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