EBLOGOREAH

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