A blender was clearly a dangerous investment.

Sitting up in the wee wee hours. I started thinking about how things have changed in the last few years. I’m now strangely fascinated by the world weather map. I see rain moving across England, and I think of the description I was given regarding this territory in the History of the English Language class: it’s the same size as Arkansas, excepting Scotland and Wales. This blows my mind. To be honest, Arkansas seems positively tiny. Given the historical importance of the real estate, it seems weird that England would be such a small piece of ground. I can get in my car and drive out of Arkansas, in any direction, without refueling. This was not the case in California. It’s just weird, I tell you.

It’s snowing in Moscow and there is a typhoon approaching Guam. People surf into this patch of ground from Poland, Hong Kong, and a million other pieces of real estate across the globe. And I’ve been trying to say something interesting each day. It seems like an insurmountable challenge. Then I think, two years ago I didn’t even know how to type. I just pecked at the keyboard with two fingers, finding the letters in a laborious process. Now I don’t even hardly look at the screen or keyboard, even when I’m drunk. Why do I put that sort of pressure on myself? It’s silly really. Who am I trying to kid? I don’t know shit, and even when I do it seems impossible to communicate it. A fool’s errand, if ever there was one. But then, fool is a label that I have worn on many occasions.

I feel a little better when traffic goes down, for some reason. I look at what I generated in the past few weeks, and realize that there has been very little that would interest anyone. Phew, calm down Jeff. What makes you think that people would surf here even to be amused. You aren’t funny. You aren’t smart. You aren’t any of those things people sometimes give you credit for being, when you rarely strike a nerve. If that effect is achieved, it is purely perlocutionary.

I try to keep it straight in my mind. What I say is locution. What I mean to achieve by say it is illocution. What I actually achieve, which often has nothing to do with what I actually say is perlocution. The intent is telelogical, that is, to achieve an effect. But just what is the effect that I want to achieve? I really don’t fucking know. There’s the rub. Perhaps it’s just time to make another trip back to the blender and make another margarita. And quit padding my web space with such useless musings about how silly the whole enterprise of communicating with the world really is.