Blogged out?

I have this intense desire to blog, but I've had no inspiration the past few days. Everything I've written about, or linked, I thought "hey this that's cool I should share this on my blog." As the days have gone by there has been nothing I thought worth blogging about. Still, having no ideas doesn't mean I don't I have that twitch to type something, anything, to fill the blank.

"...white quadrangular deserts..." The narrator of Yevgeny Zamyatin's We uses this metaphor to describe the pages of his journal before he writes on them. It happens to be one of the books I am reading at the moment. I read that passage earlier today and thought it was a compelling image of empty pages. Writing the above paragraph it popped into my head. I began to write my thoughts in prose form but my mind started chanting a poem, a poem, we must have a poem. So I tweaked it a bit came up with a poem. It's simple but here it is.

Pages,
Deserts
Where words water
Idea-plants,
Creating green worlds,
Or
Leaving nothing but mud.

Wow, that gave me a little thrill. Maybe I should simply write more often. Funny how the act of writing triggered the memory of the metaphor. Granted it wasn't the Proustian revelation brought on by eating madeleines; the memory being so new as to barely qualify as a memory, and so small as to only contain three words. But it was enough to turn this post from some dull rant about the lack of blogging material into something slightly entertaining. Or was it?