e REPEATING YESTERDAY MAKES TOMORROW REDUNDANT (edit- does this make any sense at all?)

e One of those mornings where I come to this and go, "Why me, Oh, Lord?" I know I brought it on myself. I don't have to do this. But there is a religious aspect to LA. It's the times when you doubt it most that you need it most. Why do I need it? I need it because I don't need it and not needing it creates a need. I don't think I can do this for the rest of my life, especially since I don't think I have ever gotten feedback or if I have,I can't find it.(NON-SEQUITUR. THE ONLY REASON YOU CAN'T DO THIS FOR THE REST OF YOUR LIFE IS BECAUSE YOU GET SMART, A LOGICAL IMPOSSIBILITY). My technical stupidity is the equivalent of trying to steer a 737 with a buggy whip. I suffer from the fantasy that someone will stumble on it (out of the billions of other blogs), tell their friends and lo and behold, instant celebrity, which I can then poignantly and publicly reject. I think only that can set me free. Once LA becomes popular and a part of millions of people's lives, I can write an elegant disclaimer claiming that it no longer serves the function of no function therefore I must stop it. Perhaps, I will say, I will turn up in another blog some day, but this one will have a theme, like how to shoe the shoeless. On the web anything can happen but nothing really does and when it does it has no effect other than affecting the infected who believe that for the four seconds that whatever it is occupies their brain cells, it has some significance before an Ashton Kutcher twitter blast comes barrelling in. The challenge is thinking of original ways to say "I have nothing to say" because saying "I have nothing to say" is not interesting, not even to me. So I must go back and baste my creative juices.(HOW ABOUT TAKE THE PORCUPINE TO THE AVOCADO?) There is always tomorrow. There is always the possibility that something significant may emerge from all this aggressive insignificance and then, praise God, I can stop doing it. NOT TO BUTT IN, BUT DURING THIS 'EDITING' PROCESS, I HAVE READ MUCH STUPID PROSE, BUT THIS RANKS UP THERE WITH THE STUPIDEST. I COULDN'T PARAPHRASE IT IF YOU PELTED ME WITH POISONED PICKLES. THE ONLY REASON IT REMAINS IS TO SHOW HOW THE CONCEPT IS WEARING DOWN OF ITS OWN WEIGHT, AS TO WHY THAT IS OF ANY INTEREST TO ANYONE, IT IS BETWEEN THE WRITER AND HIS MAKER.
MAY WE MOVE ON, PLEASE.THINGS CAN ONLY GET BETTER (BUT THAT IS NEVER SAFE TO SAY AROUND HERE).

e COFFEE IS THE BITTER WAY TO START THE DAY

E Pathos may be the operative word today and what a beautiful word it is, regardless of what it means. It looks beautiful. It sounds beautiful. And its meaning, soft and caring, is exactly what you would hope such a beautiful word would mean. Why pathos today? Personal reasons. Setting up a new challenge to write about nothingness while major somethingness brews in the heart of LA. Is there a residual nothingness of the somethingness that squeaks through the invisible protective shield I have set up?ISN'T THIS BACKWARDS?. Does anyone care? Does anyone have the faintest idea what I am talking about. "IS ANYNE OUT THERE" is one of them. Pathos. A man writing about ALLEGED nothing, day in, day out, secretly craving a something in reward for his honesty in talking about his nothing. But once he receives his something, the game ends and he is taking a bow for not wanting to take a bow. Is this the way we are wired? We seek the approval of our peers even when the approval we are seeking is for not seeking the approval of our peers. Without the approval of our peers we are left with the approval of ourselves (and God). God does not seem to be a player here so we can eliminate him. Is LA's own approval of itself sufficient to give it the satisfaction it craves? Can LA be its own peer? Yes, but what a lonely world. What if we settle for feint or modest approval of a few people, just as a way of keeping us from madness? Would anyone begrudge us that? Would anyone say "you've now killed the premise of the whole enterprise?" Since there may not be anybody, this is highly unlikely. And if there is anybody reading by this point, they will be sufficiently on LA's wavelength to feel compassion for its unique problems. Pathos. Pathos. Pathos. The three musketeers.ASIDE FROM THE ENDLESS REPETITIVENESS THERE IS SOMETHING VAGUELY MASTURBATORY ABOUT THE PREVIOUS TWO LINES BUT BLOGG THINKS IT IS TOO DISGUSTING TO GET INTO--NOT THE MASTURBATION, THE SLOPPILY HIDDEN QUEST FOR UNCONDITIONAL LOVE.

E SCHUBERT SPELLED BACKWARDS IS TREBUHS

E SCUBERT SPELLED BACKWARDS IS TREBUHCS--WOULD HE HAVE MADE IT?

