The Lost Blogs (29 page)

From:
http://www.janeausten.uk/weblog/

Subject:
He Who Shall Remain Unnamed Due to Embarrassing Results

“He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed came quietly into my life a mere two weeks prior accompanied by a selection of digital correspondences
that were both witty and respectful.

Previously, I had mentioned my
astonishment
at how well-read and intelligent he seemed. He was eloquent, considerate and extremely encouraging. I quickly felt as if
I knew his character. ’Twas over the course of many exchanges that I felt as if “He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed was not a rogue
but a true gentleman in the finest sense of the word. But perhaps such familiarity was due to the fact that “He” was not a
stranger after all, but instead was closer to my heart than any of us could have imagined.

Perhaps he was Mr. Collinsworth, the barrister with whom I’d shared a cup of tea months earlier. You may recall how, after
asking him the reason for his great success in all but love, the colour left his face most promptly. Or perhaps Ernest Doyle,
the local businessman with whom I once shared a carriage into town? Upon my suggesting that his hand was in the most inopportune
of places (my knee), he stammered an apology and disappeared soon after. Perhaps it was a man with whom I had interacted,
but whose confidence for one reason or another needed a costume from which to approach me.

My solitary lifestyle has indeed grown tiresome, which I can embarrassingly illustrate through the short writings I have submitted
to such places as
RespectableLadies.com
and
BritainsBest.net
. There, I have found myself, not the subject of a chorus of enthusiasm, but instead a silence most deafening.

Perhaps that is why I hoped for the best with “He” Who Shall Remain Unnamed due to embarrassing results. The results of which,
I will now explain to you.

Consequences being what they were, it had been previously agreed upon that the two of us (having successfully justified a
social meeting through our quick and charismatic textual banter) would meet for afternoon tea at a local establishment. “He”
insisted that it was unnecessary to forward me a picture, as the surprise would be far more satisfying. At the time, such
a suggestion seemed playful, like that of a romantic rogue—and so in spite of my desire to see “him” ahead of time, I agreed.

The preparation took hours—I studied his words, making note of subjects he spoke enthusiastically about. I recalled stories
that I might speak of, showing “him” that the similarities between the two of us were more than coincidental. I dressed in
attire that was not casual yet not elegant. A measured presentation of sorts, as such, to not overexcite or underwhelm. With
the hour arriving quickly, I made my way out the house and down to the establishment.

There I stood, at the time in question, awaiting my intellectual equal… My mysterious correspondent with whom I’d shared
hundreds of stories and personal information. Yet, looking around there was no one there except for a boy about the age of
twelve. Perhaps younger. He was sucking on candy, which gave away his age almost immediately.

Yet he suddenly stood to approach me, his hand outstretched.

“
Ms. Austen
?” he spoke, hiding his candy behind his back. “
Fancy that tea now
?”

*
*
*

I have disabled my digital mailbox until further notice, as I do not believe any good can come from the correspondences between
faceless individuals and myself. If there is love to be had here, in this strange new landscape—I do not believe it is for
me.

And besides, I have a book to complete.

From:
http://www.confucius.ch/blog/

Subject:
…

The honest man knows not when he is being honest—an effort must never be made to discern between honesty and dishonesty, as
the honest man is honest all the time. And then, how can an honest man who is honest all the time know anything different
from such honesty? To him, there is no need to consider a lie. If his soul does not lie, all that comes forth from his lips
is the truth.

So too is the case for the subject line of this digital page of words.

When does a subject fully encompass the subject that follows? When do words prepare us for other words to follow? A word can
never hold the meaning of other words. A phrase can never enlighten us to future phrases. The wise man will never read a subject
line and be satisfied. He must dig deeper for a passage’s full understanding.

The blogged man, he who rises with the sun and gazes upon thousands upon thousands of words as crafted by his fellow man—he
does not need a subject line to direct his path. Yet those who do not familiarize themselves with such prose, who are unfamiliar
with such style and shape—they put all their worth into such limited prose.

The righteous man gazes upon a subject line and gives it no weight. Yet the inferior man, saddled with weight already due
to his lack of direction, gazes upon such words with faith and dedication. To the inferior man, the subject line says all.
To the righteous man, the subject line says nothing.

The inferior man speaks at the completion of reading the subject line and summarizes what he is about to read, while the righteous
man reads the subject line and imagines what he is about to digest.

That is why the righteous man has no need for a subject line on his blog. That is why I have no need for a subject line on
this blog. A man with no subject line on his blog (or his correspondences, in fact) has a life full of possibilities, while
the man who is desperate to put prose where it defines other prose, has a life already decided for him.

(Tomorrow, I, Confucius, will address the righteous man’s lack of necessity for a digital counter, and the inferior man’s
necessity for vertigo-inducing background images.)

From:
http://www.william_wrigley_jr.com/blog/

Subject:
Father’s Business

So far, Chicago has treated the Wrigley family well. Father’s soap business continues to succeed—Wrigley’s scouring soap is
a favorite among the merchants and customers and Father has asked me to help think up the next step in ensuring growth for
the company. Perhaps adding baking soda to the overall product line might be a good idea—these are ideas I am still debating.

