Hemingway wrote on a Corona #3.
It was a momentous machine,
revolutionary in its time.
It produced legendary works.
Surely the typewriter of the century.
Yet,
over time,
it was replaced
without an eye’s blink or hesitation.
This machine produced literary work
from one of the greatest minds
the world has ever known.
And it was replaced.
If this machine was the gateway into such heavenly words,
what possessed the human mind to change it?
Now,
the writers of mankind are restricted to a virtual presentation of words,
and the sacredness of writing has ceased to exist.
The prominence of such a skillful art perished with the Modernists.
A computer
is not
the modern typewriter.
Computed words are not the same as printed ones.