I don’t mean to sound negative, but I just ain’t got nothing to say that’s worth saying at the moment. The problem is, I’ve felt that way for a couple of days now, and really… there has to be something worthwhile that can be written down and recorded for all time.
I’m leaving shortly to put in some time with the Romanian Syndicate. I kind of miss those guys, and football season is still five months away. I even think I have $15 coming to me for winning a game last season.
For those who aren’t aware, we’ve formed a fantasy football league. My team is the Yellowhead Highwaymen and I am the owner/coach. I led the league in fake media releases, charisma, and word count. We follow the CFL, trying to pick the weekly winners. For the past two seasons, I’ve tended to do alright, but I have a tendency to pick upsets that don’t really upset.
If I don’t have anything worth writing tomorrow, I may have to make something up.
How else can one write but of those things which one doesn’t know, or knows badly? It is precisely there that we imagine having something to say. We write only at the frontiers of our knowledge, at the border which separates our knowledge from our ignorance and transforms the one into the other. Only in this manner are we resolved to write. To satisfy ignorance is to put off writing until tomorrow – or rather, to make it impossible.