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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!"