So much is written these days. And really, what is written is not pen to paper, but finger to key. While the typewriter was a vehicle to allow for "readability" and economy, it was typical that a writer would first put the ink to the paper and then have the material typed after edits and drafts were perfected.
The day the IBM selectric typewriter became available with correction tape, was the day of the beginning of the death of ink to paper. And so it as progressed to the point where ink to paper is almost but not quite dead. So what? You might ask. The quickness with which a thought can be assimilated to paper via a word processor makes the words on the paper "processed". And with that processed form, we can now see why great literature is all but impossible in this era of instant gratification of "writers" of seeing their work on paper in crisp paragraph form. But what of the clarity of thought? We would have much clearer renditions of thought to paper if there was time given to that thought. And with the improvement of the thought would come the improvement of logic. With the improvement of logic, would come the improvment of message. And finally with the improvement of message, would come the cream of good literature in all its genres.
So much of what I see on Facebook and these "blogs" are not contemplations precipitated as might a thread sewn by a master seamstress into a tapestry. Rather, they are cuolloquial euphemisms that attempt to paint a tapestry with watercolor rather than with needle and thread. It is a "write by numbers" approach to recording the "blessing of thought" and making what is visible only in one mind to the mind of many.
We take up causes based upon this superficial impression given in these blogs, Facebook notes, etc. and mine are not the exception. Even as I write this, I wonder if it would look like this if I were to simply shut this computer down, pick up the pen, and begin writing in cursive, laboriously thinking through the quagmire of possible inconsistent thoughts as I rearrange their sensibilities in a form which makes them sensible to others.
Yesterday, I read a comment concerning something regarding the economy. Unfortunately, the "butt" of the comment was someone named "Sri". The comment had to do with something having to do with not being able to fix a computer problem because the support offered by the software company was a person named "Sri". It was implied Sri was from Pakistan, India, or one of those third or fourth world countries who pay their employees pennies on the dollar for what they do. The alternative implied was that it would be nice to be able to talk to someone who "spoke the kings english", or at least didn't have that dreaded "Ghandi" accent. Ugh.
It's cathartic to complain in quick quippy complaints with poor souls like "Sri" at the other end being the "butt" of the complaint, and in a way the basis upon which to laugh ... at Sri's expense. Ok. Fine. Sri has an accent. But did Sri do the job? I say give Sri a chance. Today I had a nightmare of a computer problem and a man by the name of "Haj" answered the call. Having read the Facebook comment which caused me to laugh, I thought: "Oh God, help me." Well "Haj" solved my problem with the software and offered to repair other issues which would in the long run cause problems down the road. Haj didn't have to do this. All he had to do is fix a Utility Scan issue. But Haj went further. So it would have been easy for me to rip out a funny comment about a soul from Indonesia, India, or wherever talking like "Ghandi" and focusing on how difficult it was to understand him. It is much more difficult to contemplate this soul, so far away, so probably poor, earning peanuts, willing to go the extra mile with someone in the U.S. who most probably prejudged him by his accent. Haj probably has to face this prejudice every single call.
Haj not only fixed my computer issue. Haj fixed my sense of disconnection with the world wide brotherhood of man. He gave me a sense of calm. He gave me peace even after a sleepless night because of my struggles with a stupid computer. And after trying to fix things on my own, I made them worse demonstrating that people without Hindu accents can really screw things up. God answered my prayers with this soul named Haj. And so in my final message to him, I not only thanked him, I told him I would never forget him and would pray for him and his family for the rest of my life. And why not? (I wrote his name down in pen and ink and have it taped to my computer to remind me of the arrogance that can result from the ability to quickly put the word to the page without contemplation of word, thought, logic, and message.) Is it a good message? or is it a bad message? I had to ask.
The day the IBM selectric typewriter became available with correction tape, was the day of the beginning of the death of ink to paper. And so it as progressed to the point where ink to paper is almost but not quite dead. So what? You might ask. The quickness with which a thought can be assimilated to paper via a word processor makes the words on the paper "processed". And with that processed form, we can now see why great literature is all but impossible in this era of instant gratification of "writers" of seeing their work on paper in crisp paragraph form. But what of the clarity of thought? We would have much clearer renditions of thought to paper if there was time given to that thought. And with the improvement of the thought would come the improvement of logic. With the improvement of logic, would come the improvment of message. And finally with the improvement of message, would come the cream of good literature in all its genres.
So much of what I see on Facebook and these "blogs" are not contemplations precipitated as might a thread sewn by a master seamstress into a tapestry. Rather, they are cuolloquial euphemisms that attempt to paint a tapestry with watercolor rather than with needle and thread. It is a "write by numbers" approach to recording the "blessing of thought" and making what is visible only in one mind to the mind of many.
We take up causes based upon this superficial impression given in these blogs, Facebook notes, etc. and mine are not the exception. Even as I write this, I wonder if it would look like this if I were to simply shut this computer down, pick up the pen, and begin writing in cursive, laboriously thinking through the quagmire of possible inconsistent thoughts as I rearrange their sensibilities in a form which makes them sensible to others.
Yesterday, I read a comment concerning something regarding the economy. Unfortunately, the "butt" of the comment was someone named "Sri". The comment had to do with something having to do with not being able to fix a computer problem because the support offered by the software company was a person named "Sri". It was implied Sri was from Pakistan, India, or one of those third or fourth world countries who pay their employees pennies on the dollar for what they do. The alternative implied was that it would be nice to be able to talk to someone who "spoke the kings english", or at least didn't have that dreaded "Ghandi" accent. Ugh.
It's cathartic to complain in quick quippy complaints with poor souls like "Sri" at the other end being the "butt" of the complaint, and in a way the basis upon which to laugh ... at Sri's expense. Ok. Fine. Sri has an accent. But did Sri do the job? I say give Sri a chance. Today I had a nightmare of a computer problem and a man by the name of "Haj" answered the call. Having read the Facebook comment which caused me to laugh, I thought: "Oh God, help me." Well "Haj" solved my problem with the software and offered to repair other issues which would in the long run cause problems down the road. Haj didn't have to do this. All he had to do is fix a Utility Scan issue. But Haj went further. So it would have been easy for me to rip out a funny comment about a soul from Indonesia, India, or wherever talking like "Ghandi" and focusing on how difficult it was to understand him. It is much more difficult to contemplate this soul, so far away, so probably poor, earning peanuts, willing to go the extra mile with someone in the U.S. who most probably prejudged him by his accent. Haj probably has to face this prejudice every single call.
Haj not only fixed my computer issue. Haj fixed my sense of disconnection with the world wide brotherhood of man. He gave me a sense of calm. He gave me peace even after a sleepless night because of my struggles with a stupid computer. And after trying to fix things on my own, I made them worse demonstrating that people without Hindu accents can really screw things up. God answered my prayers with this soul named Haj. And so in my final message to him, I not only thanked him, I told him I would never forget him and would pray for him and his family for the rest of my life. And why not? (I wrote his name down in pen and ink and have it taped to my computer to remind me of the arrogance that can result from the ability to quickly put the word to the page without contemplation of word, thought, logic, and message.) Is it a good message? or is it a bad message? I had to ask.
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