Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Archeology
My cheap fountain pen broke…the guaranteed for life cheap fountain pen...so I returned it…asked for a new one but never received the replacement…never heard hide nor hair from them…I imagine some seedy mail order business with no remorse over sending out schlocky merchandise…callous…money grubbing…they’ve got my bucks…and it doesn’t matter to them that my fountain pen broke…they probably tossed my poor broken pen into a trash bin with nary a second thought the minute they got it… I remember it every time I sit down to write…I’m left holding an emotional bag…a very small bag but a bag nonetheless…a loose end that will probably never be bound up…held in the hands of some purveyor of low quality goods…left dangling...too small to spend time flowing it up…but an annoyance that surfaces each time I write…does that make it large enough in its smallness to pursue…probably not…it will just evolve into one of those tiny thoughts that occasionally surface…that look at you for a moment…and recede back into the morass of other annoying incidents where it resides with its friends…I can always hope that someone of conscientiousness has my poor broken pen in hand and will respond with a new one…does such a person exist at the pen company from whence my pen came…a person of righteousness who exists along the morally corrupt…it’s a small hook where I can momentarily hang my hope…but it too recedes quickly as I picture my poor pen already unceremoniously trounced upon in some garbage dump…lying in the midden for some future archeologist digging around…and upon finding it after hours of painstaking brushing shouts Eureka…it had after all gold trim along its slender silver fuselage…alas…poor pen…maybe 3000 years from now you’ll end up in some pen museum…an ancient artifact of my hand…with a small unknown history…or not…more likely crushed to smithereens…pulverized into nothing almost as an organic man goes from dust to dust…tossed into the lime pit with the likes of Mozart…transforming from word-giving implement to bits of matter…and I am reduced to writing with the likes of ball points and fine felt tips…roller balls and gel pens…and so I now have a new quest….find a lovely new fountain pen…and shall I be the purist and use ink from a jar or be the modernist and use cartridges…Tiffany’s has pens…but for shame…they are ball points…through all their beauty…they are lowered…and so I shall search…or perhaps request one for my birthday and rather than search Las Vegas for the perfect pen…keep to the tradition of the annual new purse…leave the pen to the husband to find and buy…and present it to me with great flourish and trumpeting…a new fountain pen…and implement of grace and beauty…of inspiration and creativity to come…ahahah…dream on sweet pea…dream on…
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Ornery
Ornery pen...it had just had it with me...vengeful vain thing...it had been zipped in the pocket of my purse for several days...not even an appearance to sign a check...no chance to show off its beautiful self...no expected admiration coming its way...not a single compliment in which to bask
Lying on its side too long...I’m certain it wanted to kick off its top and leak everywhere...I know its unforgiving proclivities...its desire to ejaculate black ink...but it didn’t...it couldn’t...its top tightened down by my hand
But my pen made its displeasure known...refusing to write...it withheld its ink...perhaps its only way of expressing its rage...shaking didn’t help...squeezing the cartridge didn’t help...I wondered if something was wrong with my pen...would I have to show it to a fellow pen enthusiast...maybe take the pen to a pen hospital
My mind flew around...frustrated at being denied ink...the quick note on a sticky pad left undone...my pen and I were in a battle of wills...Me: write...Pen: no...Me: write...Pen: no...I finally gave up and used a pencil...Me: so there...Pen: mrump
But this morning we seem to be at peace with one and other...my pen is a snob...liking only long meaningful writing...standing opposed to jotted notes on small, brightly colored sticky pads...Me: Okay I’ll try to remember that...Pen: that’s what pencils are for...Me: mrumph
Lying on its side too long...I’m certain it wanted to kick off its top and leak everywhere...I know its unforgiving proclivities...its desire to ejaculate black ink...but it didn’t...it couldn’t...its top tightened down by my hand
But my pen made its displeasure known...refusing to write...it withheld its ink...perhaps its only way of expressing its rage...shaking didn’t help...squeezing the cartridge didn’t help...I wondered if something was wrong with my pen...would I have to show it to a fellow pen enthusiast...maybe take the pen to a pen hospital
My mind flew around...frustrated at being denied ink...the quick note on a sticky pad left undone...my pen and I were in a battle of wills...Me: write...Pen: no...Me: write...Pen: no...I finally gave up and used a pencil...Me: so there...Pen: mrump
But this morning we seem to be at peace with one and other...my pen is a snob...liking only long meaningful writing...standing opposed to jotted notes on small, brightly colored sticky pads...Me: Okay I’ll try to remember that...Pen: that’s what pencils are for...Me: mrumph
Monday, May 9, 2011
Weapon
Okay…so I’m going to New Mexico soon…flying out of LAX…so here’s a question…will airport security take my fountain pen away from me…sounds crazy…but consider the possibility of a fountain pen as a weapon…and let’s face it…obtuse things happen at airport security inspections.
