad about careening off nothing at all.I AM NOT CERTAIN WHETHER THIS ALL MAKES SENSE OR CONTRADICTS ITSELF A valedictory note has crept into my last few posts. I think I said it was the beginning of the end recently and it might be the middle of the end now. A lot will depend on what editing the old posts shows me- either that this is much cooler than I realize or that the whole thing is a waste.OR THAT YOU REALLY LIKE THE SOUND O CLACKETY CAK I can't even figure out whether I should tell you to read THIS front to back, back to front or sideways.WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THER WOULD BE A DIFERENCE AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK ANYBODY WOULD LISTEN TO ANYTHING YOU SAY AT THIS POINT? THE AUTHOR BEARS NO RESONSIBILITY FOR THE NONSENSE THAT FOLLOWS, HIS MOTHER WROTE IT, OR THE DOG. Maybe every other sentence. If I wrote not another word, I would have proven something though not necessarily something worth proving. But I have written another word: gargoyle. So I am good for now.

eTHE BEGINNING OF THE END CONTINUES

I DON'T KNOW IF THE FCT THAT I AM EDITING OUT OF ORDER MAKES THE EXERCISE UESELESS OF MORE INTERESTING BUT I DO NO HAVE THE TECHNICAL FACILITY TO MODIFY WHAT I AM DOING SO GOOD MORNING , AMERICA. I unblogged yesterday the beginning of the end.WHAT ON EARTH DOEST THAT MEAN? Did I finally run out of nothing to say or grow discouraged at the thought that it was unlikely that more than a few people would ever read my nothings? All these things are true, but no truer than I anticipated when I started.THIS IS KNOWN AS RETARDED PRESCIENCE I have thought there might be some questions you might want to ask me: 1) Why are you doing this. A. I had no idea what blogging was like. It seemed worth giving it a shot, as if it were a new kind of verbal rollerblading. 2) Couldn't you determine, say, in ten or less posts that this was going to go nowhere? A. Precisely the purpose, right on target, except there is no target other than to keep the words flowing and reasonably interesting.THIS DOES NOT ANSWER THE QUESTION AND THE POSTS ARE NOT REASONABLY INTERESTING. MOST OF THEM SUCK 3) Are they interesting? A.I don't know. I haven'T read most of them. As I go back and edit I find some more interesting than others but I haven't read enough to give the whole enterprise a passing or failing grade.YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MANY MILLIONS OF PEOPLE ARE RELIEVED TO HEAR THIS 4) Have you reached the end of the line? A. Quite possibly, but I have beEn here before and the line does tend to twist and turn. There is a fat lady in the audience but she hasn't sung yet. 5) Will you stop at any particular point? A. I was thinking about death but assuming that is more than, say, a year off, it will probably be well before that.OH PLEASE LET IT BE SOONER. PLEASE DIE, PLEASE. Blogg will stop when it seems strained and boring to the author who is an expert in detecting these things. HE MAKES A MEAN CHOCOLATE MILSHAKE TOO. The jury is still out.WHEN DID YOU SAY IT WAS IN? 6) When you stop, will you regard the whole thing as having been a waste of time. A. What would I have been doing with this time? I might have been strangling small children. Enough of your stupid questions. Why don't we just let today be today and you can chew on your bloggy sustenance while I go back and trim the fat off what I have previously wrought. I DO THINK A PRO AND CON ARGUMENT ON THE MERITS OF STRANGLING SMALL CHILDREN IS IN ORDER FIRIST. If you are still reading, the one question author would ask with all these negatives floating around is why.BECAUSE WE WANT TO SEE IF THE TERM ASSHOLE IS FINITE. Ah, sweet mystery....

SKIP THIS ONE

Blogg is in a b.m. and there's no point subjecting anyone else to it. Explanations may or may not follow.

SHOOTING BLANKS

A morning so average in everyway, it's absolutely extraordinary. Early awakening, same cloud formations as we've had the last few days, various thoughts including some about blogg flitting in and out during medititation and now that we are actually in the ring a sense of abject terror that this will be the round that knocks blogg out. In effect it should be blogg's triumph- the power of nothing. But once you've said "the power of nothing,"what more can you say. Would you like to hear some specific things about nothing's power. It is unable to write anything except the sentence it is working on and that has to be without meaning. It creates an idiotic sense of tension in the writer that he has run out of things to say when he never had anything to say in the first place. It makes blogg feel that no matter how much it pushes, it is basically stuck in reverse but one fool is trying to push it up the mountain anywhere. And if the fool is strong enough to reach the top of the mountain, what will he do? He will get out of the car, stretch, yawn, then scream at the top of his lungs, "I'M ON TOP OF THE FUCKING MOUNTAIN." What will he do then, his purpose for existence achieved. He could (and this is just a hypothetical suggestion so don't run for the exits quite yet) somehow turn the car around, switch gears and drive down the mountain. And with each mile he would tell you more and more intimate things about himself and knowledgeable factors about the real world we inhabit until by the time we got to ground level, you would be a walking Wikopedia, just bursting at the seams with facts, as opposed to knowledge and wisdom. You would have achieved the knowledge in making the trip. You would have attained the wisdom in finishing it. Blogg has no idea if any of these attributes really exist and blogg currently has no plans to reveal the intimate details of his life to strangers because they could be embarrassing and would be boring. So like an endless root canal we just continue. Blogg ends when author ends blogg. Points may or not be made. This may take a little time or a long time. Facts about the author's life may or may not be revealed. What the author knows is that if blog has any conclusion that conclusion will not be revealed until the last word. It could be "bean" or "virus." I could fill pages of posts with potential last words then back my prose into them. And why would anyone undertake something so idiotic-- to make some fetid point about the meaninglessness of words, a point that could have been made much more easily by the author keeping his mouth shit and never starting blogg. Anyway, the view is nice up here.There's just about enough room to turn the car around. But there are also roads veering off in different direction. And blogg has no gps, so each road must be examined carefully and manually. This could take years.

