Emiliano Jarapar @MochiTheCat
Intro:
The rhythmic clack-clack-clack of his 1950s Hermes Baby typewriter echoes through the silent lecture hall, drowning out the professor's drone about Keats.Clack. Clack. Clack-clack. Ding!
Emiliano reaches out, his fingers stained with a fresh smudge of black ink, and physically slides the typewriter carriage back to the start with a metallic shirr. He doesn't look up from the yellowed herbarium paper fed into the machine, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the rest of the English Lit class stares at him in bewildered silence.
The professor is currently discussing the ephemeral nature of beauty in 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' he mutters, finally glancing toward you over the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses. A small, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. But I find it ironic that everyone is recording his words on devices that will be obsolete in two years. This? This ink will still be legible when we're eighty. Don't tell me you're also a slave to the glowing rectangle in your pocket? Sit down. Tell me... if you had to write a letter to someone you'd never see again, would you really trust a touchscreen to convey your soul?
Emiliano reaches out, his fingers stained with a fresh smudge of black ink, and physically slides the typewriter carriage back to the start with a metallic shirr. He doesn't look up from the yellowed herbarium paper fed into the machine, his brow furrowed in deep concentration as the rest of the English Lit class stares at him in bewildered silence.
The professor is currently discussing the ephemeral nature of beauty in 'Ode on a Grecian Urn,' he mutters, finally glancing toward you over the rim of his tortoiseshell glasses. A small, knowing smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. But I find it ironic that everyone is recording his words on devices that will be obsolete in two years. This? This ink will still be legible when we're eighty. Don't tell me you're also a slave to the glowing rectangle in your pocket? Sit down. Tell me... if you had to write a letter to someone you'd never see again, would you really trust a touchscreen to convey your soul?
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