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The Typewriter.

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Modern Machines in all of their glaring chrome charisma,
Lack the loud audacity of later years, which constantly remind us of their evolutionary importance,
You could type the word "clamorous" on a computer keyboard,
And with its recherché-domesticated clicks, its effects are "taciturn",
A typewriter has a lusty obstinate soul; a word becomes a thing of inherent artistry and symphony, thundering on your mind like staccato rain pouring down on a tin roof,
The thin precise metal fingers are churning roaring tides,
Conceiving out profoundly complex new age ideals or simple prose with gesticulated bravado,
A computer is a mute genius,
Multifaceted but demure, convenience replaces effort as a plethora of opinions and answers are buzzing through a pale blue light,
A typewriter contains no answers, it is a vessel that challenges, it will hold your weight as long as you steer,
Paused fingers itch on faded keys,
Mistakes will be made,
The white out will be emptied,
The dictionaries colorless pages will be scoured, if you didn’t know how to spell “Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia” now you do,
I feel thoughtful and the typewriter replies, “Clack click…clack…click.”
I am writing an accusatory, punctuation ignoring, slander hurling letter and the keys yell in the heavy leaded permanence of ink “Clickclackclickclackclickclackclick!!”
The neighbors know when insight intrudes,
They can hear the tumultuous escalations and declines of a reckless harmony,
Everything has value, even the metal run off of words I tried to dispose of in a blanket of X’s,
A typewriter teaches you the importance of words whether they arrive to you in a god sent bounty or they fail you, and the necessity of ideas,
The gravity of language is inconceivably apparent, and I can hear its heart beating in gossamer mechanical sighs and shudders.



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