I can’t remember the last time I actually wrote something without the aid of a computer.
Probably the journal I kept sophomore year of college, which I seem to remember quite fondly. Fondly enough that it makes me think maybe there is something lost when you can easily edit and re-edit things on the computer. That there’s some sort of purity lost. The process is deadened. Banging on keys just to push a few electrons around.
At least with writing there’s an artifact. Lately, nothing has been bothering more than the lack of artifacts from my four years of college “work.” The inability to hold anything in my hands that is a product of my efforts really saddens me.
I’ve been printing things out in a vain attempt to feel that. Stupid little comic strips I’ve made, Google bombing articles that mention me, anything.
And it does feel good to have file folders of real, actual papers of things with weight, not just virtual folders full of 1’s and 0’s.
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