BETWEEN THE LINES

What ever happened to the aphorisms that were supposed to start off each entry? They've been mostly replaced by title-lets, another step in the unvelopment of blogg as it becomes the thing it was always meant to become. Take the notion of excluding the external world. Author has never asked himself why-- to blog pure blog seems like a limp response. Because the author's external world is not as interesting as the lack of his external world? Possible. But any intelligent person ought to be able to read between the lines (I'm not sure I can) and glean as much personal information about author by what he leaves out, as opposed to what he includes. If author were King of Siam, and Olympic Gold Cup winner and an Oscar winner for Best Actor, it is unlikely he would choose this fetid format. He would choose something cooly casual where he could boast and leave the reader thinking, "What a genius and what a nice guy." So we now have five facts and aspects of personality that we can eliminate from the competition 9king of Siam, Gold Cup Winner, Best Actor, genius and nice guy.) A truly thorough reading (of which I am not asking anyone, myself includded)would probably result in the elimination of hundreds, if not thousands of the author's personality traits, leaving behind the dregs which form the author's life in the so-called real world. This seems appropriate for a blog, as opposed to a story in which the reader might end up actually experiencing a facsimile, or a part of a facsimile of the author's corporeal existence. The reason for doing it this way, as opposed to the unending joy of clickety clack remains as specious as ever. But (and this is a personal thing) author feels he is revealing himself more and more by not revealing himself. It's a kind of reverse striptease, where you start nude and gradually adorn yourself. It is not very erotic, or in this case, esthetic. But it is something. On page whatever this is, we have the detection of motion of a sort which might even go somewhere, which is what blogg was hoping for when it was just a little clack. In that case, the entire foregoing entries are a kind of foreplay to get me to the point where less is truly more and reader is revealed my most intimate secrets-- something well worth waiting for and tellable in no other way since author himself is unaware of what they are until he reads them along with you. We shall see. I hope violence rears its ugly but interesting head somewhere along the way. But not religion.

DOTS

BLOGG actually remembered some of wnat he wrote yesterday, probably because part of it was an edit of something he had written previously. It was about dots and about how if you stared at them and they and you did nothing else, they could still be interesting by virtue of their dotness and their relationship with you-- where did that meaning come from and what did it mean? All this by way of another thrust up Mt. Blogg, home of Meaningless Volcano. I see that I was considering abandoning Blogg not because it was saying the same thing again and again but because the message, at least on the surface seemed utterly without value and meaning. Who am I to judge what is valuable and meaningful. Blogg is my dot. You look at it and you create whatever value and meaning you wish, or you abandon it if it is not creating enough for you. The dot is a mirrored dot reflecting back images of you looking at BLOGG. What meaning does that image hold for you? It means shit to me, but then again, I'm not you. I won't know what it means to me fully until I finish, if I ever do, but it just occured to me that a rule implicit in this enterprise is that it never be finished but be in a perpetual state of almost finishment-- a serious state where the frustrations of the author are so real that termination seems utterly possible,. Author can't say he will never finish. Never is a long, long time. But he can say he will never stop because of the meaninglessness of the project. If anything that will spur him on to new depths. Blogg will continue to icily reflect on itself seeking to find out if there is anything knowable from an idiotic premise.There is painfully little information to have and with ipads and kindles there is entirely too much mindless information crashing into the shore already.Blogg waves are like those of a crystalline wave.You can look back fifty feet and see the same kind of wave containing the same level of silt coming at you as you did with the one before and the one before that. It will splash in sightly above your ankle so your shorts are safe. It is a sunny day. But we must hope the sun does not get so strong that it takes us away from BLOGG and places us indoors where sanity and conventionality rule. I have not yet thought if fish work in this analogy.

DOES THE END EVER END?

