I bought Chicago Typewriter: the Red Ribbon for two reasons: a) it sounded neat and b) there was something in the blurb that got under my skin and I wanted to see how bad it really was. 714 more words
The dVerse Poets prompt today is to take something we've written on September 11 of another year and to take a word or idea from that piece and write a new piece. Here is my Sept. 11 essay from 2015 that I am going to draw from. There is a link at the bottom of that post that will bring you back to the poem I've written today based on that post from three years ago. Wow. Complicated. Here is my present-day poem based on the word "handwritten."
Panned by Hand
Words slowly written out by hand will in future years be panned as much as petroglyphs in stone carved out by flint or sharpened bone are an anathema today, now that we have a simpler way to write with pencil or with pen. Will kids remember way back then when moms and grandmothers and dads wrote out notes on legal pads, or will they only go to see 'em in a history museum?
Cell phones don't run out of ink, spew words as fast as you can think, don't use up paper, wood or lead, just use up gigabytes instead. Thus handwriting's a bygone art— i's carefully dotted with a heart, those flourishes at ends of lines— those curlicues and hearts and vines scribbled in the margins? Vanished. All our doodlings soon banished.
It is the truth that progress brings technology to replace things dear to our hearts we thought would be carried on by progeny. But, alas, it is not so. Typewriters were the first to go, then cursive followed recently, and soon I'm sure the powers that be will decide all writing's out, and soon technology will tout communication via brain and then my friends, once more again the means we've used to share our thought will be outmoded, no longer taught by school or university. Mere ESP will surely be worked out so we need only blink to transmit all that we might think.
Imagine, then, the problems caused by thoughts inadequately paused. Words penned in ink can be crossed out, or crumpled up and then tossed out. Not so words received as we think them— flirtings known before we wink them. So long, subtlety and tact. Hello, naked glaring fact. No thoughts scrawled or written with care. All meaning caught in truth's harsh glare. The truth is, friends, that each advance may neither further nor enhance. Some advancement only fetters. All in all, I prefer letters!Here is the link to dVerse Poets Tuesday Poetics in case you want to see what others did with this prompt: https://dversepoets.com/2018/09/11/poetics-on-a-loop/