The NO BOOK Diatribe

I’m taking a brief respite from my next monograph (watch this space in the coming hours!!) to have a little chat with you people.  I was going to just e-mail some of you with a private word; but there are a growing number of you and the list of mailees was becoming longer…and getting out of hand.  It’s about this business of publishing these monographs (some would say monologues) and turning this mélange into a book.

I really ‘liked’ Dudley’s rejoinder that he come over to my house, lay on the couch and read my work, as each page was finished and ready to print, assisting me with my fruit fly conundrum as alibi for his presence.  Nice try, Dud!  No cigar.

Serizzzleee for once, I am deeply gratified that some of you are reading me…and reading me, if you get my convoluted drift.  Perhaps some of you are having a good laugh at the folly I recount.  I certainly do.

Hunched over my keyboard, between puffs of cig and sips of coffee, re-reading/re-writing text, I sometimes unabashedly break out in an apoplexy of uncontrolled mirth, scaring my animals (well, the dogs anyway) into an agitation of concern: “Is Daddy having a heart attack?  Does this mean no more treats at bedtime?”

Perhaps some of you are also moved…or enlightened by what is revealed.  That is a serendipitous by-product, but not the point for doing this (Crikey!!! I just saw Winston bat Goofy about the head!  Does that cat have NO forbearance?).

The POINT is: this is a Fifth Step following an ongoing fearless and moral inventory of the exact NATURE of my wrongs.  For the AA illiterate of you out there, this spiritually cleansing exercise in front of God and one other person is the heart of our creed.  These are the sins of the son, visited upon the father.

The task has taken on an urgency, not to shore up my sobriety; rather, to restore me to sanity.  All jokes aside, here, I am compelled to do this.  After burying my feelings for lo! these 42 years, I have shrugged off the cloak of shame, I have grounded the awful procrastinating, I am moving to another place in the sun.

Neglecting all but the most essential household chores (Don’ warry, the animals get their dinner…and their treats…right on time…every day) I am trudging down this road; knowing that one day I will come to the end.

Don’ warry, I have about a jillion memories to go through yet. Be advised though, once I am finished, this may grind to a halt.  When the reality drifts into fiction, my work will be done.

These monologues (Sheesh!  Now I’m doin’ it!) may eventually grow to the size of a book; but they will continue being posted on Face Book one at a time.  You people need to light a fire up your ass and skyrocket up here into the twenty-first century.

No, Dudley, you may not have this in paperback format.  Not to cross over, but some of you on Twitter are tweeting your heads off.  This is the newthink of instant communication.  I have no idea if this stuff is being shared on pages unbeknownst to me; I do hope so.  One friend is reading to a Vet with PTSD.  It is apparently having a profound effect on the guy.

No no no, I have no wish or expectation of going viral.  I just want to tell my story to all you, my friends in Ether Ether Land, and anyone else who would like to gather round.

Good.  If this is working for me, it can work for others who suffer as I do.

That’s why there ain’t gonna be no book.

One more tizzy before I return to work:  I sincerely regret the limitations of a Face Book posting.  My work in Word has a look that would prove to all of you that I am NOT a grammar cretin needing thirty days in syntax rehab.

On the blank page of creation, in addition to the intentional gaffes of my vocabulary, there are sentences, paragraphs, italics, all those things that enhance the English language.  If I am unduly biased in favor of my Mother tongue, so be it. But, damnit, when I copy and paste, Face Book runs everything together, like those food trays at Mid Rats.

So to YOU, Mark Zuckerberg, I challenge you to get your skinny ass down here in the bear pit; you and Bill Gates: come on and confront me, you rich jerks! I’ll kick your collective asses and those of your entourage!  You are billionaires because of us millions of user-serfs, and you know it!  The least you could do would be to give us a little fricking SERVICE down here!  You ungrateful pair of feudal dweebs.