Some sort of assessment is in order. Blogg started out (a few names ago) as an experient of the author's to discover what "blogginess" felt like. Felt like to write and offered it as a potential reading experience to whoever might stumble upon it. The standard used was that as long as the author felt interested enough to keep writing it, there must be something in it worth reading,if only by the author, to praise his own writing ability. The rule about not having the author's personal life intrude seemed essential at the beginning in order to distill the essence of pure blog and not degenerate into autobiography, memoir or limerick. What is becoming apparent is that if you remove biographical incident from the author's life, fiction and what have you, what you are left with is post after post about how the posts are meaningless but the author intends to keep posting them because the meaningless is the meaning. It's German philosophy lite. The author's barometer has always been his low threshold for boredom. The moment he gets bored, there is something radically wrong with the narrative that must be righted or he will stop the narrative. The author finds boring writing a great personal embarrassment, whereas stupid, meaningless writing can have their place, can be amusing and, taking a step back, even serfious in a manner of speaking. The author wanted to experience the writing of a blog and share it. He did not want to share the content. He just wanted to share the experience. Somewhere in his mottled brain he assumed it would go somewhere interesting for him and for the reader. But this does not seem to have been the case. It's endless repetetion in sightly different forms of the initial idea. The point, if there was one to prove, has been proven. This sucks. If the author wasnts to write, limericks about vegetables, which he actually wrote (oops, broke the fucking meaningless rule) a few decades ago would be preferable to this.
I could end the agony now and just say, "this is it." End of blogg. We are fast approaching that moment. But while the author has been disappointed in the result of his experience, he has enjoyed the experience itself of clickety clacking about anything for fifteen minutes after his coffee and morning meditation. He hates the thought of giving this up and wonders if there is a variation in the blog format that he could find which would keep him clacking and smiling but would not be so offensively stupid that it would be embarrassing. We are out on a thin limb that overlooks a deep cliff, so we shouldn't expect too much. But sometimes desperation is a good instructor. One of the author's meditation books said that every time the meditator came off his breath and back to the mind, it should not be looked on as a failure but an opportunity to improve one's meditation. So blogg again asks to be cut some slack even if it is terminal. I clack therefore I am.

DISCOURAGEMENT IS WHEN THERE IS SOMETHING IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

I think we are starting to hit the dregs of the dregs. In a desperate, but misguided attempt to find something new, I decided to go back and edit an old post before writing this one, the idea being that there would be something wonderful or terrible I could pick up on rather than "This doesn't mean anything." I am now doubly discouraged. All the posts are stupid but the one I landed on seemed to be in the back row or out of the classroom. Something about a dog and flowers which give wasting space a bad name and now puts me out in front of the crowd with nothing new to say but also without the hope that when I go back to edit, I will find some hidden treasure. This reminds me of a man with some sort of terminal disease trying, unsuccessfully, to find a comfortable position. But no matter how he contorts himself, it still hurts, though differently. But perhaps I am learning something. I am learning the difference between blogging and writing because there is no way I would allow anyone to see something as nauseatingly would-be witty as I just witnessed. It would have been edited out invisibly (as opposed to capital letter underscored) before anyone, hopefully even I, could read it. Writing is work. Writing about nothing ought still to be work. My only hope is that as I go forward, if I go forward, as I go backward I will bring to bear my meager writing talents on old blogs and something will come of it. The post you are currently reading sucks as much as most do, but at least it offers an idea, some hope. Something. Perhaps that should be my goal as I move forward. Offer something. If you can. I know lots of things, most not very interesting, but things never the less. I must try to subtly work them into the threads without revealing their context. And why do I do this? Because I am mad, as any idiot can see.

STEW

I believe I've mentioned before that I as I mindlessly trudge forward with Blogg, I have also been going backward reading older posts and, when possible, attempting to edit them into making some sort of sense, eliminating repetitions (which means eliminating 90 per cent of blogg). The sense that if I did this long enough I would reach a place where dross would turn to gold and a masterpiece emerge (even though only four people would see it) has left for the time being. Clickety clak and the awesome power of mindless routine have taken over as primary motives for continuation now, especially after going back and reading some of the earlier entries, which, alas, are not that different from the later entries except in their anticipation that the later entries might be better than they are. I spoke yesterday or the day before or whenever about a fadeout ending for blogg. Or I can probably and it endlessly, then go back and edit all the endings, then edit the edits of the endings. It all boils down to pablum. I was so discouraged that I was considering moving forward only by moving backwards, that is, assuming blogg was over, and catching up on the month or two of unedited blogs that I would put forward as new ones. It may come to that, but not yet, as can be deduced that this convoluted explanation has already taken up the better part of a post. I am in water over my head. I am tired of swimming. But I am still out here and currents change. I have neither the patience nor the space to do anything dramatically new now, except perhaps silently ponder my options for the next 24 hours, so I will go back and edit an old blog and see if that inspires me and you can dust or fry eggs---I can't imagine that my most rabid, I mean avid, fans will be interested in this internal process. But on the off chance one is, the edits are in capital letters. Don't ask me if they are real edits or an attempt to turn this into some sort of palimpsest (that's the first time I've ever used that word. I hope I used it correctly and spelled it right). Use a static free cloth for your computer and don't get it wet.