Nevertheless, Father invited a selection of business contacts over to the house the other evening for an elaborate dinner—I
suggested to him this was a good idea because it would make Wrigley’s top merchants feel a part of the family, and thus, they
would be much more willing to get the word out about the products. And indeed, it appeared as if it was a good idea, that
is, until dinner was served.

There, as the lot of us were attempting to talk about a variety of business issues, a strange, startling sound was coming
from the other end of the table. That sound, of course, was coming from the mouth of a local businessman (whose name I will
keep to myself). As he tore through his dinner, he repeatedly chewed voraciously—smacking his lips and allowing others at
the table to see inside his mouth as he repeatedly chomped down upon his dinner. It was, honestly, the most disgusting sight
I have ever seen.

Even worse was this individual’s lack of respect—the way in which he would continue to speak and insert himself into the conversation
while continuing to chew. Honestly, and I’m not quite sure why I’ve never noticed this before, but the act of chewing and
speaking with one’s mouth wide open communicates a lack of respect to the others at the table—chew and speak at the same time
and you might as well be saying, “
I don’t care what you have to say, it’s what I have to day that’s most important here!
”

No one said anything, mind you, which made the situation even more grating on our nerves, as this individual continued to
do so through the entire meal and well through the dessert portion of the evening. Just picture it—someone yammering away
with their jaw clenching and unclenching, mouth open for all to see, saliva being mixed throughout. Even with his mouth closed,
seeing a man repeatedly chew as if he was attempting to work his food to his will is abhorrent.

When the evening ended, I expressed these thoughts to Father, who agreed wholeheartedly. It seems he too found the whole situation
to have ruined the mood of the dinner.

Tomorrow I will return to brainstorming for what Wrigley’s next product shall be. I have some good ideas that I’d prefer to
keep to myself for the moment—but will, as always, let you know as soon as the family is in agreement.

From:
http://www.attila_the_hun.com/blog/

Subject:
Attila, On the Road!

So, yeah—I’m on the road. Doing my whole tour thing with my whole entourage supporting me while I do it. Kick-ass guys, really.
They’ve totally got my back, ya know? They make this whole “on the road” thing totally doable.

Well, we’ve been all over the place but we picked up and headed over to start our tour in Italy this last week ’cause it had
been planned for a while now. And once something’s planned, you gotta keep that shit in line.

Okay. Let me just say… I totally killed this week at Aquileia.

By the time I was done with my whole routine in that city, literally no one was left standing—I had totally slayed them and
the entire town! Totally kicked ass! The kind of success you can’t always count on, but the people of Aquileia, at least those
who are even able to speak after my appearance there, well—they’d agree. I totally killed.

Here’s some
pictures
of me and the guys standing near a crowd, all dyin’ for us.

Don’t get me wrong, though—even before we did our thing at Aquileia, we razed the roof throughout most of Italy. I mean, at
every single town, with every single group of townspeople—we did things up like crazy. Never a dry eye. Totally bowing down
to me after I did my thang. Totally rocked their world.

The groupies, you gotta believe, are coming out of the woodwork. What do you expect?! They hear about the tour, how I’m totally
kicking ass, and they wanna hang with Attila and his boyz. I got women sending me rings, wanting to hook up, and BS like that.
But no one stands a chance next to my latest conquest—this hottie named Ildico. I mean, she’s the kind of girl that’ll give
you a nosebleed and cause you to choke to death she’s so hot. I’m thinkin’ that when we get back to the palace—another marriage
may have to happen.

Until then, you can keep checkin’ in here to see where we’re at—in case you wanna come down and join the party. Don’t forget—we
got that
mailing list
that you can sign up for—we’ll let you know the next location we’re heading off to so you get a good head start on us!

E-mail
with questions.

From:
http://www.johannes_gutenberg.de/gutenblog/

From:
http://www.lewis_carroll.com/blog/

Subject:
Vanished

Oscar, the oft-egotistical feline who would (I believe) much prefer a meal than my company, has vanished.

Here is a
picture
.

My poetry, seemingly suffering from the lack of moral support as provided by my partner in crime, has come to a standstill
as I attempt to locate the mischievous little troublemaker. This is not, as I have
written before
, a surprising development. Often, Oscar has sat on the love seat beside my desk while I am attempting to squeeze blood from
a stone. One second I can turn to him for advice, and the next moment he has completely disappeared into thin air.

I often get up, spin around, and there he is yet again—smiling the widest grin imaginable without smiling whatsoever. I suspect
it’s the whiskers, and the way in which they vibrate—much like the energy inside of all children. Oscar, it seems, has a little
child inside of him as well.

You may recall the riddles I posted
last month
which were sparked to my mind through an almost one-sided conversation with the little creature. My queries, the likes of
which could never be answered by a normal everyday house cat, were answered in kind by the little creature—with facial expressions
and nose twitches. To every question I posed, Oscar had another question to ask me. Never an answer. That is for sure.

Yet tonight, the cat has gone completely missing. I checked outside and down the street past the pub but he is nowhere in
the vicinity. For a moment, while perched out the front door at the street’s level, I could have sworn he appeared to me,
yet the
image was gone before I could comprehend it. The mind playing tricks, it seems—all when it comes to my little furry friend.

I suspect he’s somewhere within a mile or two of the house, so I ask those reading to peruse the picture and keep an eye out
for the smiling critter. If you find him, approach him cautiously and don’t ask him a thing. Just grab him and send a message
to
[email protected]
.