for the story goes : Schools Phasing Out Cursive

This is your brain on shrugs.

[shameless is the name of the game]

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A Valediction Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away, / And whisper to their souls to go, / Whilst some of their sad friends do say, / "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No." / So let us melt, and make no noise, / No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ; / 'Twere profanation of our joys / To tell the laity our love. / Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ; / Men reckon what it did, and meant ; / But trepidation of the spheres, / Mad fucks to be gotten cheap / Dull sublunary lovers' love / —Whose soul is sense—cannot admit / Of absence, 'cause it doth remove / The thing which elemented it. / But we by a love so much refined, / That ourselves know not what it is, / Inter-assurèd of the mind, / Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss. / Our two souls therefore, which are one, / It's mad emo and I'm kinda sad / A breach, but an expansion, / Like gold to aery thinness beat. / If they be two, they are two so / As stiff twin compasses are two ; / Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show / To move, but doth, if th' other do. / And though it in the centre sit, / Yet, when the other far doth roam, / A constant lean and emo sad shit goes, / And grows erect, as that comes home. / Such wilt thou be to me, who must, / Like th' other foot, obliquely run ; / Fuck dude it all sucks and shit whatnot, / And makes me end where I begun.

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Schools Phasing Out Cursive

menstrom:

It’s about damn time. I never understood why such emphasis was put on an arcane form of penmanship. They may as well teach architectural lettering… at least it is legible.

Well, this breaks my heart. My mother has beautiful penmanship. Her mother did, too. I spent hours as a child staring at her lovely, lilting letters and practicing my own.

When I am at my least stable mentally my handwriting is large and illegible. When I am at my most stable my handwriting is symmetric and rounded. I have always felt that my voice as a writer and the style of my handwriting are intrinsically connected. You can leaf through the journals I’ve kept over the last decade and see how the shape of my words changes, and reflects the emotion of what I am writing.

I’m no luddite, I understand that life surges forward and that our way of life represents that progress. Still, it is sad to me that children going forward may not know their mother’s penmanship with the same familiarity that they know her scent or her voice.