I HAVE BEEN WAITING A LONG TIME TO EDIT THIS POST BECAUSE I LOVE SCHUBERT SO MUCH. I HOPE IT IS NOT A PIECE OF SHIT. A snowly morning, Schubert on the radio. That's all the reality you get. If Schubert were blog-composing, would he just string together a bunch of interesting riffs, sort of low rent impromptus? Schubert was not capable of writing anything less than beautiful so it's hard to imagine him just stringing together arbitrary clusters of notes without sneaking something heavenly inTO them. Which does not bring us to the subject of whether or not LA is really a diary in disguise. MAY WE HAVE A NON-SEQUITUR, PLEASE? The writer of LA does have a life of sorts but if it were a true dynamic life would he be wasting time wasting time? Or does LA have so much dynamism in his real life he must resort to something like this to calm down his life force.THERE IS SOME CONFUSION AT THIS POINT IN THE BLOG BETWEEN LA, THE BLOG, A TITLE WHICH WILL PRESENTLY CHANGE AND LA, THE WRITER. ITY DOESN'T REALLY MATTER. His friends say he's vibrating too much. So he takes out a mirror, stares at it and starts to write. Is LA a happy or sad enterprise-- regardless of the the lack of content. Is it a collosal waste of whatever life force the perpetrator has or is it the deepest philosophical introspection he is capable of? Or PERHAPS a large metallic object from Pluto. Why does LA ask rhetorical questions when he knows there will be no rhetorical answers? Is it because LA is really masking a story about a man who writes a blog with no subject and when it is read carefully it has a beginning, a middle, an end and some French Toast in the middle for good measure. GOD, PLEASE NOT AGAIN !!!Are any of these questions of any interest to anyone but LA and his alleged two readers? Truth, LA knows,(HE'S SO SMART) always comes in strange bottles. LA also knows his intent and inner feelings as he writes this. He knows it comes from as good a place as there is in him (NOT GOOD ENOUGH0 and he is being as honest as he is capable of being (NOT HONEST ENOUGH). Is that enough? (IT'S ENOUGH ENOUGHS) Enough to get three million of Ashton Kutcher's tweet followers. Hardly. Enough to get a couple of sickies. But this does not deter LA. He knows that in the eternal scheme of things (WHICH HE WILL JOIN ONE DAY--BE PATIENT),that he will apologize for doing many things but writing LA is not one of them. (TELL US THE THINGS HE WILL APOLOGIZE FOR, ESPECIALLY THE SLEAZY ONES)Which brings us back to Schubert, but only because this is the end of the post and it seems nice to have some symmetry. Schubert didn't know he was immortal. He knew he was exposing the beauty in his soul, which turned out centuries later to be so unique that immortality came with it. And the humility of Schubert in his doling out of the beauty-- unlike Beethoven the egoist. Oh dear, we are getting much too subject driven now and the symmetry is blown. A demain (or is it domain or domaine or demented?) (THE SHEER AUDACITY OF INCLUDING SCHUBERT AND BEETHOVEN IN THIS PIECE OF SHIT IS EVEN BENEATH SARCASM. GROW UP, DUDE. OR DIE. DO SOMETHING. BU YOU CANNOT INFLICT THIS EVEN ON THREE FOLLOWERS UNLESS YOU HATE THEM. SCHUBERT, MY ASS. HOW ABOUT PICASSO?)

e WHATEVER HAPPENED TO CORN FLAKES?

E Does blogging ruin a writer for real writing? Not that I am using myself as an example of the latter. The writer of LA has been known to construct pieces that actually take real time and thought as opposed to this amalgum. Will the satisfaction of writing with no effort transmogrify his writing with real effort into eternal bloginess. Will any other kind of writing exist in the near future? Will the satisfaction of not having a subject ruin him for traditional subject-based prose, which is what readers traditionally ( AT LEAST IN PRE-INTERNET TIMES) needed to keep from going mad--THE NOTION THAT A PERSON COULD WRITE SOMETHING MEANINGFUL TO A STRANGER. Who will the next vice presidential candidate be? THERE WAS A JOKE IN HERE BUT THE INTERRUPTIONS HAVE RUINED ITS LAME RHYTHM.LA has found that the single worst way to incite himself to writingness is to try. It must come from the aorta. It must come from knowing that it will take incredible effort and the result will be mediocre and no one will care. Whereas LA requires no effort, the result is abysmal and no one cares even less, or more, whichever. But LA does not care that no one cares. LA takes their lack of caring into account as he writes. If anyone truly cared, do you think he would publically humiliate himself this way? You don't know LA but I can tell you he's not that kind of guy. He's a caring person. He knows that this is a phase and if he treats himself with kindness and doesn't get too upset about it, it will pass, leaving his real writing where it was before he started this-- basically not very good but full of hope.

