1. . And ye shall reap what ye

So, I may be a little behind schedule, but you may be somewhat reassured, if not downright mollified, to learn that I am actually working to a plan here. The plan, in fact, that I alluded to in last week's (go with me on this) entry. It's a plan that's taken much thought, and many sleepless nights (albeit only coincidentally; insomnia is a bitch called Malice), and also some not inconsiderable research (To whit: I considered research. It logically follows that anything that can be considered, is also therefore considerable), and one of the first things I discovered was this: about 70% of blogs begin with the word 'so'.

'So'.

Just that one word, to open onto a world of possibilities. Do you know why?

Well, then you're just lazy, because the answer's obvious. 'So' is a great opener, simply because it suggests that you (the reader) have wandered in on the middle of something. Probably something juicy. Or at the very least mildly distracting. "So, I said to her, "look, lady, I don't grease 'em, I just deliver 'em."' Overhear that, while out and about doing your mail round, and your first thought is 'what did I just miss?'  

Your second thought is 'does it have anything to do with Doing the Sexy?'

(Don't Judge me. Don't you dare.)

Anyway, the point stands: 'So' is highly suggestive. It suggests that you (hell: 'we'. I'm not elitist, except when it comes to those inferior people. But we don't speak of them) it suggests, I say, that we have dropped in on 'something'.  

There's a continuum of conversation (that's the lie that's told), and we've missed the beginning. That's not necessarily a bad thing. Flip the channel, watch any episode of Columbo and there, THAT person our dear lieutenant is talking to _right now_? THAT's the murderer. We know the form; we know the Way Things Work(tm).  

'So' tells us 'Once upon a time there was a blah blah blah, and the reason it's important that I should be telling you this story is because blah blah blah, and now that that's cleared up, let's get on with the action: So, there was this nun, right?...'

The point STILL stands. It would be a clever marketing trick, if only it involved actual cunning. As it is, I'm fairly sure it's just a kneejerk reaction to not knowing the answer to the age-old question: 'why should anyone be interested in what I have to say? Why should anyone care?'

Why SHOULD anybody care? It's an undoubtedly important question, with a long and prestigious history, and not having the answer to it can lead to insanity, sweaty palms, and male-pattern baldness (particularly worrying for the women: no one likes a girl with sweaty palms).  

So (which is to say, 'therefore') the instinctive response is to deny the banality by expressing the banality. There's no earthly reason why anyone should care what you or I might say. 'So' creates rapport, camaraderie, bon homie, and je ne sais qua, so as to block out (and thus deny) the ennui, the... the... the je ne sais qua.

'We're friends, you and I. I don't therefore need to justify talking at you about whatever subject flutters, moth-like, across my small forebrain. I'm going to talk at you. Deal with it. So... There was this nun...'

Consider the alternative (and consider, also, whether it really IS an alternative): 'I'd like to tell you, if I may, a story involving me, a nun, a tub of grease and a case of mistaken identity.'

'Why yes, thank you, such a tale would be awfully well receieved around these parts. Pray, do go on. Tell your story, and with our blessing.'

'So... it happened like this.'

But... but what if they're not interested, this hypothetical audience of which I speak (and to whom I speak now)? Far easier to pretend that they ARE interested. I'm sure they'll lap it up, salivating Pavlov-like (I mean salivating like his dogs. I don't want to start any rumours abou the old duffer). They'll assume they agreed anyway.  

I mean look at them. They're dumb like that. (Hey, these are your friends I'm talking about). Have you ever had a complete stranger waving to you with recognition, and find yourself waving back, just in case you do know them?

Oh. Well, no, me neither.

The eagle-eyed among you will no doubt live the life of a carny, whiling away your days next to the ferret-nosed man, and the sharp-tongued woman. On the other hand, those without eagle eyes, but nonetheless gifted with a high visual acuity - such that someone might compare your eyesight to that of an eagle's by way of tired anaology - will notice that I began this very blog with a 'so'.  

'So'?

Yes, 'so'.

So what?

First off, let the record state that I was attempting irony (more specifically, post irony, principally since no one really knows what it means, and therefore the final arbiter on whether it really is post ironic or not, is me. There's no one able to say I'm wrong.  Ha! )

And secondly, today's entry is intended to follow on directly from the previous one. That the previous entry also begins just 'so' should come as no surprise.  

Unless you haven't read it yet. And frankly if not, well, why not? And if you have, what on earth possessed you to ever come back?!

Let me explain (Incidentally please don't think me smug; not yet. That's a state of affairs I'm hoping we can build to over a period of weeks. It's all part of a self-fulfilling prophecy of immense intricacy. You'll recognise the precise moment my smugness takes over when I call you all 'plebs'):

I love words. Let me hear a 'hell, yeah!'

...

I love what they can do; what they can imply; what they can make us feel; sometimes even what they can say (STOP, right there! You! Yes, you, the pedant at the back: don't try to tell me words read. Words can't speak, but they can say. Words can never read. See me after class and tell me I'm wrong. Dare ya.   I'll be miles away by then anyway.)

Lordy, yes I love words. Their metre, the way they dance (sometimes with two left feet, maybe, tripping across the page,  and looking around seeing what the other sentences are up to, but they give it their all, God bless 'em).

You see, a lot of people go out dancing; whereas I like to see words, dancing across a page.

(Similarly, a lot of people like sex; whereas I like  lots of fucking analogies.)

But what right do I have to talk? And who are you to listen?  Who the HELL do you think you are? Who do you think I am?  

You're listening now, to be sure, but for how long? And - really:- why? WHY? It's all very gratuitous. Perhaps you're okay with that. But I know that I'm not. What I say is not important, but it needs to be said. I need it to be said.  It really doesn't need to be heard, though (or 'read'. I've still got my eye on you, Pedro, and I'm warning you: it once belonged to an eagle). Or... does it? No: It needs to be SAID. By me. I can understand that, but I can't truly justify it.  Not to myself, and so certainly not to you, dear reader (At least, I assume you're dear. I only buy the best). So I need these little hesitancies, these constant steps back, and I need you stepping back with me (please indulge me with your patience), back, back  until we can see what I already know is there, before us. A great vista (or, if not great, then amenably adequate). I make you huge promises, and in so doing nearly convince myself: these light-footed steps backwards amount to a preparation, a run up if you will, to a great leap forward. This is my ego talking, but I have to believe. I have to.

To take this leap forward together, we both need this run up.  I need you here with me, and, to accomplish that, I have to coax you in with familiarity; a companionable arm around the shoulder, and the ol' 'So... did I tell you the story involving me, a nun, and a large tub of grease?'  

Have I built in you an anticipation? Have I whetted your appetite for more? Are you intrigued?Have I left you wanting, pouting, pleading, for more? You want it, don't you? Oh, how you want it.  

Because...

Because next week I shall dash your hopes. There's only insight without meaning. I'm sorry, for that. And maybe, maybe, maybe I'm sorry for other things, too.

But for now I've created my setup. Everything is 'perfect' (as they say in the US.  And probably Australia, and certainly the UK and other English-speaking nations). Everything, my friend, is... just so.