Writer's block, or the adventures of Superman, Man of Steel

The thing of it is this: I am totally devoid of ideas. You wouldn’t think anyone could be devoid of ideas to write about these days, what with the former junior Senator from Illinois suspending the laws of physics as a sop to the quantum mechanics union, most of whom voted for Himself in 2012, or in following the adventures of Angela Corey, Florida’s own Red Queen, who wanted to cast George Zimmerman as the Knave of Hearts and have the verdict first and the sentence afterwards, but what can I tell you?  Nothing is ringing a bell for me these days.  You wouldn’t think that the decline and fall of this our Great Republic would be so devoid of things to write about, but it is.  Maybe it’s just me, maybe I’m just not trying hard enough these days.  Or maybe it’s writer’s block. I hate writer’s block. I don’t mind writer’s cramp so much; with the cramp, you can just look at your hands and think, well, it’s not really my fault, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak, and, in this case, hurts like hell. But writer’s block is just a drag all the way around. It’s not your hand’s fault this time, bubba, and you can’t even claim to be too damn lazy to write, which one of the best excuses in existence, right up there with Dorothy Parker’s the pencil broke, an Olympic champion of an excuse for not writing if ever there was one.  No, you want to write, you need to write, but unlike Abstract Expressionism, twelve-tone serial music or anything with anchovies on it, you can’t get away with slopping whatever comes into your head on the page and then saying that the audience is too dumb to understand your literary genius. There’s a reason why no one but college professors read Finnegan’s Wake and self-indulgent logorrhea is one of them.   James Joyce could get away with that sort of thing because he was Irish and James Joyce to boot, but the rest of us are stuck in a never-ending struggle with clarity, unless you work for a university or the government, whereupon you can get away with writing all manner of idiotic drivel with a clear conscience.  So as soon as I get an idea, I’ll be working on it forthwith and have it up for your perusal as soon as possible. In the meantime, it’s summer: go to the beach, enjoy the sunshine, drink a pina colada.  It’ll make you feel better about yourself.