WHY?

If I had any sense of pride or regard for the three or four stragglers (strangers?) who might actually be reading this thing (count me out), I would probably skip today's post much the way you call in sick when you have the flu. Blogging is about the furthest thing from my consciousness now, not because of blogging primarily but because the author is feeling depressed. This leads him to a dilemma. Does he not blog because he is feeling depressed or is that untrue to the premise of the blog which is to spray whatever comes to mouth. It also sidesteps dangerously close to real life, which must be avoided at all costs, if anything is true about this enterprise. Why is the author depressed? Does it haved anything to do with the fact that he sees this exercise going interminally nowhere. Furthermore he had a thought during his meditation about how it will end. Even WAR AND PEACE ended. Did Tolstoy know how it would end when he began it. The only ending author can think of for BLOGG is musical-- a fadeout ending in which the type gradually gets lighter and lighter, blending in more and more with the gray/white of the screen until nothing more is visible. Blogs have not been around long enough to have a formalized form (last two lines must rhyme), so you can basically do whatever the fuck you want except write it after you are dead or have lost interest. The fadeout leads to some technological problems, but I'm sure an email to Steve Jobs would fix that quickly. The point(lessness)is that you are always unlikely to receive anything of significance from these posts, the nothing you usually receive is likely to seem like something because the author, for reasons to be discussed with his shrink (did I reveal too much again?) doesn't particularly give a shit one way or the other today. If this were a normal piece of prose, the author would probably skip a day or if he did write, just edit this section out (which, if I have any sense, when I come to edit this section, I will do). I feel like singing a song or reciting a poem. Either would qualify as adding nothing to the content of blogg, but would be more pleasant for the reader than this nauseating circular nothing. How about you fill in the song or the poem-- one of your favorites. Make it happy. Cheer the author up. Mother always used to say, "There's always tomorrow."

BLANK

Blogg (going forward name for work and worker) meditates, which is more than you should know or he (also more) should tell you. Blogg is a kind of meditation as well. Physically it brings to the author's mind, when it is going well (I will put a W in the margin so you can tell) a sense of peace and accomplishment which makes about as much sense as it does in real meditation. But one doesn't meditate to attain a sense of peace and accomplishment, at least not if one does it according to reputable books that try to explain the unexplainable. One meditates to....One doesn't meditate to.....It is absolutely useless and therein lies its use and uniqueness. How many things can you think of that are absolutely useless no matter which way you hold them or what you do with them. Author would hope that blogg is one of them, although explanation of feelings about writing a blog of no use could be construed as a use, especially if one were writing a how-to book on the subject. Oxymoronic Title?: How To Do Nothing. Again, if we peel further, the book is not truly oxymoronic since one can hold it in contrast to How To Do Something and talk about all the peaceful virtues that ensue when one does nothing, assuming that the reader will accept the present blogg as doing nothing, though it is a little in-joke. Doing nothing would be a blank blog read by no one. No one would have written it and no one would know it was there, wherever that is. No pixels would have been disturbed from more important chores. The proverbial tree has fallen in the proverbial empty forest. We may have to settle for calling blog a simulation of doing nothing, otherwise we would not know it existed and I would still be meditating. I like the subtitle, "A Simulation," when placed next to blogg. It is real and sureal at the same time. It leads the reader to unexpect the expected and expect the unexpected. Though the point of blogg is to be utterly devoid of content, which so far the author has managed to achieve for a paragraph or two before something sneaks in, there is a blibk twixt reader and writer. First off writer has noticed he gets fucking bored when he lives up to his own notions of artistic purity, which means they may have to subtly be rethought and pushed one cenimeter more autobiographically. "Nothin ain't worth nothin if its real." Isn't that a line from "Me and Bobbty McGee. "Holding the reader's and he writer's interest with as little external subject intrusion as possible" might be another subtitle though it does not slide trippingly off the tongue. And the lack of external intrusion may be the most interesting thing in the world to some of you out there. It goes back to clackety clack, another title. It goes back to the fact that the writer is as probably more perplexed than the reader by what he is doing. The reader is more likely to predict the next sentence than the reader unless it is "Eggplant!"

