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Clack, Clack, Ping!

smells of antique things permeates the case as the lid opens thoughts, words, and wisdoms long recorded for posterity an entire history penned notes, letters, poems, and novels scribed to hopefully feel no less indelible than the joy of the beautiful machine

simple looking, but that belies its immense power to allow us to taste immortality through words sharing stories that create entire worlds in our mind just as vivid as our reality a literary masterpiece a letter home to mom during a war amorous poetic tidbits to that crush sitting beside you in class what wondrous and inspiring moments revealed by the chattering of the keys

the meditative cadence of typing like a metronome of creativity clack, clack, ping! scents of the paper while loading into the machine carte blanche, an unadorned canvas of composition a quick breath out to psyche oneself up for the beginning stretching of the fingers… quick sip of coffee…

like a runner out of the blocks the story begins ping!

the typewriter questions not what mysteries are revealed to it through our words it cares not for typos or grammar it distracts with no notifications, no flashes, no badges, and no friction forever a faithful companion to a literary addict a mechanical serenade of levers, fulcrums, pulleys, and knobs perhaps even buttons we don’t recall what they do

but does that matter? the aura of contentment and smile says not back to work…

the world within unfolds through measured clacks ping!

another sip of coffee… leaning back in the chair to rest and reflect closing one’s eyes and smelling the paper and ink another wisp from the cold metal of the frame the oil of the gears that keeps this beautiful writing companion alive a mistake quickly noted with a red pen for a future revision or simply an excuse?

any reason whatsoever for another dance with ping!

the typewriter.

Posted in #SeptemberScrawls - Day 5

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