10.09.06 What I Got to Tell

Frankly there are days when I don’t feel like blogging and telling you anything. I love you, don’t get me wrong. But at base, the frankest level of all, every day struggles in some form. What good does it do? Is it just the connection to you and the communicating of information? Is that sufficient, or is it necessary? Or do I have something “interesting” or worthwhile to say? What the hell is going on here every day? What am I getting closer to? And going through what to get there? Why does there still have to be this teleology? Why am I still looking for something, Something? It must just be the looking or a bad jonez, an addiction

(There was an Anonymous commenter.) On my relationship to anyone’s soul, let alone my own, and with due respect but still, a metaphor that must be extended: well, I have never seen myself as a gardener. I have some plants, but I always kill a few, so I always thought I was one who would spread shit around in the garden of the soul, which perhaps is a step in making it blossom, too. However, is there a link between spreading shit around and making any/one happy? This I didn’t realize, though some degree of support these days more than I expected — do you ever stop to think and expect such things, before the Tragedy arrives? — tells me that I might have at least had some friends who appreciate the shit-spreading. Ah, lucky me. Yet there is another theory, that my blog is actually related in a perverse way to Proust, this is my ironic theory (it has to be an absurd theory and comparison), and not to the quote (itself) on gardening. That is, it puts one to sleep, sends one into a dream world of memory and rest. That much at least could be true.

The MLM debacle, here an example of how an MLM could slow your life down. It could kill you — this might be a more accurate way to put it. Rather, what the salesman said over the phone, so urgently, so sincerely, was, “This’ll save yer life,” he says with his Utah accent. “You have got to start takin’ this product as soon as possible,” and his last name is Smith, another intimate Utah tie. This is an accent, I think, you simply have to know, you know it or you don’t know it. Why does it bother me? Well, to have someone call me up and take my time by talking down to me about how I’m not seeing what is so “clear and obvious” and all this “new science” he kept saying; to have a person telling me what will save my life in such an off-the-cuff manner simply put me off. I have decided to take these supplements, but not to buy into the MLM hype and life-saving BS ideology needed to sustain the motivation of a salesforce. I can rent and watch Glengarry Glen Ross anytime.

Despite this, I’m on my way and have made some calls, taken some calls, and off I go into the land of this “glyconutrient” called mannose, into a little road of hoping for something more. There’s got to be something more for me here down this little road, right? If nothing then nothing, and it’s a cruel circular logic that simply calls it what it is. Am I making any sense? If it helps and gets me along and heals me up at all then we’re getting somewhere. If not, there’s no other road to go down. So, again “so,” I’m rambling along and telling a very indirect story that has an ending picked out for it already. What the hell kind of story is that? I’m stuck with this task of trying to tell it as it happens, then tell it in some way so as to change its very narrative structure as it’s happening. Impossible in a quite different way from Tristram Shandy. Still, impossible. It’s what I’ve got to give. It’s all I got for now.