Rolling names and numbers spin, business partner likes tonic and gin, card says an ex, back in the dex, it should have gone into the bin!
I dedicate this poem to
who very much inspired this post with art like this:As you can tell, mine is a pretty basic collage, but I’m bringing the Bill Kurtis energy! Maybe Celia can take my limerick and make an actually nice looking entry. File under G or T though? I guess I put it under R for rolling.
Celia did challenge me to try — but I think we can all agree my glue-stick cut-outs don’t hold a feather to hers.
I recently acquired this Rolodex specifically so I can type in the addresses of all you lovely listeners that send me postcards like the one below. It keeps your address offline, safe, and it sits besides my typewriter so when I’m sending you a cassette, after you send me a postcard, I can pull your card and write you a nice message.
And that address again, which will receive your postcards with a return address is:
Bitpunk.fm
P.O. Box 273029
Fort Collins, CO 80525
The term rolodex is still in the vernacular, albeit in the older generation. A common business practice when leaving a job was to take your rolodex with you. If you were important enough, you’d be added to the rolodex.
It has such a lovely feel to it as the cards spin by. I fully endorse the rolodex as being 100% safe against online data leakage. You can easily share cards with those in physical proximity, just like Apple’s NameDrop feature, but you don’t have to unlock your phone.
What the #@*%, Josh.
I’ve been holding this in my mind since I saw it. The poem. The image. The way you assembled it without overthinking—but not carelessly either.
There’s something deeply satisfying about watching someone step into a form they haven’t used before and still catch the pulse of it on the first try.
You call the collage basic, but what I see is intention—tone, rhythm, restraint. That’s where voice begins in any medium.
Also, anyone who pairs gin, glue, and a ghost of regret in five lines deserves a small crown from the gods of analog mischief.
Thank you for the dedication. It means more than you probably intended. I hope you keep going—though fair warning, once the Rolodex bites, it doesn’t let go.
I should get a Rolodex