type-ohs

Ah the great romanticism of putting an inky nib to some bleached tree guts - an old fashioned phenomenon, I know. We live in an era where our closest relationships are with our laptops or tablets or phones (be careful with phones, they can break your heart), I don't think it's necessarily a negative thing, simply something we have to accept. The way the world has turned.

I took some time today. I made a cup of tea and now I'm sitting here writing, watching as my hand moves across the paper forming some beautifully formed cursive, followed closely by some illegible scrawl - there's definitely something hypnotic about it. Beautiful. I hope it's not something that falls by the way side as technology booms. I am an avid typist, I like the way my fingers slide across the keys and the words appear before my eyes, before I can think of the word I am going to type. Even while I am penning this post I know later I will be typing it into the world wide web and I feel a little saddened by it. As I sit rambling about how mesmerising it is to write and the humour in the way the words form so inconsistently I know what I am sharing with you will be typed and flat and sterile, a format that can be read anywhere in the world... and this original purple penned mess? I suppose it will most likely make its way to a recycling bin.

Handwriting is messy and imperfect and raw... but there's no typos.