eWITHOUT TIME THERE WOULD BE NO COOKIES

E Nothing new to expect today. Snowstorm and notice from shrink that because of weather he is leaving for vacation early, so I must go five days shrinkless, which is bound to have a negative effect on BLOGG (FOR LATECOMERS THE TITLE OF THE BLOG HAS NOW BEEN CHANGED TO BLOGG AND I WILL EVENTUALLY GET AROUND TO BEING CONSISTENT AND EXPLAINING WHY IF I CAN THINK OF IT. SO DON'T GIVE ME A HARD TIME NOW BECAUSE I AM WRITING FROM THE FUTURE AND CAN DESTROY YOU WITH WEAPONS THAT YOUR PUNY CIVILIZATION HASN'T EVEN INVENTED YET) Will this effect LA? Not really. YOU JUST CONTRACDICTED OURSELF, ASSHOLE. WHY DON'T YOU TRY READING BEFORE YOU REVISE. TOO MUCH TROUBLE?LA is not particularly psychologically based. It is carbon life form based. It is electron based. It is base.Perhaps today we ought to go into the reasons I continue LA.YES, PLEASE, THAT SOUNDS LIKE AN ORIGINAL THOUGHT WE HAVEN'T DISCUSSED TEN THOUSAND TIMES BEFORE. Or we could talk about monkeys. It doesn't matter. We will get to both eventually. First and format is old media fart discovering that blog is a true format much as is a short story or a novel and it is as instinctive to blog as it is to email-- probably about as meaningful too. It feels good to write from the heart bypassing the brain. You sometimes discover things you are thinking that you didn't know you were thinking. You sometimes discover you are thoughtless. You discover you like the klik klak of the keys. They make you feel as if you are actually doing something. Being the sort of blogger who will be read by good friends, if anyone, not Ashton Kutcher followers, it creates a kind of intimacy for me to let them know in a friendly way how nuts I really am, And I can do it in small doses so hopefully I will not scare them away.A TIME BASED PROBLEM; SINCE I AM A MAN FROM THE FUURE I KNOW THAT I AM GOING TO SAY WHAT YOU HAVE BEN READING IN SLIGHTLY DIFFERENT FORM AT LEAST FORTY THOUSAND TIMS, ASSUMING I CONTINUE WRITING THIS TRAVESTY. DO I ELIMINATE SOME OF THE EARLY ENTRIES TO MAKE IT ALL MORE BEARABLE? OR DO I ELIMINATE SOME OF THE LATER ONES, WHERE THE PROSE IS MORE FINELY HONED AND I OCCASIONALLY EVEN KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I AM DOING? OR DO I DO, AS I AM DOING NOW, NOTHING AT ALL, BECAUSE I HAVE NOT EVEN READ THE FUCKING THING CONSECUTIVELY. I THINK THAT IS TODAY'S ANSWER BECAUSE THE OTHERS SOUND LIKE UNRAVELING A BALL OF WOOL AND FUCK THAT. Media is being mediated and I want to be in the middle of the mediation even if I do not understand its consequences. Were I not writing LA would I be writing a novel? Unlikely. Would I be emailing or facebooking or sitting around being depressed? Probably. So what harm done? None. What good done? It makes me feel I am doing something creative. GOD I HATE THAT WORD though I hate that word. Were I a true writer I would kill this entry. It sucks EVEN AMONG ENTRIES WHERE SUCKING IS PAR FOR THE COURSE. My naked talentlessness is on display so why bother. What I replaced it with probably wouldn't be much better.IT PROBABLY WOULD BE WORSE, IF POSSIBLE. Given the subject, how could it be. I think I had better exit before I am chased off the page by a swarm of angry bees. or c's.OR W's.
WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW

e TOAST IS MEDICATED BURNT BREAD

e The slate is blank-- blanker than usual, the equivalent of a foot of fresh powder on a ski run. When the slate is blank anything can happen, which means that nothing much will probably happen which means we have achieved our goal. I blog after I meditate. Theoretically my mind is calm and perhaps (if I am doing it properly, the meditating that is), that is one explanation why I try to keep the content content free and reflect it back at the reader to give him a sort of meditation contact high. But meditiation, it is perhaps not commonly known, requires intense concentration. I cannot meditate when I am tired. The effort of not thinking is too great. I don't do a very good job at LA when I am tired either. I tend to waffle into silly content because it takes so much effort to maintain one's position at the black heart at the center of this enterprise.MAYBE HAVING A WAFFLE WOULD HELP What good does it do a reader if the writer is trying to be mindless. Perhaps none, perhaps much. The none side can be dispensed of with "what a jerk." The much side should extend to other things the reader reads and make her ask herself the question "how relevant is this to my life?" to everything one reads. Amusement can be relevant. Perhaps even suspense can be relevant if one is a depressive. But to ask the question is key. There are so many words. There are so many sentences that appear to be relevant but are bullshit. There are so many places to find them. It is virtually impossible to walk in the street for more than a minute without encountering a sentence. Why is there so much information when our lives are basically composed of simple biological needs? Does this have anything to do with evolutionary psychology? I do not want to know. Do these sentences keep us from thinking about our ultimate demise which is coming even though we are so fuckin smart? Are writers just flinging their egos around out of sheer exhuberance? Are companies selling us too many products or the wrong products? What would the right products be and would we appreciate them? Think about these things the next time you encounter a sentence. Ask what the effect of this sentence is likely to be on your life. Then come back to LA and we shall continue our journey into the blank at the heart of things. In sentences.

e Why?

e WHY?

