Raver Tip # 001: If your shirt comes to
you inside out, don't waste time right-siding it, just aim the tag
for the back of the neck and go in head first.
Digitalis Uneditis:
Typewriters express our beauties more easily than any other form. Long hand can feel like art and our handwriting can award deep personal connection, but rarely do our thoughts slow down to that speed though. Computers... aw computers, you have heard too much. The computer keys don't clack as loud, I'll give the computer the nod when the roommates sleep, but the typewriter really wins every other time though. With a typewriter you can't afford to write bullshit, the ribbon has its limited length, plus deleting hazards make it so you really give it your best on the first take. The digitalis affords many chrysalis of haphazard “why not” bullshit, plus the competition online helps make digital shit lost in a swirling john stream of cuntiousness.
"Forget trying to write on a tablet, Dweebis."
Typos, let's explain how typos warrant the typewriter the title belt. When you typo on a computer, that little red squiggly line chastises you into breaking your thought. Goodbye Freudian slips and more so the problem, whoops there out the window goes your thought development. On the typewriter, you will look back at the end most likely, because, well, it already made it onto paper, and then you must kinda pick and choose what you can replace. Your other words block you in so your hand usually gets forced into shortening your work, and broadly spoken, that parameter usually will help the reader. Blah, blah, the computer program says “page 1 of 1” and implore to write 2 pages, 5, more, more, 100, sure. No sweat off a skinned computer's back. A typewriter works one page at a time, each one has gotta be dragged outta the damn machine, placed somewhere else and a new one found. A shitty page gets crumpled, aww the sensual joy of crumpling, not so with the word processor.
Typos, let's explain how typos warrant the typewriter the title belt. When you typo on a computer, that little red squiggly line chastises you into breaking your thought. Goodbye Freudian slips and more so the problem, whoops there out the window goes your thought development. On the typewriter, you will look back at the end most likely, because, well, it already made it onto paper, and then you must kinda pick and choose what you can replace. Your other words block you in so your hand usually gets forced into shortening your work, and broadly spoken, that parameter usually will help the reader. Blah, blah, the computer program says “page 1 of 1” and implore to write 2 pages, 5, more, more, 100, sure. No sweat off a skinned computer's back. A typewriter works one page at a time, each one has gotta be dragged outta the damn machine, placed somewhere else and a new one found. A shitty page gets crumpled, aww the sensual joy of crumpling, not so with the word processor.
But the biggest joy of the typewriter,
hands down the qwerty skirt, is the romantic excursion it takes you
upon, first class. The sound of the keys, and the hammers on the paper
and plenum, the little ding of the bell at the end of line, the
shuttering back to alignment for the next line, all that resonates in
your ear with the beauty of steel. Every key strokes reminds you of
the real world connecting with the solid physical word. Forget trying
to write on a tablet, Dweebis. A computer with keys still has a
little bit of that ear pleasure. The eyes though, the sight of your
work printed, holy smokes, you produced already, from letter one! And
definitely no glare or blinding occurs on a typewriter, light up your
page with dancing candle flame to really give soul power to that
ghouly spirit beast of a machine. Computers induce squinting, you
definitely look in pain, think about it, and pain does exist there
staring at a bright busy screen with hundreds of buttons.The
computer can easily outmatch the linguist with mere button clutter. A computer wizard may know all the
buttons in OpenOffice sure, but that pre-req forbids many writers
with intriguing tales. With the typewriter you see you, your
publication, the paper you chose, the indents on the back of the
page, your errors and all. It is true. Finally, the typewriter probably smell
better, and smell (according to people that say things), connects to
memory the strongest, smell induces emotions easily I think they say
too. A typewriter might not smell, but some smell of the past, of
steel and oil and unguent. Anyway this piece wrote itself on a
computer, so go figure. Too daunting to go back and edit this, I
don't even wanna look.
