20 August 2015
Dear Reader: Here is Some New Content You Have Not Read Yet
This post is being composed not because the author has anything important or interesting to say, but because you are hungry for new content. Or so they say. You've already read all the stuff you've already read, and now you wanna read something you've never read before. Not that I blame you – I've already read most of that other stuff too and though lots of it was better than good, I'm not particularly motivated to go read it again. I'm craving something new, something I've never, heck no one's ever read, something that has yet to be written and no one's even thought about writing anything (remotely) like it before.
Well here it is. This post is assembled using familiar words, but they appear in an order unprecedented in the history of English litt-tra-cha. The structure is borrowed from Dance of the Dodecahedrons by Liszt*. If you plot all the plot points, story arcs and character development vectors on a series of 3x5 index cards (unlined) and then view the results through an atomic force microscope, the structure of the piece is immediately recognizable as an inverted hurricane with a central plaza (featuring a guy juggling bayonets, a wombat doing unicycle tricks and an Irish washerwoman selling cannolis) and six fibrous tentacles radiating outwards in the first movement, nine strata in the second, and but a single word in the pivotal fifth stanza.
The essay, like most of the claptrap you read these days, begins with a long scene-setting sentence such as Our single-wing Cessna swooped in across the valley over high-falutin corn farms and banked sharply against the eggshell sky before beginning its descent into what would prove to be the setting for one of the most well-regarded blogposts of all time; or maybe something sharper like Charlie looked up over pearl-handled reading glasses and calmly intoned, "Because, my dear fellow, I'm a killer. And you, are a victim." (Blammo.)
The subject of the thing is something you've been thinking about for a quite awhile, but only vaguely, just below the level of consciousness. In a simple and elegant opening paragraph it shows why the problem is both ubiquitous and urgent. The tone achieves exactly the right balance of hard-hitting and whimsical. A relatable anecdote absolutely says it all. It's something you’ve been trying to get your friends excited about but you don't have a clear idea what you're trying to say and you end up babbling but this really crystallizes it, and in such an entertaining style of speak. You should probably share this post on your wall quickly before someone else does, or if they've already shared it you can like it and even comment.
Ombudsman. Om. Buds. Man. Ombudsman.
Okay here's where she starts picking up a little steam. It's a river-rafting expedition down a stream of consciousness, with occasionally entertaining rapids but now we’re stuck in a whirlpool, Eddie, whoa here we go, vaguely familiar landmarks drift by, one minute we're in a box canyon, the next a bevy of elk lounging on the riverbank smoking Camels and drinking scotch out of a bottle throws flaming sticks at us as we float on by, then a hippo appears out of nowhere to swallow an alligator as it attacks a Maori tribesman in an innertube doing a podcast.
But, alas, after a few minutes of this drifting, as entertaining as it may be, we grow weary and begin to ask aloud that age-old question: What, pray, is the point of all of this?
The point will be revealed in Part 2 of this essay, coming soon to a theater near you. Check local listings, some restrictions may apply, if you have an erection lasting more than 4 hours, etc. etc.
*The reference here is apparently to Darrell Liszt, not to his more famous cousin Brian.