e The drop down google menu to get to Blogger says "even more." In the case of LA, "even less" would probably be appropriate. I know this was the morning I was supposed to rock 'em sock 'em to make up for yesterday's misfiring of a gun that under the best of circumstances only shoots blanks. But we are slightly under the weather, which it is hard to be under around here and have had 25 hours to mull over what comes next. I should be the only person who has consistently read all of blogg thus far and while I admit to writing it I certainly have never read it consistently or inconsitently-- not not read one fucking entry OF WHICH THIS IS AN EXAMPLE. I have better things to do with my time. Writing this, is such an exhausting intellectual eNTERPRISE FOR ME, you can't possibly ask me to read it as well. Well, you can ask me but I won't, partially because I don't have the time and partially because my fear is such that if I read an entry I would be so appalled by its lack of quality or any redeeming features whatsoever, I would shut down immediately and then where would all three of us be with all this free time on our hands? Doomed to read interesting, relevant material but material which in some ways (please don't ask me to illuminate them; you know what I mean) is even less meaningful than LA because it is struggling to0 hard to be meaningful, keep your attention, get a book contract, a date, a puppy or whatever. Whereas LA slugs along like a sick tortoise but is constant to its alleged non-purpose and could never catch up with a puppy. Some of you two are thinking. I could do this. Anyone could do this. It's just a fucking waste of time. Go ahead and try to be consistently meaningless and you will see how difficult it is. How the urge to say something useful is constantly on the tip of your computer; you think about it for a millisecond, realize you would be untrue to your mission and reject it in favor of bullshit like this, which, if the two count is still accurate, two people find meaningful. Two wonderful people. Two people I would take on as my lovers in an instant. (Note that I dropped back from three because I have already taken myself on as a lover. MMMMM. I could kiss you all day). So there. I would rate this entry mediocre--not as bad as yesterday, not as good as those rare occasions on which I am inspired by my lack of inspiration. Take it and get on with your day. And be grateful you are a reader, not the writer of this. Yes, it does seem lazy but it's much harder than it looks AS OPPOSED TO A BOOK LIKE WAR AND PEACE WHICH TOLSTOY DASHED OFF IN A COUPLE OF DAYS.

e MOURNING IS INEVITABLE

Woke up at 5:30 a.m. as usual for reasons having only to do with a disturbed sleep pattern and nothing to do with blogg, although I did go to sleep early enough to get in my eight hours.(REQUIRED TO GIVE YOU MY MAXIMUM MENTAL ALERTNESS) But 5:30 is a cruel hour, unlike 6 where things usually begin to brighten up. Dragons still prowl the house at 5:30 especially when you are up, not because you want to be but because you simply can't stay in bed. Usually I have my coffee and muffin, meditate and then attack LA. This morning, however, I was too tired to meditate, which requires a much higher level of alertness than writing LA. THE SAME WOULD BE TRUE OF MOVING A PIECE OF FUZZ AROUND THE CARPET WITH YOUR NOSE. One has to know where one is whereas I write LA to find out where I am. Where am I? Writing LA to find out. BUT DIDN'T YOU JUST SAY YOU WERE TOO TIRED TO WRITE LA.. Was it Emerson or Thoreau who said "a foolish consistency is the hobgblin of little mnds?" LA is now officially a habit rather than a notion. Inevitably the quality, low as it was, will decline as the writing becomes as familiar to me as putting on my socks in the morning which I do not regard as a creative act either but a necessary one to keep my toes warm and from bleeding into my shoes. Stay alert! So far today, you have already learned that I wear socks and have a peculiar insomnia which is not really insomnia since I get enough sleep. You have also learned that LA is now officially a habit rather than a notion,a distinction so insignificant twaste the time explain it to you even if I could and even then it would be of no significance or interest to anyone whatsoever.AUTHOR SHOUT BE CAREFUL OF DISPARAGIN MEANINGLESS STATEMENTS WITHOUT GIVING THEM ROAD TESTS FIRST. THEY COULD BE SME OF THE MOST MEANINGFUL STATEMENTS IN BLOGG. Today's entry feels like a half-filled container of sour milk at the bottom of a wastebasket.ACTUALLY TO AUTHOR OF THE FUTURE IT SEEMS NO WORSE THAN MOST, BETTER THAN SOME. But hope springs eternal. I feel guilty for not wasting your time in a more entertaining manner. This will inspire me to try to do better tomorrow. Maybe I'll sleep till 6.THIS IS TYPICAL OF WHAT THE GERMAN'S WOULD CALL THE MITTELPERIOD OF THE BLOG where the author must endlesslykeep reassuring himself that just blogging without saying anything is something he has to apologize for and he will try to do so wittily and differently every time.THIS IS NOT MUCH FUN TO READ, SORT OF LIKE WOBBLING ON YOUR TRAINING WHEELS. I WOULD HOLD OUT FOR THOSE FEW POSTS THAT ARE ACTUALLY FUN TO READ, WHERE THE AUTHOR GETS SERIOUSLY PISSED AT HIMSELF AND EVERYTHING ELSE FOR HIS SELF=MADE IDIOTIC DILEMMA. MEANWHILE YOU CAN JUST SCAN, SAY TO YOURSELF, OK ANOTHER ONE AND EITHER GO FOR ANOTHER ONE OR GO BACK TO YOUR LIFE WHICH MUST BE FILLED WITH FASCINATING REAL ACTIVITIES like, perhaps, shaving. I believe there is a place here where you can send in suggestions for other fun real life activities. Surfing might be another example.

