original post was 3/22/2012…I think.

No time for Poetic prose and carved pumpkins. Just words testing out new machine. Some random thoughts and so it goes…


Typing on the back porch that my grandfather built. I got up early today and went to find ink for the word processor but veered off first to the thrift-store. This one particular Thrift-store that I went informs the public that all of the money goes to saving humans from slavery, and im not sure how that’s possible, buts it’s a nobel thing, cause yeah, um Human slavery should really just be taken care of already, right?2012? It is the future. But I’ll take anyone’s word on it if they say they’re trying to solve that problem.

So yeah, this thrift store that I went to is a real thrift store, the kind of thrift store I like anyway; it’s the kind of thrift spot that is dirty and dusty, and you cant ask the workers if they have something, because they don’t have a clue what they have. You just have to go dig and see what you can find. Once I found a great thrift store right outside of Helen Georgia, found a typing machine which later on I had to leave in Florida. But anyway, back to talking about typewriters.

The Royal administrator was great and one day some string broke and made a sound like a garbage disposal. Wouldn’t reset or something and the belt started smoking. The other machine, the smith corona and brother typewriters didn’t feel right to me, because they were more word processors and have those little calculator screens. Kinda a bit too robotic for my personality.

And so with my string of burning old typin machines, well I was just going to buy a typewriter off Ebay but couldn’t really afford the shipping and handling, but also I like the thrill you get from finding a typewriter at a thrift store or garage sale, and I can only describe it like the feeling you get when you’re a young child at a toy store; only the word gosh can match what I feel when I uncover a typewriter packed-in with old videos and dusty fax machines.

And there are many theories why writers use typewriters still. I don’t dig that much into my why because I think so many theories that we use now-a-days are wrong anyway. I don’t know. I like using a typewriter cause I like watching my hands make something. I like the bell and when I look up there, in the world, and wow, no screen, just world, just sky, just hands and buttons.

[P] PENNCREST CARAVELLE 10 has its kinks, and I really hope this is the one, because a typewriter for me is like a lover or ha, like a baseball glove, and you just want it to fit perfectly, ha. I don’t know, and I have no clue what that means. I just dig the way the machine feels, you know, when it transforms into just a mega phone for your inner voice to tumble out of.

And yeah, I like the way that this new one feels so far. The new machine is manual and you have to roll it back every line, and it’s not automatic at all; you have to crank it and zip the teeth back to the beginning. So with that being said I guess I’ll use the smith corona word processor for spontaneous prose and the royal administrator if I ever can get it fixed.

That reminds me, I’m going to try to find an old typewriter mechanic within the next couple of weeks, and if possible, have him or her teach me some of the tricks and insights of an almost lost trade. I think writers should know the people who make their paper and those who fix their finger extensions. I mean, we’re all going down this artistic slide together.

Yeah, I don’t dare try to fix it, because I just look at it and it starts on fire. If I start really screwing around with my broken typing machines only bad things will happen.

Well that’s all I have to say. Have a good saturday night. Bye.

One thought on “[P] PENNCREST CARAVELLE 10

  1. I remember the days of the typewriter. My mom bought me one for Christmas one year, and I loved that thing. Those of us who grew up in that era can remember those beautiful sounds you hear when you would walk into a busy office anywhere. All is quiet except the “tap, tap, tap, tap DING! ZHUT, tap, tap tap tap tap tap tap tap —- “Excuse me, ma’am?”

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