But I’m not rich; I’m rather poor, living of a small but sufficient grant. But I can survive without working.
I grew up using dip pens, but this good habit was ended abruptly when I was incarcerated in a hospital for the mentally insane. A report from these days describes me like: “…a slender, nervous young man of thirty, with hollow cheeks, cold, steel-blue eyes, a straight, thin nose and delicate hands.”
We were not allowed to use sharp writing materials; the only writing utensils we had were blunt pencils.
After I was finally released from the constraints of this terrible madhouse, I longed too use dip pens once more. I bought myself some pens and ink, and I’m currently working at my unrecognized masterpiece, which will surpass the work of the Divine Marquis.
But these pens cannot be used while traveling with modern means of transportation. I always have the urge to write down some observations about Life & Death when I’m Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. And I really need a practical writing instrument when I see some school girls, and inspired by these heavenly apparitions, I want to scribble down some highly erotic and slightly pornographic verses.
I did not want to spent too much money on a pen ( I think that is a moral outrage! We should avoid any moral outrage!) so I decided to buy a Parker Reflex fountain pen. I also bought a refillable cartridge (a slide-action converter) and a bottle of Quink Washable-Blue. I’m very pleased with this pen; it is black and has a smooth medium nib.
But the greatest joy is brought on by the blissful visions I get when I stare at the pen, and my mind begins to wander.
These cheap pens are readily available to more refined students. I always day-dream of a teenage schoolgirl or college-coed, who is very young, very poor, and very, very lonely. Her room is in the garret of a very old house. It is a very desolate room! The room has the desolation of a hotel-room in which lonely, old travelers die, who in their fever had tried in vain to get up to pen a last message or letter by the light of a candle, while outside squalls of rain were beating the windows. That is how they died and nobody knew what they had wanted to communicate; their names remained unknown; they were shoveled into their lonely graves, their clothes still on, in a cheap coffin, late in the afternoon, the rain pouring down incessantly. The soaked marshy ground closed over them, without any tombstone or memorial.
Lonely in their graves, as these nameless travelers were, this girl was even more lonely in this desolate room. To lessen the terrible burden of her loneliness she had bought a pen exactly the same as my Parker Reflex. You must remember she was not only very lonely, but also very poor, so she actually had to save money to buy this pen. She could have bought this pen last summer when her uncle had given her some money, but she needed some new clothes then. This uncle had a swimming pool, and it delighted him when this young girl was amusing herself in his swimming pool. He always gave her some money when she left. He was rich, and she, remember, was very poor, and very lonely.
She bought the pen on a stormy autumn day, when the rain was pouring down incessantly (like on the days when the lonely, old travelers had been buried, who had passed away in the hotel-rooms that were as desolate as her attic-room). When the rain had ceased to fall for a while she had gone to a nearby stationary store. On the way back to her lonely room it had begun to rain again. Because it was late in the afternoon, the street-lights were already on. These lights threw a melancholy light on the lonely girl that walked through the almost deserted street.
Her clothes were drenched when she entered her room. She had to change clothes. Please let us leave the room a while, because it would be very indiscreet to see a young girl changing her clothes…
When we return to the room, she is sitting behind her dilapidated desk. She is writing with her first and only fountain pen! First she writes a letter to her old grandmother, who loves her dearly and tries to save money for her grandchild (like the girl, she is also very poor). After she has finished the letter (she will post it tomorrow) the takes out her diary and with trembling hands she writes down her most secret, most profound thoughts!
I know what these thoughts are, because there are so many lonely, poor girls, who have the same Deep Thoughts about The Love That Dare Not Speak! This girl, and you must remember she is very lonely, dreams about this other girl. It is a class-mate, but she is not very nice. It is a spoiled Goth-girl, who always bullies Our Lonely Girl, because she is so poor. But Our Girl knows this girl has secret feelings too!
Our Girl has stopped writing. She has bend over her old desk. Her head in her hands. She is day-dreaming. She thinks about luring that spoiled Goth-girl to her lonely and desolate room. After exchanging some civilities, she will strip the Goth-girl and strap her to the bed!! And then her wrath will descend on the Goth’s buttocks when she will heave the flexible wooden rod she has hidden in her closet!
Bottom-line: I think the Parker Reflex is a very nice pen for poor madmen and poor, lonely schoolgirls.
Edited by Mad Aristocrat, 16 July 2006 - 21:49.