Chapter 17

Think outside the box. Box. Computer. The internet. The internet lives inside the computer... the internet lives in...

Great Scott! Blogs! Writing a blog is like writing a book! "But," said the tiny voice in Dail's head that sounded unnervingly like Humphrey Bogart, "you know nothing of blogs." This is true. What is 'blog' even short for? Assuming it is short for something. It must be short for something. Blogging? That's the process of writing a blog you heathen. What little I do know is that it seems mandatory to write in a style that assumes the reader is avidly interested in what you have to say. In most cases, one would imagine, this is not the case. This is far from the case. Miles. This is the case being put on the wrong plane and sent to Sydney whilst you're on your way to Austria. Oh god, and that case had your camera and phone charger in it. And most of your pants! What demonic spark of inspiration made you pack pants and camera in the same case?! Was it to protect the camera...? Possibly. Ha. Protection. Hrmph. All roads on the internet lead to sex...

A blog about what though? Does a blog need a specific theme or motive? Mesinks it may be time to do some market research. Evaluate the competition, so to speak.

After 5 hours, Dail had completed three online games, watched a film and ordered the entire Sherlock Holmes anthology. He hoped to boost up his detective skills lest an errant villain who had a penchant for laying intellectual traps about the place move into his neighbourhood. Note to self, take up opium smoking and buy a deerstalker... Also acquire ex-military medic for side kick purposes and homo-erotic subtext. Likewise, commence retrospectively referring to past events as "The Case of..." etc etc. "Ah yes. The Case of the Mirrored Trumpet. I skilfully deduced that it was milk. The clue was in the consistency of his shaving. Messier on the left hand side of his face, meant there was a window to his right." Capital.

Dail finally decided to cut out the middle man of constructive thought and just start typing. The result didn't so much meander as mince without any hint of a perceptible bearing. Suffice to say, that the topics of deforestation, childbirth, the "proper" way to organise ones fridge (in accordance to Dail) and eight fun things to do with a sponge and a spatula were covered within the opening paragraph. Not even a long paragraph. Fifteen lines. Dail may have just discovered and perfected (in the eyes of only those with the grandest and/or feeblest clutching of the English language) the Linguistic Wormhole. Tiny holes in traditional planes of logic that, if approached from just the right angle, allowed you to make vast inter-topical leaps in a fraction of a sentence. And they're everywhere. Permeating everything. Talking about toast? Blam. In the wink of a heartbeat you're discussing sheep herding in New Zealand interspersed with art deco era decanters. What ho? A casual chin-wag betwixt acquaintances regarding a new pair of spats? You appear to be sorely mistaken my good chum, for presently we appear to be deep in discussion about the best way to order a latte in Naples. 

Lingual Physics and the inevitable Pulitzer-Nobel-Combo prize aside, Dail decided to let loose this opening salvo on 'the limits of human comprehension'. A few quick emails to friends to say "I've done a thing. Go and read it. Not in a 'I've just had Alphabet Pasta and my digestive system isn't breaking things down like it used to' way. I wrote a blog. Kind of. Enjoy!" and the waiting game began. Waiting, in this case, involved making tea, eating biscuits (with said tea) and endeavouring to perfect the long lost art of getting a bouncy ball into a cup; opting for plastic this time to avoid any nasty breakages. Then he reread what he had written. This, he discovered, was a mistake. Apparently, one of the rules of Lingual Physics was that once a Wormhole had been used, it ceased to exist. That is to say, what he had written only made sense at the time of writing. Whilst Buddhists who believed in living purely in the moment might appreciate this, most others wouldn't. And, as it turned out, didn't. The first critique he received denounced thusly: "Enlightening. You're lucky that I know you or I would probably try and get you sectioned." Most were of a similar artery. Curiously, one such reply said "I want to read more. I just don't know why." Posted by Anonymous. Gasps and zounds abound! A fan! This must be what it feels like to be a pop star. Dail took a nervous glimpse outside to assess his bushes (steady on) for any hidden paparazzi. Safe, but only for now. Note to self; keep a wary eye about yourself. Those Sherlock Holmes books are already paying for themselves.

Dare I write more so soon? Dail weighed up the pros and cons and eventually settled on sticking to the age old adage that less is more; and that more is what you should always leave them wanting. To this end, Dail vowed never to write a blog again. "If you build it, they will come" wasn't it? Well, famous quote, prepare for an overhaul. "If you don't write it, they will read it."

 Take that, Shakespeare.