e LA in LA

e LA IN LA

Well, not exactly. JESUS, WHAT AM I REFERRING TO? But LA is writing from the road for the first time. At this very moment LA is staring at a large brown dog who is not his. It is hard to determine what the dog is thinking but he did try to lick my fingers as I blogged so I think he is ok. He is now licking his rear end.(MAYBE HE IS A SUPERNATURALLY GIFTED DOG WHO KNOWS EXACTLY WHAT IS GOING ON, GIVEN HIS BODILY MOTIONS)I have been thinking a lot about dogs lately,specifically how doggy they are and how unconscious they are of the fact that they are dogs. To a dog it is perfectly normal to be a dog whereas being a person must appear to them as some kind of genetic misfortune-- all those moving parts and clothes just to be able to open a can. LA is now straining for some kind of analogy between dogs and blogs aside from the obvious aural one. But maybe it is no coincidence that they sound the same.(WRITTEN NOT SPOKEN. BARKS DO NOT USUALLY SOUND LIKE SPEECH) Fetch, blog. Bring me a word that I can put in here that will bring me one word closer to my mornng's allotment. My blog is obedient and does whatever I ask. Down, blog, down. He was acting out for a moment, trying to seize controls of LA because he has bigger theeth than me). Dog is also quite pettable and lovable. Go ahead, pet him. He won't bite. (NOW TRY IT WITH ME. I"LL BITE YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF)Beingng a guest in someone's housenot in LA, we do not want to be rude and prevail upon their hospitality too much so this entry will be short-- you should be happy there is an entry at all today-- it would have been so easy to avoid. But you also know that these entries have nothing to do with you. I have not bitten my fingernails in weeks. I am calmed as I hear them clacking across the keys.

eTHE EARLY BIRD CATCHES ITS TAIL

I am up obscenely early this morning, not, alas, because of anticipation of writing. The details are too personal. But I am a morning person so once I am up I can have my coffee, meditate, skip to the computer and here we are. On a morning when I am tired, the effort seems more futile than usual (everything seems more futile than usual). But in the course of the life of LA, you are going to get to experience me in all my moods, perhaps even happy, which comes when the moon is in the proper orb and it is the year of a particular Chinese insect. Writing this does make me sort of happy because I am doing what I set out to do (which always makes me somewhat happy-- I have power over my environment) and also because on some level I must believe it is worth doing. The stranger the project becomes, and I suppose with each day's extension it becomes a bit stranger,(GOD, I HOPE IT'S STRANGE. IF NOT, WHAT'S THE POINT) the more essential it becomes to me to maintain its strangeness. One time many years ago a friend said to me, "Everybody's Weird." The problem is that too many of us do not access that inner weirdness and instead settle for society's notion of what proper weirdness is. True weirdness has an offensive edge not to mention insane corners. "Why would anybody do this?" "It's completely idiotic and worthless," are the kinds of words I long to hear about LA. It's a sort of coming out party for nuttiness. Now there's a word. What the world needs now is not really love, it's nuttiness. It's each individual accessing his inner nut and voicing it loud and clear. The chorus of voices may end up being a kind of church choir and give us harmonies that Bach (anyone who writes like that has to be nuts) would envy. There are nutty nuts and talented nuts but it usually takes a generation or two before people can really tell the difference. So meanwhile, just let that "you can't believe how weird I am" feling shine and believe in your inner nut. I MEAN LOOK AT THE FUCKING WORLD!

e COFFEE

The fact that I appear to have three followers, one of which is me, ought to be depressing me, but it encourages me. The little fingers keep typing away at nothing, oblivious to the numbers of eyeballs that follow them. They actually find a cozy security in keeping it an intimate family. The two followers I have are obviously people who know me. I don't think they are my actual family but they are people who are willing to accept the insane enterprise and go along for the ride. So LA becomes a sort of coffee table over which two friends speak although only one of them gets to do the talking. He is talking about the shape of the coffee table, the cups, the fact that there are a few crumbs of croissant off the plate, lumps in the sugar, but will never talk about anything that is off the table. I am editing a book on the multiverse and I just thought of one universe that is missing: the coffee table universe. Think hard about it. What in your life would you miss that could not be placed on a coffee table. Your car? Your house? Your mate could stand on the table so you wouldn't have to miss him and her. As for the house and car they are just a house and car. Your ipod could make it to the table as could your computer and phone so you have contact with the outside world. My piano would not make it but I could use it as an excuse to learn to play the flute. I could hardly play it any worse than I play the piano. We live in a big world that likes to talk about small things and, especially with the advent of electronic media, make them big, in number of participants, in impact, in ego satisfaction for the perpetrator. LA keeps me humble. Were I ever to reach a number like 10 readers, it would make me enormously self-conscious and I would start feeling obliged to do parlor tricks to make sure everyone is entertained. And then if the number went back down to two I would feel like a failure. No let's just keep it at 3 (including me). I like this space. More cream, please.THE WHOLE DEAL ABOUT THE COFFEE TABLE UNIVERSE MAKES NOT A BIT OF SENSE TO ME BUT THE LABOR INVOLVED IN EXCISING IT DOES AND I DON'T WANT TO DO IT. CAN YOU CUT ME SOME SLACK ON THAT ONE.

