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