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TYPE — a fiction by ollie francis
Finding someone your own way
One of the ’T’s has a chip on the top corner of its right arm. It cuts across the glyph’s face diagonally. When I print with it, I can track it down on the paper in a moment, even if I wasn’t paying attention when I was inserting the sorts.
But I’ve only got the one set of that font so I’ll take all sorts here — if you’ll pardon the pun.
I’ve thought about expanding my range; doing something interesting with typefaces. They just cost so damn much. I was lucky enough to find this one, hidden in the back room of some damp office I had slipped into while urbexing in an asbestos-ridden hulk of a building on the west of the city. God knows why anyone would leave something like this there.
I could just buy a single font, but then you are stuck with one size and whatever you print ends up looking like a novel and that’s not really the look I’m going for. If I was going to print something properly good, I’d want a full typeface — range of sizes, including italics and, maybe, even bold variations. I could do a lot more than that.
I’ve also thought about commissioning my own. Finding some forge somewhere still with all the correct equipment in place. I suppose that might make it more personal. Maybe add a little more of me into the adverts.
And that’s the end-game, really, isn’t it? Getting ‘me’ into these flyers. If I don’t commit to this, then there’s not really any point: I might as well just shove something in a lonely hearts column again; reboot my phone and load it up with all the dating apps; rejoin the fishpond.
No way. I’ve had enough of that. Heartless biographies and illusionary photos. Nothing but pouting and catchphrases. I wasted two years trawling through that mire and I’m not about to pull on my wading boots and return.
If I’m going to do this again, I’m going to do it properly. Full set up. Show them who I am from the get-go.
Is it going to make a mess? Sure. People are going to see these things drifting in the breeze for weeks to come, I’m making so many of them. But that’s exactly the sort of thing I’m after: someone who noticed the value in amongst all the rubbish; someone who sees the worth in things forgotten by everybody else.
Someone who’s just my type.
Originally published on Tumblr
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