E BAD HABITS AND GOOD BUNNIES

Instinctively went to computer after morning meditation, a sign that yesterday's pledge of indefinite continuation of masterpiece may be real. Now the master just has to make his piece or the piece make its peace with its master. Technology has reached the point of being as ubiquitous and meaningless as detergents or air fresheners. All have features you don't need but they take up shelves and shelves of supermarket space. People buy them and get secret satisfactions from their silly features. Do I want or need a candle to make my air smell fresh? Is there something weird about plugging it in and replacing fake wax every 30 days for a fake vanilla smell (vanilla delight)? How can I connect my google OX to my pc so I don't get images of Oprah when I am trying to skype someone in Barbados? Electronic shelf space. Just as meaningful. Electronic air freshener. LA is the Arm and Hammer of the pixel world. It will get your clothes clean and make them smell reasonably fresh. All you do is pour it on your clothes and turn on your washing machine. That's why LA seems so boring, but like vanilla delight people will ultimately come back for the scent of electronic humanity, which it seems so much fun to lose, but is ultimately necessary. LA takes technology that it doesn't understand, translates it into words that it does understand and puts it out there for people which it occasionally understands. But there is terra firma under these electrons, not elfin spice. Can the reader tolerate it? Will the reader tolerate it? Why should the reader tolerate it? Elfin spice is a good fake imitation of elfin garden. LA is a good fake imitation of a blog. It forces the reader to be where he is, even though by definition that is somewhere unreal. Am I being clear?YOU ARE BEING SO FUCKING CLEAR IT MAKES ME SICK. WHY DONT YOU THINK OF A FEW HUNDRED MORE CLICHED WAYS TO SAY THE SAME FUCKING STUPID THING. IT'S HERE. JUST SHUT UP AND LIVE WITH IT. THIS POST IS FULL OF HALF BAKED ANALOGIES AND CHARMLESS CHARM, EXCEPT FOR ELFIN GARDEN, WHICH IS SORT OF A NICE IMAGE AND IF LA CAME WITH A SCENT WOULD DEFINITELY BE A CANDIDATE.

e MIRACLES DON'T JUST HAPPEN-- THEY OCCUR NATURALLY

You are about to read one such miracle. It's about a man who one minute ago had no thoughts in his head whatsoever-- sort of like Homer Simpson-- but who fearlessly went to the computer to immortalize his thoughtlessness just for you. Actually he did have a thought a few hours ago. He was thinking how ugly his blog was (fuck the radio station shit). He must get his daughter to bribe one of her friends to fill it with irrelevant attractive visual devices that will give people something to look at as they slog their way through the irrelevant prose. Lots of puppies and kittens, I think. Maybe a few children's drawings, "The Scream"-- if you have any suggestions feel free to send them in. Although I apparently have three followers now--that's really two because when you are writing I think you count as a follower-- but I have gotten no responses-- no words of praise about what an incredible work of genius this is no screeds telling me that I am sending perfectly good electrons to a needless, meaningless death when they could be cementing courtships on facebook. One other thing to ponder in today's class: (if Literal Ally is no longer a radio station, perhaps it can become a school), the author's addictive personality seems to have come to the fore and he feels a scary inclination to say he will continue this nonsense indefinitely as an act of sheer perversity and to extract some of the meaninglessness from the rest of his life and give it form and substance.WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?)( That's a scary thought to leave readers with- the fact that there may be an endless stream of these posts, but LA readers have strong stomachs and big hearts and know how to send the author money electronically as pittance payment for his Herculean labors in posting 100 per cent pure blog. No change less than a quarter please. I am already revving up for tomorrow's blast so stay tuned. Watch this space.(SPARE ME)

E IT'S NOT WHO YOU ARE, IT'S WHAT YOU WOULD LOOK LIKE IF YOU HAD NO EARS

WLAL is in pain this morning. Its perpetrator took a spill on the ice and bruised his right hand which is why you may find that this entry favors letters on the left. Bruises, regardless of where they land, are pains in the ass, because they don't stop you enough to not work, get you very little sympathy, take a long time to heal and live at the crux of annoying and painful, a not particularly happy place. But WLAL, which today has 3 listeners, a record, must go on, so bruised hand and all I will keep spinning those discs for my avid fans. Thus endeth the content portion of today's entry. Is it too soon for me to start discoursing again on the insanity of the enterprise? How many times can I do that before people say it is not amusing to watch you watch yourself keeping it going. WE DO NOT WANT TO GO MAD ALONG WITH YOU. This is a true editorial challenge. I have ranged around the publishing industry during the real-life part of my career, so I know whatof I am speaking. I have spent many hours trying to get authors to inject more and better content in their work and I know how hard that is. It is like pulling one's own tooth, in this case before an audience who is watching each root leave each canal and judging whether it is amusing enough for them to continue watching the operation. Yes, it's a tough job, but WLAL, to whom I feel an increasing personal commitment,(WHY?) can do it. This entry is being written during the early morning, generally the peak of the author's writing powers,(PATHETIC) before the events of the day have flattened him. The fact that I am giving pieces of this, my most quality of times, to this my most ungainly of children, underscores the fact that my commitment grows, that I see paths around the content of no content that go on for continents,like the Nile, and that I am confident anyone brave enough to start down one of these paths will be sufficiently rewarded to continue. This entry, in fact, feels like something of a beginning, or at least a rededication.(IN THE AUTHOR'S ON MIND ONLY) That being the fact, to allay any fears that ally is going conventional, it ought to abruptly stop. Like here.BUT HOW MANY BEGINNINGS AND ENDINGS CAN YOU EXPECT US TO BEAR?(WHO DOES HE THINK 'US' ARE? FROM THE VANTAGE POINT OF THE END THE AUTHOR IS IMPRESSED AND DEPRESSED BY THE FACT THAT HE THINKS THAT ANYONE BUT HE WOULD GIVE A SHIT ABOUT TRIVIA ON THIS LEVEL. I WOULD SAY I HOPE HIS HAND ROTS, BUT IT'S BETTER.)

