Dear G.
Almost a year ago, you asked me, puzzled, why the hell I was reading so many books? Que cojones there I found exactly? And I, equally puzzled, to answer you that I did nothing but damn I would think. A few weeks later in a bar in Brussels, we talked again. I seem to remember thee then expressed my difficulties in finding even the smallest piece of the answer. I thought that put me in front of a blank page to write rather than say it would release perhaps something would put me on the track, command me ideas. And then I've promised a text in the weeks that were follow.
I finished the paper the first week of May. The idea was put online on Tabula Rasa . It will never be the case. There are no answers, only tracks. Regardless, it can be interesting, the problem lies elsewhere: I was unable to really finish it. I should say: I finished miserably, because it is the truth. The conclusion is void and I will not publish this. I can not write it either, I have no strength: the game is not worth the candle, the question Finally, do not disturb me enough. By cons, try to answer your questions gave me a revealing anecdote in mind (maybe) of my childhood. An epiphany - I know you do not like Joyce, a madeleine I know, you do not like Proust, who led me to write three pages on what would have happened that day. For that alone, I owe your thanks. Self-fission is the perfect space for self-publishing this kind of thing.
A month ago, you said, I quote, "rather than ink smudging his fingers cool, would it not Time to get serious? "To this day I still have no idea what you mean by" serious stuff "and I keep smudging ink fingers with great joy. It should not however believe that your comment does not abstruse trots me not in the head. It is, in truth, the element that convinced me to open this blog after long delays. It is an idea that I was working, and I still do not know, now that I took the leap, whether it is good. Anyway, I owe you more thanks. If I could make a dedication, it would be "to G. "Although it surprised if you find anything here that you like.
But now I realize that I did not say clearly what I intended to make this space. As you know, we've already discussed there are indeed two years in a Chilean restaurant, I sometimes write like that, as a dilettante. I can go six months without putting myself or find myself in a state of excitement during a scriptural weekend. For some time, I told myself that I needed motivation to write more regularly. That's what to serve self-fission house all these things I do too but that would not find their place on Tabula Rasa and encourage me to put me to work to live blog with all the same, a certain regularity. To me now not to let the thing become an empty shell more. To avoid this disastrous fate, everything is possible. I have old texts that eventually could be saved. I have three (or four, I do not know) serious projects that revolve endlessly in my head without really convince me to get started. This is an opportunity. I also hope to help readers - if I find faithful - who can always suggest one or the other exercise, one or the other theme.
Waiting to see what comes of it, but for the moment I am still forced to rely on the failure. Not to fall too high. This is one of the reasons I did so immediately. The other, and I'm a little ashamed to admit it, is the fear of what will disappoint my initial readership. I imagine that in fact the first to discover this blog are regular readers of Tabula Rasa, including some of my colleagues and comrades, and especially those among them, also write and publish the results of their delusions here or there. I think another G., P., O., C., A., T., L., U. These people, you see, do what they do very well, but the more I found in their words, their rhythm in their play, a bit of what makes the beauty of the authors we love together. They might expect to find the same kind of thing here, go to my mill staff. They could expect a little adventure, a little game, funny phrases. And yet, F. the reader and F. the writing is not quite the same people. I stick, I fear, to a certain classicism little original. The risk of not interest those who are most likely to spread the word is there and have me time from going forward with the act. I know it's silly and a spirit as strong as yours do this would not block it. You're right, and that's why I'll start.
I'll stop here and leave you alone. I hope this little letter finds you fit and awake, in the absence of passion, a little bit of kindness for this project. I seemed important to point out to you the role you have played there. Besides, if you see him before me also thank our friend B. which, last spring, had directed me to move her ass. He had even half-seriously suggested that he write a monologue for her acting classes. I did, needless to say, nothing.
Although you,
Francis
PS: the blog name? Do not give it more meaning than Tabula Rasa.
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