Come, Muse, let us sing of Velcro,
teabags and the Tetrapak.
For these too are works of nature,
as deserving of our praise

as dawn light on the Half-Dome,
hare tracks in overnight snow
or a fine French derailleur,
and will join the astrolabe

and toasting fork in old films
and stand on plastic trivets in museums,
giving off that low hum
of the long dead.

-1998, Mark Haddon

Posted in Textism on Friday June 27, 2008. Shoutouts.

A yearbook’s endpages, filled with promises
to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness
of a teenager’s promise. Not like I’m dying
for a letter from the class stoner
ten years on but…

Do you remember the way the girls
would call out “love you!”
conveniently leaving out the “I”
as if they didn’t want to commit
to their own declaration.

I agree that the “I” is a pretty heavy concept
and hope you won’t get uncomfortable
if I should go into some deeper stuff here.

IV

There are things I’ve given up on
like recording funny answering-machine messages.
It’s part of growing older
and the human race as a group
has matured along the same lines.
It seems our comedy dates the quickest.
If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare’s jokes
I hope you won’t be insulted
if I say you’re trying too hard.

From Self Portrait at 28, David Berman

Posted in Textism on Tuesday June 17, 2008. Shoutouts.

GOD: I own you like I own the caves.
THE OCEAN: Not a chance. No comparison.
GOD: I made you. I could tame you.
THE OCEAN: At one time, maybe. But not now.
GOD: I will come to you, freeze you, break you.
THE OCEAN: I will spread myself like wings. I am a billion tiny feathers. You have no idea what’s happened to me.

(From How We Are Hungry, which I read again today and love dearly. Thanks A)

Posted in Textism on Sunday April 27, 2008. Shoutouts.

Fears: Ranked from childhood through parenthood by Jan Pettit

Posted in Textism on Tuesday April 8, 2008. Shoutouts.

The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
Each day from east to west the heavens through,
Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
Glow’d through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
Up to the zenith,—hieroglyphics old,
Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
Then living on the earth, with labouring thought
Won from the gaze of many centuries.

-Keats

Posted in Textism on Saturday March 29, 2008. Shoutouts.

The Future of Reading: A Play in Six Acts is about the new Amazon Kindle electronic book and the debate it has ignited. Not everyone is negative but then again, there’s a lot of discontent, for some fairly good reasons.

If the iPod taught us anything, it’s that users are willing to be locked into one retailer, as long as they can buy drm-free content if they want and, more importantly, can bring their own content to the device whenever and however they want. I’m ready for ebooks, and have been for years, but I don’t want to be burnt for being an early adopter.

This comment from 37signals: “When you buy a book, you’re buying a tiny piece of furniture that you usually carry with you the rest of your life” hit especially close to home. I’m sick of having to decide which books to keep and which to ditch every time I move anywhere. In this age of waste reduction, it makes sense to push for epaper and digital delivery. The users are ready, and the opportunity for profit is huge. So, where is the kindle’s competition?

Posted in Textism on Wednesday November 21, 2007. Shoutouts [1].

To tell the truth, I am sick and tired of the LOLCat meme, but will grudgingly admit that this brilliant rendition of ‘The Wasteland’ in LOLCat made me titter with amusement:

world cries ‘jub jub bird,’
or is diffrent poem?
INVISIBLE BANDERSNATCH!
time killing everythingz,
platos cave wall,
forms in teh cave,
shuffling in teh stairs,
hushing teh room,
ushering teh fatez.

I shudder to think how long that took, but it’s awesome. Also of interest, the History of LOLCats is a historian’s look at the phenomenon.

Posted in Textism on Tuesday November 6, 2007. Shoutouts.

“A Country man lent his neighbour an Asse, and he negle­cted to return him home againe at the day appointed, so as the partie was fain to go fetch him himself: Who when he came, th’other deny’d that the Asse was yet come home, and made many flim flam excuses to detaine him a while longer: In the meane time the Asse bray’d in the stable, whereby his maister knew that there he was, who then waxed verie angry with his neighbour for so abusing him. Wherunto th’other in a rage answered: Gogs nayles (neighbour) will you beleeue your Asse before mee?”

From a most excellent collection of 16th Century Jests.

Posted in Textism on Thursday October 11, 2007. Shoutouts.

There is a sickening crunch and the world ends.

It takes several seconds for her to realise that she is still breathing and that no-one else seems to have realised. Those members of the line closest to her burble away, unconcerned. For a moment she doubts herself. She focuses intently on the intake of breath. The texture of air. The bitter taste of stale cigarette smoke. The reek of city streets.

There can be no doubt about it, the world has ended.

The girl in front of her talks rapidly into a mobile phone, pointing an accusatory finger at no-one in particular, as she gesticulates her way between points. Looking closer, she realises she can make out individual sparkles in the girl’s over-applied lip gloss. She hates her, but only for a second, before reminding herself that the world has ended; and that now is the not the time for petty rivalry. Besides, that top is hideous.

The line shuffles forwards.

She stares at her feet. Makes a vee, an a, then a vee again. Forces herself to stop. She wonders how to bring it up in conversation, “Excuse me, but have you realised that the world has ended?” The realisation that she will not be able to tell anyone is a crushing weight. Intake. Cigarettes. Feet. Focus.

The line shuffles forwards.

Posted in Textism on Friday September 21, 2007. Shoutouts.

Thee Homophoner is a random little web app that will take a string of text and replace approriate words withe homophones. I wont yew two think what yew wood ewes this fore. Think hard, because I’m having trouble coming up withe a reasonable yews four this – of coarse other than thee obligatory, “let’s bate people withe e-males written inn strange pros.”

Posted in Textism on Wednesday February 21, 2007. Shoutouts.