e GINGER SNAP COOKIES

We enter, undeterred that the writer's perpetually blank mind is even blanker than usual, save for some uncommunicable surface tension not really connected to WLAL-- more just low level existential angst that seems to follow me day in day out and results in my having to resort to things like this to keep myself from going over the sides of my speedboat. It is the day after Valentine's Day, which seems to have taken on the proportions of Christmas this year. WLAL thinks people really do need and want love but is skeptical that the stuff with roses is representative of anything but a florist's wet dream. WLAL was not sure he had ever experienced true love, save that for his children, which is so obvious it hardly deserves the name. But the departure of a domestic partner taught the blogger that love is defined by its absence. Falling in love is not nearly as positive an experience as losing a love is negative-- even when it was only when the person left left that you realized that the hole in your life was love. Getting rather seriousAND PERSONAL for us. Some inane humor probably called for here. But WLAL will never do what is called for or expected since it does not know WHAT THAT IS. THE POINT IS we are feeling a bit melancholy today (VALENTINES?)and if that spills into a subjectless blog well you can just demand your fucking money back. THIS SPILLS DANGEROUSLY CLOSE TO A PERSONAL MEMOIR BLOGG MUST HAVE BEEN HAVING A HARD DAY. HOPEFULLY HAPPY DAYS WILL BE RETURNING. QUESTION; AM I PERMITTED TO DELETE AND ENTIRE ENTRY IF I DON'T LIKE IT? ANSWER: YOU CAN DO WHATEVER YOU DAMN WELL FUCKING PLEASE. I'S YOUR BLOG. YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND VIRTUALLY NO ONE IS READING IT ANYWAY (BUT YOU'RE STILL A HECK OF A NICE GUY AND I LOVE YOU VERY MUCH).

edit IT'S BETTER TO FEEL GOOD THAN TO PUSH PEACH PITS IN YOUR EARS

Second try today and it will be brief as WLAL has an appointment. Yes, it does have a corporeal existence and does not spend all of it thinking of lame witticisms for this imaginary radio station. It has friends (at least it thinks it does), a relationship (well, sorta),a dog except for the fact that it has none and a refrigerator that contains two gallons of vanilla soymilk. Betcha that gets the twitter count up. WLAL digs soy. Can you believe it. Soymilk sales in America will go through the roof as cholesterol counts come down. The power of these words to move millions stuns me. It is a power I do not take lightly and use with the utmost discretion, knowing it can destroy lives and disinfect toilets. We are still in the "how long am I going to keep this up?" state, knowing that anything short of 500 posts would not even get onto the lamest "weird things on the net site." There are billions and trillions of people out there, each one approaching the web with an eye to potential immortality whether they admit it or not. Knowing that there is a way to market their bologna cutting machine to google and convince them to feature it. Google cuts through bologna, they plead to the deaf ears of executives who have turned down atomic milk straws and recordings from the dead. They are discriminating, these google folks, which is why they own all of our lives. What are they going to do with them. Eventually will there be google cemetaries as the population ages and if there is communication after life will will be friending each other from beyond the grave? What if one of us is in heaven and the other in the other place. Will there be enough 3G juice to carry our messages to each other? I said this entry will be short. Anything longer than this is not short so this is WLAL signing off for now. You all be good to each other and give the mailman a kiss and tell him you heard about it on WLAL.

IF THE INTERNET WERE INVENTED FIRST, WOULD WE HAVE RADIO? (OPENING IDIOTIC)EDIT

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I'm still not sure if I'm really vested in LA. Still not sure if it's a supreme creative effort or an indication that my mental decay is greater than I thought.YOU'VE SAID THIS AT LTEAST 5000 TIMES I will not know the answer until I stop, whether that be today or in five years. Then what happens to what I have written. Does it stay on the web eternally for future generations to admire? NO, IT BECOMES A BREAKFAST CEREAL. I THINK THE AUTHOR MUST HAVE HAD A ROUGH NIGHT.