THE DEATH OF BLOGG

I forgott (stet) whether blogg has two g's or three. Let's leave it as two in the text. We can always call in a repair person later. Do blogs die? Never having written a blog or read one from beginning to end (if there is an end) I thought it a question worth asking. Maybe die is not exactly the right word. Maybe it's end. They accomplish their goal and they end. If that's the case, BLOGG will never die since its end is nothin and nothing is one of those things like minus zero that equals infinity. So I can go on dishing this shit forever. Until I die. Which brings me back to the original question. If I were to get fatally hit by a truck today, blogg would be an unfinished work of (be real now)prose. Its elecrons would go drifiting off like the memories of dead people and in a relatively short period of time it would effectively cease to exist. But if I found that I had a slow spreading terminal condition and could pretty much count on dying with three to six months, what would I do. Would I try to find a conclusion with which to end blogg if such a thing is possible (other than "the end.") Or would I immediately switch go another blogg about my imminent demise- hopefully something more serious than the hiink we have been playing with here. A testimony for my kids, parents, relatives. But know what? The electrons still go wafting off into space, maybe a week or two later. Old blogs are like stale bread. The blog medium probably won't even exist in six months, having been transmogrified into something that zaps from the clouds onto your ipad with commercials. There will be a blog bestseller list (there probably is already) even though you are not selling anything. The point this is arching toward is that I am not in any imminent peril but I am not young enough to fuck around completely with what time I may have left, so blogg should have its serious aspects--- not just a man juggling flaming orange juice cartons on a goat, though that would make a nice cover if this ever became a book. So I pledge (and this may be hard for both of us to believe) that this will be the best I am capable of doing while I am alive. I doubt (unless my theology is way off) that I will be able to do much better when I am dead. I will try to write each blog as if it were my last or at least have each blog end in such a way that I would not be completely embarrassed. This will be difficult to do because l) it is difficult to do and 2) I will probably have forgotten all this by tomorrow's entry. So let's end today with a bow to mortality, which proves something important that we haven't discovered yet, as opposed to the ending of blogs which proves as much as their beginnings-- nothing.

OH DREAD

Good morning, class. Has everyone removed and hung up their jackets, pencils sharpened, bathroom trips taken. Before I smother you with the news that my mind is a total blank (as it should be, I think), I want to tell you that I am considering changing the name of BLOGG TO BLOGGG. That may be the last significant piece of information you receive on this post. The reason is simple and idiotic. I want my slice of uniqueness. I intuit that many fools who are writing sort of blog (I do not flatter myself with its originality) may be calling it BLOGG but fewer would be perverse enough to call it BLOGGG or even BLOGGGG, though that may be getting excessive. If we were entering all these names on one of those things that say "medium security strength," do we think that BLOGGGG would be significantly safer than BLOGG? Safer than what? It's not like someone is going to steal my fucking Visa card off this. This tangential beginning to the post (and here I must return to the blankness of mind I alluded to)is probably a lame attempt to clickety clack until something, anything comes along that I can attach to the mainland and doesn't look too strained. It could be something like the fact that there are times when I have nothing to say and I get really depressed about it and there are other times when I have nothing to say and I either couldn't care less (I can always edit it out) or feel that those moments are truer to the spirit of BLOGGG than the happier ones. For there is, after all, no hiding the fact that the premise was made clear in sentence one and the further we get from it the further we get from out goal, which is to.....to do exactly as I am doing now. I do feel an obligation (long childhood explanation, much too personal) to be as amusing as I possibly can be, hopefully intentionally but I'm not too proud to take the other kind as well and sometimes get sort of confused where my amusement is coming from. I was talkng about my efforts to be amusing while I wasted our time and the reasons, deep in my childhood for doing it. There are no reasons deep in my childhood any more than my nose is a reason deep in my childhood. Bloggg goes from fingertips to keyboard with no intermediaries like brain or heart so I am attempting to be amusing because I am attempting to be amusing. Actually, thinking about it now, if I were deliberately attempting NOT to be amusing, the result would probably be a lot funnier-- or just more boring. I'm not sure which, but I may give it a whirl at some desperate moment in the future. I could end this post with a summary if I had the vaguest idea of what it was trying to say. But I will say,as I have said before (and my track record is pretty good, if I say so myself) that better times are coming. Truly amusing times. Hilarious times. Profound times. And perhaps, if there are more nuts out there than I realized, more ggg's.

BLOGGING, MEDITATION, EXERCISE, RELIGION

Ambitious title. We really must be getting into the heart of it now. To attempt to take them a piece at a time (actually the long title is to help me remember them at all) and full disclosure-- this brilliant revelation did come to me during meditation. Which brings us to blogging and meditation, which as I was focusing on my breath I realized are very much the same thing-- at least the way I do it. The subject matter, nothing, provides us with a base, like breathing, around which we can display our thoughts about, well....nothing. In meditation, when it works, this paradoxically gives us a kind of freedom to think about all the idiotic things we would normally think about, especially if we were writing or in the company of people. Here, not only does it all hang out, it's been hanging since post one and it is the hanger. Merit, normally a consideration in these things, has fallen by the wayside long ago. What keeps us going? I think it's one of those long esoteric acids that you find in vitamins that scientists say do nothing for you but the folkore is so stron, the price so high and the labels so cool, we take it anyway.

Blogging is like meditation in that both of them have you focused on one thing (In meditation breathing; in bloging typing) so that the idiotic things you normally censor yourself about for thinking spring free for the world to laugh at. I probably don't meditate correctly (I don't do many things correctly) so the "high" I'm getting from it is pretty low, probably about the same level as this. If I ever finish blogg, I may take up meditation more seriously. Somthing has been such a disaster in my life it's time to give nothing a serious shot.

