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