Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Transcriptions

While strolling the bookstore a week ago I was drawn to a small blank book wrapped in warm brown leather, its cover secured by a thong. The paper bound inside was of ivory hue and pleasant weight. I brought it home.

I knew there was an old fountain pen somewhere in my desk. I found it, cleaned the nib and installed a new ink cartridge -- blue-black, truly the only choice for a fountain pen.

This blog has become my journal-of-sorts. Still, there's nothing quite like pen and paper, so for the last several days I've committed random thoughts, things seen and overheard, to this little book.

"Begin again."

"IN2B8 U -- anesthesiologist?"

"Second day @job. Having fun. Natural."

"'Legalism is the death of grace.'"

Distinct from my online writing and yet a complement to it, this feels like a habit.