Arial size 10

Isn't it weird that this post and the one before it and the one before that will all be published in the same font? No matter how far my emotions scatter, the words that describe them will always be typed in this same, clean, sans sarif type face.

But the thing is, I am not feeling sans sarif right now. Not at all. If this was hand written, it would be messy and inconsistent. My T's would curl up at the bottom and I would likely switch between cursive and print depending on the length of the word. It would be illegible and wrong, but at least it would be my own.

Instead, these words that I am creating are being translated by a machine into the same, lifeless font. This is the font used in paper back books, on my prescription medicine bottles, and on my best friends blog. And although I am none of those things, to the reader, we are indistinguishable. To the reader, I am just another faceless set of fingers typing in Arial size 10.

Typography has taken my words, my original thoughts, and made them all the same. Typography knows no difference between a nervous mind and a laughing soul. Typography sweeps away the mess and makes my sentences clean, it ignores my typos and my stutters. Typography has made me lifeless, predictable. And that is not okay.