Where are we going here? I like to have these little check-ins every so often. Just you and I, reader. I’m having fun writing this, but are you having fun reading it? I just bet you are. But am I actually having fun, you ask? Perhaps I should stop reading meta-novels and explain myself.
When I started this blog, I came up with a big fancy mission statement, all full of pomp and purpose. Some bullshit about improving the transit system and the average person’s understanding of it…yadda yadda yadda. A year ago I scribbled all that out in a fit of cynicism. Then I allowed this little rant or this one to pass out of my database and into someone else’s. Clearly I’m engaged in negative attention seeking here to some degree, no matter how thoroughly I fail to attract any. The Authority’s door is closed and bolted and here I am like a jilted stalker, banging and hollering.
One should really get on with one’s life, you say politely.
I appreciate your discretion, reader. One should…
But let me deflect for a moment to ask about you, reader. Just who are you anyway? (Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? No?) But let me guess, let me be a terrible bore and guess who you are. By your manner, I can tell you’re a connoisseur. A sponge for ideas, sucking and filtering and digesting the delectables. Firmly planted, for life if the angelfish don’t get you, you’ll grow large here.
Why do we find ourselves here anyway? Is it the rich current? Is there any point to asking the question? Am I plankton in this metaphor? Reader, I hope you won’t let me punish myself with that diminutive. Bless you. Yes, why yes, I must be a shark. Thank you. That’s much better. The stray blood can feed you just as well, can’t it? Cells are cells after all and we all love that yummy protoplasm.
Sponges are hardly clever, reader, and I hope you don’t think I insult by analogy. I mean only to imply settlement. How about a barnacle? They use their lives to build elaborate structures that every once in a while must be scrubbed off the bottoms of ships. They also have more complicated organs I presume.
Myself on the contrary, I find I’m quite unable to stop swimming, even if I do keep circling the dock…enough — this is getting silly.
I wanted to write about transit because I want to change it. But I find the situation quite impossible, and so I propose now as consolation that I write for my own amusement. I’m no good for organizations anyway. I only cause trouble. I keep catching myself with the goals of a diplomat and the inclinations of a grenadier. Perhaps, you say, I should adopt the goals of a grenadier? That’s an interesting suggestion, reader…a great many resources have been freed by the precise use of dynamite…
What are we even talking about? Reader, why is it that whenever I talk with you, we both get so bogged down in metaphor? Sharks, explosives, and this whole elaborate analogy with Ace and the Doctor and a missing TARDIS that I haven’t even worked out yet…
I mean, I suppose, that I must leave a tired Apollo to consort with his livelier brother; Do some thrashing that we both may feed; Become prankish, that word I keep circling back to.
Here is my plan for the coming months on this the Cincinnati Transit Blog, the name of which itself now chafes me with it’s seriousness:
Are you still there, reader?