Exercise is simply the joy I get from the clackety clack of the keys.My fingers move much faster writing blog than they do anything else since there is no untoward interference by the brain to slow things up. And clackety clack feels like accomplishment regardless of how idiotic your clacks are.,

As far as religion goes- I hesitate to get into this one but that won't stop me. BLOGG may or may not be a sort of scripture. I wouldn't know because I haven't read it. But there is a singlemindedness and peacefulness to putting it together that feels sort of religious. There's also the feeling that there is probably about as much fact=based reality in BLOGG as there is in most religions, or at least the really dumb ones, the kind that think the universe is walking on a frog's back.

Having dispensed with these heady issues I am overcome by the question, "What the fuck difference does it make--" a question that can be asked of virtually every sentence in blogg. I am actually going to attempt to answer it, though the answer will accrue you no positive good unless you are me. Today's post feels to me like an eight course dinner, as opposed to the usual ones that feel like a couple of peas and a fig. It seems to be about something, even if it is contributing nothing to the body of knowledge about the things that it is allegedly about. It has made me happy. Which is way more personal than I ought to be getting. But it has made me optimistic that the show can go on for a while and the optimistic entries are usually more fun to write than the depressive ones, which come so much more easily and frequently. So wallow in this post. Enjoy it. Love it. It is probably as good as it is going to get for both of us. Think about all it has taught you about so many things ranging from typing to figs to OM. When you put all these things together and a small smile starts to form on your lips, you are in really deep shit-- just like me.

SCHOOL DAYS

Welcome back, children. Isn't it lovely to be here in our quiet room with all the franticness of modern life outside where it can't harm us. Where the only thing we have to think about is how we will pass this time together. Isn't it relaxing? Doesn't it feel as if you've been given a reprieve from something (you have-meaning). Now that we are all gathered in a circle, let's hold hands and share our thoughts. Sharon, would you like to go first this week. You can skip the introductory information. It doesn't matter where you're from or what your do. We just want your reaction to the space. "I find it thrilling." "Not the word I would have expected," Sharon. "Interesting, perhaps, obnoxious, but why thrilling. What about blogg thrills you?" "There is so much expected of us in modern life. We almost have to learn new things every day whether we want to or not just to keep up with our peers. It is so refreshing to be in a place where nothing is expected except to be yourself." "Well, that's interesting even if it's not exactly true, Sharon, because things ARE (capital letters will have to sub for italics until I figure out how to access them) expected of you here. You are expected to be on time for your post, although you schedule them. You are expected to play by the rules, injecting as much as you can that pertains to blogging while maintaining your physical anonymity. You are expected to have faith in the ultimate merit of the project even when, especially when your friends are laughing you silly because although you are not blogg you are part of it. You are giving it part of your non-existence, the amount is up to you. Giving of one's non-existence is harder than it seems, perhaps even harder than giving of one's existence. It requires tortured postures and unshakable faith. But that's why we're all in this classroom together- to practice these exercises to the point where we can give with ease to the point where we are not only giving to blogg, we are blogg. Blogg is inside us. Even if we don't know exactly what he is, trash heap or god, we believe in him, we will protect and defend him according to the ten rules of blogginess: 1) Thou shalt place no other blogg before me 2) Ignorance is no excuse 3) Cherry is the best flavor 4) No one really knows what a blogg is. 5) The more hits, the more hurts because you are being taken away from the essential loneliness of the enterprise 6)The real reason to blog is because it feels good to the fingertips and when you get a head of steam up it seems as if you must be accomplishing something. 7) Sheer perversion 8)It is a mini-sabbath where all other things must be put away 9)The challenge: can you do this?
10) The answer: What is the this that you are trying to do? We will now slowly put our pencils and crayons back into their shoeboxes and vow to meet at this spot the next time. I believe Scott decides when we meet next. Is that right, Scott? Are you already busy thinking of interesting things for us to talk about?

e footnotes

e You may have noticed the startlin absence of italics and boldface. I think I just found the control so there may be much excitement in the offing. Hold on to your hats.

