handwriting

Writers and artists know it's all about choosing your quality tools wisely.

A well traveled 35-year old Mont Blanc Meisterstuck 149 piston fountain pen with a 14K gold nib and platinum inlay. The art of writing.

Language, writing, culture and civilization.

Been with us since passing through Hong Kong en route to a hotel management gig in Beijing. It's the feeling, joy of heft, ink distribution and quality. The edge on Moleskine paper, touch, sensory stimulation. Slowing down.

If you use a fountain pen you know what we mean. These days people crank out material with anything handy. Test out a fountain pen next time you're in the market for a quality writing instrument. Savor the precision.

Chinese students learn writing using them at the pre-university level.

Ancient influence of calligraphy and the fine arts. Before ball points and gels become ubiquitous in their lives.

An Edinburgh, Scotland school teaches students how to use a fountain pen.

"The pens improve the quality of work because they force the children to take care, and better work improves self-esteem," principal Bryan Lewis said. "Proper handwriting is as relevant today as it ever has been."

Happy writing. Go with the flow.

Random musings from a Moleskine notebook.

After a long steady heavy rain a pregnant woman

propped her mop made of strands - discarded rainbows -

as her dispassionate husband shucked peas

removed garlic shells from protective casing

after the sky finished crying to wash student street where

parades of disenfranchised university youth

sought shelter from the storm and well after open windows

released cello notes as a child sitting upright

tuned eyes to black notes on white pages

determined to master the instrument

another music student hammered

piano keys behind locked doors

pleasing Tiger Mom

flies gathered around brown sticky paste slowly

dripping off a cracked plate with their feelers

extending hope toward a thin white butterfly lifting off a green leaf

 

A diver spoke about money exchange systems after coming up for Air. 

How the value of economic currencies fluctuates.

A butterfly and turtle have so much in common.

One in air one in water.

Both floating.

My Name is Erhan- TLC 64

I am your masseuse. I’ve lived in this Bursa hammam since 1555.

In a large domed room sunrays shafting at precarious precious angles slant along humid walls glancing off mosaic tiles singing blue, green, yellow reflections. The dome has a perfect eight-starred symmetrical hat surrounded by sixteen stars in a geometric pattern. At night stars sing their light. They give me a pleasant headache.

This is where I live and work. I raised my family here. I will die here. This is my fate in a water world where tea and conversations meet in companionship, community and conspiracy.

After the hammam and noon prayers men went to a teahouse. They whispered stories, gossip, myth, legends, fairy tales, innuendo, lies, half-truths and fabulous fictions as small silver spoons danced in glass.

Someone else writes this with a Mont Blanc Meisterstuck 149 fountain pen. He drinks thick black Turkish coffee. A silver embossed glass of water waits for fingers to leave condensation on its surface. He turned to a stranger, “Coffee should be black as hell, strong as death and sweet as love.”

“If you finish the water it means the coffee’s no good,” said a stranger.

Lucky distributed providence to oral storytellers engaging tongues, dialects, foolscap, and fading footsteps behind shadows playing cards and slurping tea. Eyelids were heavy deep visual reminders studying down all the daze.

Such a grand and glorious saga, sang Zeynep, a heroine in a vignette.

I am a short story. You are a novel.

By day I am a gravedigger, said Lucky, and a literary prostitute after dark.

We bury our successes and failures in the same grave.

On your grave are two dates separated by a dash. What’s important is what you do during the dash. Is life a dash or marathon?

Go with your flow. Flow your glow.

The Language Company

Zeynep the heroine