WLAL RADIO EDIT

THAT MUSIC WHICH IS LOUDEST IS NOT NECESSARILY THE HARDEST TO SING, BUT IT'S LESS LIKELY TO BE THE EASIEST

Important announcement: Literal Ally is changing its format from blog to radio station.(THIS SILLINESS NEVER WENT ANYWHERE IT STILL MIGHT THOUGH SO I LEAVE IT IN. EF, which stands for editor from the future. It will henceforth be known as WLAL although as far as google is concerned it must maintain its quota of capital letters, numbers, underscores and lettuce. The radio station format occurred to me today when he was listening to a piece of music called RELAX which would send most readers, if there were any, of this station, screaming out into the street, BLOOD POURING FROM THEIR EARS. It's one of those new agey dirges that never ends, where electronic instruments blend seamlessly into strings and ambient voices. Why was today such a difficult day in the life of the manager of WLAL. For personal reasons. -- you should be happy I revealed as much as I did about the music. But the radio station format-- sound bites of various lengths, announcements, public service announcements, seems much looser than already stiffening blog format.(I DON'T THINK HE REALLY EVER DID THIS)ef I want to be the Pandora of blogs. As my friend said, the waterfall of word that will teach you nothing, disturb you not at all and bear no relevance. An electronic fuzzy igloo. Bring forth your troubles; your joys and know that they will be safe and unchangeable here, increasing your confidence in your god-given goddamn consciousness, encouraging you to use it in gentler ways, like the hummingbird that told me to found WLAL.(WAS THAT THE TWEET BIRD?) ef Should the station have commercials? Is that what the "monetize"" tab means?I hadn't thought of that. I think I will think I love the word monetize. If I like you will I lovify you? Meanwhile, this somewhat aborted talk/radio station i signing off. All the lively folk at WLAL wish you the gentlest of pleasant days.And expect you here at the designated time tomorrow.(ANYTIME)ef

THE NIGHT IS LONELIER THAN THE OWL

IT JUST OCCURED TO ME THAT IF I KEEP EDITING EACH TIME I POST THERE WILL BE A CONSISTANT 'EDTITING GAP' OF, SAY 24 PAGES. WILL THIS ORDER DISORDER MY MAIN MOTIVE. SHOULD I EDIT MORE ARBITRARILY. SHOULD I EDIT AT ALL? WHO THE FUCK CARES? My trainer (yes, literal ally has a corporeal existence) told me that any "creative" activity can help one lose fat around one's midsection. This is responsible for my first entry in weeks, having decided literal ally was having a deleterious effect on author's mental health plus the fact that my trainer is the only person I know who actually read an entry and said it felt like "a waterfall of words" which is a more beautiful image than the content deserves. More like a waterfall of wood. Or a woodfall of chucks. Speaking of chucks (and this is a ridiculously arcane reference) I started trying to teach myself piano again and found it so ridiculously difficult that I may have to abandon the effort. First I tried scales, then I got a beginner's sightreading book whose melodies were so unmelodious that you couldn't remotely tell whether you got them right or not. Then I went back to some Bach (ok Chuck) baby pieces and was stunned at how much beauty he could deliver even when writing at the level of morons like me. It is the opposite of literal ally. It is all rules, creativity and above all, genius. So it sent me running back to this content which I can control even though it is utterly vapid. It is MY vapidity. It is something I know how to do. I am incapable of writing beautiful pieces for toddlers to play or even read. I feel rejuvenated by the uselessness of my effort. Will this be my last entry or will this spur me on to greater and greater heights of depth? Only time will tell, but only if you can tell time. FUTURE ME: NICE WORK.

EVERYBODY'S WEIRD

Tension. Doubts. Rational thinking. All enemies of Literal Ally instigating thoughts of whether in fact this can be done, ought to be done and why one would do it. Just spent 10 minutes reading the first chapter of what one would call these days an intelligent novel. Tried to get wrapped up in the tale of why------happens to------and why he-------to get his way-------of it. I felt this mounting tension 1) Because said book is so much better and more intellectually stimulating than this pedestrian effort 2) felt it was a silly fabrication, en ersatz presentation of an ersatz reality in which both reader and writer knew the situation and characters were false but agreed to sign on the former for pecuniary reasons, the latter to pass some time in a way that felt more intellectually dignified than masturbation, the former to sell intellectual condoms. May very well go back and read some more, but doubt it. Novel was too busy being sustaining the illusion that it was real while it was really false as shit though the falseness was painted by one of the world's greatest reality simulators. Writer here knows that the ending of his book (madness) does not require effort of digesting hundreds of pages of sustained false narrative. Knows that Literal Ally will become an increasingly lonely place as more and more narrative falls away. Nothing is nothing or nothing aint worth nothing but its free-- an approximation of what Janis Joplin sang. It is definitely time for a sustained burst of narrative nothingness on one subject. Last time, as writer recalls, it was loneliness, an inexhaustible subject; writing about loneliness is like building about dancing. It wears thin fast. No, something much more antic is required, like ten bad jokes. Communication, that's it. The bifurcation of being communicated to vs. the content of the communication. Literal Ally communicates non-communication in a communicative way as part of the e-community, communing with its readers communally, continuoually reassuring its readers that the reality it purports to represent is harmless. The madnesss is reserved for the author, his crown of laurels. For the reader, the author hopes he is holding a mirror onto the screen and can imagine the reader watching the words unfurl, hopefully wondering with each word why she is wasting her fucking time watching this when she could be updating herself on facebook.(CHEAP SHOT) This is a dirty business. We are faced with real doubts now as to how pure we can keep this before wandering into the slums of content city, where everything matters and nothing is real.EDITED