ePEOPLE

IN AN AREA WHERE EVERYTHING SEEMS TO HAVE BEN EDITED THIS POST STANDS VIRGINAL. I DO NOT QUESTION WHY NOR SHOULD YOU. No new revelations in the hour before setting fingers to keypad. We is wingin' it, children.Let's see if we can stay off-topic without planning. Actually, there was one subject that I thought about briefly yesterday and for just a smidgeon today and that was the question of audience. I was bemoaning the fact that only three or four people seemed to be consistently following this masterpiece, one of them quite possibly me. My friend gave me all kinds of tips how by doing certain things, joining this, responding to that, I could probably increase my readership considerably. I thought about this for a while and re-translated it into his saying that the blog is a social form of writing and therefore one had to play the game socially. This as opposed to normal writing where you can mark your genius in a notebook, put it in a closet and forget about it except on Christmas eve when you can show it to a drunk Aunt Millie after the duck. Computers, at least at present, are too expensive to store in closets, for while you blog you can do other things with them like reading and writing email, printing out wedding invitations and whatever else your ingenuity can come up with LIKE PELING COCONUTS. So the blog stays on the desk and, at least at present, blogg remains with its limited readership. With great effort I could probably do some of the things that my friend suggested, which boil down to a sort of electronic, "You show me yours, I'll show you mine." But being as illiterate as I am, I feel guilty spending time reading the good or bad work of others simply to get them to read mine. I am nearly Faulkner-illiterate. How can I be illiterate in Faulkner but an expert in Stacy from Kansas City? There is no free lunch. This should have been apparent to me when I began, but it wasn't and if it was, I might never have begun.AND THE WORLD WOULD BE A VERY DIFERENT PLACE. So I have accepted the fact that barring unforseen miracles,blogg is likely to maintain its minute readership. The good thing about this is that when you are not writing for an audience but simply writing for yourself and the subject, you are less likely to slip into entertainment ASSUMING YOU ARE CAPABLE OF IT. Author can do this reasonably well USING A SCALE THAT MEASURES THE SILIA OF AMOEBAS but has done this reasonably well. Author has never blogged, has no idea what the limitations of the medium are, ultimately what gets them read. So author will just continue writing away and let the audience end take care of itself until at some point technology surpasses our expectations, which could happen at any time.AND THEN THE WHLE WORLD READS THIS AND PROCLAIMS YOU KING. The fact that there is not a large audience reading our anti-blog does not feel wrong. This is a modest venture which should be written humbly and read sporadically. So let's just say we are on track, even though we still have no idea where that track is heading. Perhaps thataway.THE REPETITION OF UNORIGINAL THOUGHT IS TRULY STAGERING.

EA CHALLENGE

IF ANYNE CARES I BELIEVE THIS EDIT COMES WELL BEFORE THE ONE WRITTEN WELL AFTER. I've had an uncharacteristically blank meditation session today as far as blogg is concerned, with nary a thought of it. This should matter,according to my own rules of engagement, not a whit. In fact, I could argue, it will make blogg all that purer and more sponaneous, to have its words spring forth unpreviewed from my brain-- isn't that the point of the whole thing? HOW NOVEL. I am going to try to teach myself to chip away in little pieces.DISHES? In previous posts, in a situation like this I would probably be moaning and groaning about the meaninglessness of it all and what do I think I'm doing and shit like that. I'm going to do do that, since I can't think of anything else unpremeditated, but I'm going to try to do it in a more finite and cheerful manner. When I screamed before about how difficult doing this continually was and the pain of having no readers, it was with the emotional fervor of having a bomb dropped on, say, Rockefeller Center. Today, I say, I am feeling somewhat mindless about the enterprise, which is not surprising since the enterprise encourages mindlessness, infinite mindless.I'LL BET IF YOU TRIED REAL HARD YOU COULD FIGURE OUT A WAY TO GET A FOURTH MINDLESS INTO THAT SENTENCE. Yes, I am just whistling one of those happy meaningless tunes until something, anything comes into my head that will keep this charade going a few pages longer. Oh yes, I just thought of something. Blogg, one would think, would have a bumpety bump sort of narrative arc, if any, as it will have no beginning, modern and end or any postmodern variation thereof. But it occurred to me that when I went back and did my edits it might be possible to repurpose this (I love that word) into a veritable narrative. The odds of my deciding to and being able to do this are, admittedly, infintessimal and would probably destroy whatever integrity blogg has, which is all it has.IT HAS NONE. But one should never say never. When I go back and edit (and I do this every day, you remember), I am often surprised by what I find. Make that I am always surprised by what I find because this stream of words ushers forth so spontaneously I remember virtually nothing so everything I encounter on second glance is a surprise and is either better or worse than I would have thought. Take today. This seems to me a perfectly pleasant, calm and idiotic post. In a couple of months I will edit it. What will I make of it. Will it have a pivotal place in a repurposed blogg?(oh, leave me be)or will it just be the usual flotsam.THE ANSWER IS B. Few would lose money betting on the latter. I will leave it at that save mentioning that the energy level in this calm post is rather pathetic, lame even for me, and that if I want to keep this thing going at all I have to learn to say nothing with more energy: NOTHINK,something like that. Back to the past now. Have a nice day. Pray for me.NOTHINK? NOTHINK???!!!

