When writing, I aim for tightness. I often joke that my ideal written piece would contain no words. In my fantasy, my editorial carving is so advanced as to yield a splendidly blank page. Needless to say, such revisionary persistence is absurd and pragmatically useless, yet I often yearn for it. Why? Of what value is a blank page?
For most of us, the realm of ineffability is safely tucked away, reserved for use by dreamers and psychotics. I propose a partial boycott of our "effable" hardware. Let's make way for blank pages. Or, better stated: L t s m k w y f r b l k p g s. Who knows what we'll see?
Eric Shapiro, Between A & B
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