The death of bla bla?

It won't be the death of bla bla but just the death of my bla bla.

Perhaps it will just be a long Rip Van Winkle sleep. A bla bla hibernation.

It won't start now but sometime soon. Little bits of bla bla will burst forth--perhaps a supernova. And then darkness.

All along I knew: It's simply bla, bla. Mere bla bla. Yet...at times it seemed like more. What precisely, I don't know. A possiblity. The glimmer of a possibility at least. There is a self I can only access through the bla bla and nothing inspired more bla bla than this venue of blablasity. When it goes, so will she.