My pen sports a very pointy nib…think about it…stab someone with the pen…deep into the flesh…not a big gash…but excruciatingly painful… surprising…into the neck…hit an artery…maybe the eye…ouch…find a fleshy vulnerable body part… plunge…deep…silver and black pen…point first…finds its mark…mutilates…stabs…causes havoc…the ink would flow…black…blue…mixing with red blood… poisoning even as the wound appears.
Should they take my pen…well they probably should even if they don’t…do I dare take it with me…I’d bellow if they seized it…be indignant…sad…my favorite writing implement stripped from me…leaving me to the mercy of ball points…roller balls…felt tips…sigh…what if they read this entry and arrest me along with my pen?
Perhaps my fountain pen had better stay behind…safer that way…but with what would I write…I’ve grown attached to its ink flow…its feel…its look in my hand…but I guess in the interest of pen preservation…my fountain pen remaining at home for its own good might be a good idea.
Maybe a fountain pen break would be good for me…I own other interesting pens…how about the two-color ball point that I’ve never used…does it write two colors at once…how would that look on a page…there is my calligraphy pen with its myriad of nibs and impossible colors…I could create a vivid three ring circus of journal entries.
I could simply take my computer…be done with it…but there is the joy of putting pen to paper…forming letters…watching the ink flow…creating words…watching a writing implement adhere to my hand…spawning my stream of consciousness…giving permanence to wispy thoughts.
I’ll chance my fountain pen...I’ve lived through the seizure of my tiny manicure scissors…watched my husband’s small pocket knife taken from him at security before we boarded a massive cruise ship…to their credit they gave him a claim check for it…perhaps government regulations just cover scissors, knives and box cutters, not fountain pens.
My pen sports a very pointy nib…think about it…stab someone with the pen…deep into the flesh…not a big gash…but excruciatingly painful… surprising…into the neck…hit an artery…maybe the eye…ouch…find a fleshy vulnerable body part… plunge…deep…silver and black pen…point first…finds its mark…mutilates…stabs…causes havoc…the ink would flow…black…blue…mixing with red blood… poisoning even as the wound appears.
Should they take my pen…well they probably should even if they don’t…do I dare take it with me…I’d bellow if they seized it…be indignant…sad…my favorite writing implement stripped from me…leaving me to the mercy of ball points…roller balls…felt tips…sigh…what if they read this entry and arrest me along with my pen?
Perhaps my fountain pen had better stay behind…safer that way…but with what would I write…I’ve grown attached to its ink flow…its feel…its look in my hand…but I guess in the interest of pen preservation…my fountain pen remaining at home for its own good might be a good idea.
Maybe a fountain pen break would be good for me…I own other interesting pens…how about the two-color ball point that I’ve never used…does it write two colors at once…how would that look on a page…there is my calligraphy pen with its myriad of nibs and impossible colors…I could create a vivid three ring circus of journal entries.
I could simply take my computer…be done with it…but there is the joy of putting pen to paper…forming letters…watching the ink flow…creating words…watching a writing implement adhere to my hand…spawning my stream of consciousness…giving permanence to wispy thoughts.
I’ll chance my fountain pen...I’ve lived through the seizure of my tiny manicure scissors…watched my husband’s small pocket knife taken from him at security before we boarded a massive cruise ship…to their credit they gave him a claim check for it…perhaps government regulations just cover scissors, knives and box cutters, not fountain pens.
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