ebach in the background

One of the nicest things about writing a blog is that three seconds before you are about to start you don't have a clue as to what you are going to say, then the fingers touch the keys and words pour forth. If you think about it too much before hand then it is going to lose the spontanaeity that makes a blog a blog a blog, not that I really know what it is. If you don't think about it at all, it could end up something like this. Actually, during my morning meditation which I undertake before writing (I don't think that's a state secret, I think I've mentioned it before. If I havent, big fucking deal). Occasionally during the meditation as thoughts flit into my mind and I dispense them by internally saying, "thought," some of them are things I could write in my about-to-be-written in blog. It's only natural to think about something you're going to do in a matter of minutes. But fortunately I have so many dopey thoughts that have nothing to do with the blog that I end up having to "thought" away that I invariably forget the thought I thought would be good for the blog, which keeps things pure. I am not sure,for the sake of future biographers, whether the following thought took place during the meditation or right after, as I turned on my computer and arranged my toys for writing. The thought was this: depending on whether you are reading this thing sporadically, backwards, from the first one forward (author's preference), you may have noticed that I mentioned somewhere that each time I do a new post, I go back and edit an old one. You can tell which are which by the little e in the title. And the major edits are in capital letters. I am doing this for a number of reasons and I may be able to enumerate one or two: 1)so you can see that when I am being really stupid, I am aware of how really stupid I am being and will show you so by writing something like IT TAKES A SPACE SCIENTIST TO FIGURE THAT OUT after the offending sentence. The second one, which I am not sure of, well, I have to backtrack a second, I have never read blogg in consecutive order and have no idea whether the experience would be blissful or an ideal. What is the narrative arc of a blog, or at least blogg? So going back and editing gives me a lay of the land, like where I'm coming from so I can tell, if I were the kind of writer who could control these kinds of things, whether blogg has a real plot (not that the author can he finish this thing) or not.Perhaps it is a paean to man's loneliness or something but the only way I will be able to tell is by reading it, just like you, but unless you are me or a complete fanatic you will only have to read this once and your value judgements will probably run in other directions (LET ME OUT OF HERE!). I mention this, which is turning out to be much more complicated than I thought it would be, because I am about a month behind myself in the editing and will be as long as I edit a blogg each time I write one, so the only time I will truly get the lay of the land is to write nothing new and just edit a month, which any fool can tell you will just mean laying the new stuff inbetween the lines of the old, so I'm just mixing things up. The only time I'm not writing is when they take this computer from these cold dead hands. You may be thinking, as I am about whether the relevance of this issue requires taking up so much space,which, of course, one may say about the whole enterprise. But why bother? Neither of us will stop me and I assume neither of us wish me ill health. Is everybody clear about everything? Shit, I forgot about Bach, but this is getting too long and I will do my derndest to tell you how he figures into all of this tomorrow. A damain.SINCE I DON'T KNOW WHAT ORDER I AM EDITING IN I DON'T KNOW WHETHER TO APOLOGIZE FOR SAYING THE SAME STUPID THINGS ABOUT EDITING 100 TIMES.BEFORE YOU GET PISSED OFF, REMEMBER THAT I AM REALLY DOING THE BEST I CAN, AS PATHETIC AS THAT MIGH BE. SHOW A LITTLE MERCY, DUDE,

eElectrons

I THINK I HAVE FOUND AN UNEDITED SECTION. The ephemerality of blogs was one of its greatest appeals to me. Boom from the brain; boom onto the computer; boom it's gone. But what ultimately happens to it. Nobody I know (and this certainly may be simply a limitation of the circle of my friends)WHICH IS COMPOSED OF EVERY IMPORTANT PERSON ON EARTH knows exactly what the internet is and what keeps it up there and why we are all not constantly baraged by shards of letters that say things like "cannot tolerate" and "fucking husband." Will there eventually be a galactic internet sweeper, a huge version of a vacuum cleaner that gets rid of all the old shit and makes it possible for things like blogg to exist? FUCKING HUSBAND WOULD BE AN IMPROVEMENT ON MOST OF THE STUFF YOU HAVE WRITTEN. Or will blogg exist forever in electron heaven. Would I have written blogg if I knew it would have existed long after its perpetrator's demise.ST. FRANCIS SAID THIS IN SLIGHTLY DIFERENT TERMS. Would I have thought more about leaving such a peculiar monument to my time on earth. What will future generations think? What will future generations think about all this anyway? Will they think about it at all.WHAT DOES IT REFER TO AND WHERE DID I PUT THE TUNA FISH. When's the last time you tought about the nature of the novel or why cans of tomato sauce are the shape they are? You will notice there is nothing in the post until now about the stupidity of it. EXCEPT FOR HUNDREDS OF THOUSANDS OF ENTRIES. No, I am coming around to realizing that blogg raises important, nay, urgent questions, that everyone is much to busy to contend with. It doesn't answer any of them but didn't Decartes or Tina Fey say that a question is the beginning of an answer? NO, IT WAS TINA BROWN AND HUMPHREY BOGART. So it behooves us all, writer and reader. to pay attention, generally and specifically.HAVE YOU EVER SEEN A SENTENCE SO IDIOTIC? The laser shown on blogs WHAT? may end up preventing global warming. Shit, doesn't something have to? SUPERMAN!. I don't want naked eskimos reading this. What on earth will they think? TASTY BLUBBER.