“remarkable how the right pen, molded to its master’s hand — whether ballpoint, fountain or rollerball — anticipates its next move and, almost unbidden, traces characters neither it nor its master has considered, tracing lives that have long passed, lives that never lived, loves that were, and loves only dreamed of late at night under starless skies. the pen takes on the burden of its own life, measured only by its supply of ink, yet inscribes the full majesty of its owner’s mind on this napkin, that tablecloth, the sheaf of lowly computer paper, to write that which has never yet been written. this simple instrument, crier of kings and knaves, gods and insects, comes now to me, to gauge its worth, or to gauge mine.”


—Benjamin N. Taylor, 01 April 2013 =D


~ by Benji on 1 April 2013.

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