Imagine if instead of cryptic, geeky text strings, your computer produced error messages in Haiku...they would read like these: A file that big? It might be very useful. But now it is gone. The Web site you seek cannot be located, but endless others exist Chaos reigns within. Reflect, repent, and reboot. Order shall return. ABORTED effort: Close all that you have. You ask far too much. First snow, then silence. This thousand dollar screen dies so beautifully. With searching comes loss and the presence of absence: "My Novel" not found. The Tao that is seen is not the true Tao, until you bring fresh toner. Windows NT crashed. I am the Blue Screen of Death. No one hears your screams. Stay the patient course. Of little worth is your ire. The network is down. A crash reduces your expensive computer to a simple stone. Yesterday it worked. Today it is not working 'Windows' is like that. Three things are certain: Death, taxes, and lost data. Guess which has occurred. You step in the stream, but the water has moved on. This page is not here. Out of memory. We wish to hold the whole sky, But we never will. Having been erased, the document you're seeking must now be retyped. Rather than a beep or a rude error message, these words: "File not found." Serious error. All shortcuts have disappeared. Screen. Mind. Both are blank. The Lurkers Lament I Shot A Query Into The Net I haven't got an answer yet, But seven people gave me hell And said I ought to learn to spell; A posted message called me rotten For ignoring mail I'd never gotten; An angry message asked me, Please Don't send such drivel overseas; A lawyer sent me private mail And swore he'd slap my butt in jail -- I'd mentioned Un*x in my gem And failed to add the T and M; One netter thought it was a hoax: "Hereafter, post to net dot jokes!"; Another called my grammar vile And criticized my writing style. Each day I scan each Subject line In hopes the topic will be mine; I shot a query into the net. I haven't got an answer yet ... Ten little gigabytes, waiting on line one caught a virus, then there were nine. Nine little gigabytes, holding just the date, someone jammed a write protect, then there were eight. Eight little gigabytes, should have been eleven, then they cut the budget, now there are seven. Seven little gigabytes, involved in mathematics stored an even larger prime, now there are six. Six little gigabytes, working like a hive, one died of overwork, now there are five. Five little gigabytes, trying to add more plugged in the wrong lead, now there are four. Four little gigabytes, failing frequently, one used for spare parts, now there are three. Three little gigabytes, have too much to do service man on holiday, now there are two. Two little gigabytes, badly overrun, took the work elsewhere, now just need one. One little gigabyte, systems far too small shut the whole thing down, now there's none at all. Nevermore Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary, System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor, Longing for the warmth of bedsheets, Still I sat there, doing spreadsheets: Having reached the bottom line, I took a floppy from the drawer. Typing with a steady hand, I then invoked the SAVE command But got instead a reprimand: it read "Abort, Retry, Ignore." Was this some occult illusion? Some maniacal intrusion? These were choices Solomon himself had never faced before. Carefully, I weighed my options. These three seemed to be the top ones. Clearly, I must now adopt one: Choose Abort, Retry, Ignore. With my fingers pale and trembling, Slowly toward the keyboard bending, Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored, Praying for some guarantee Finally I pressed a key - But on the screen what did I see? Again: "Abort, Retry, Ignore." I tried to catch the chips off-guard - I pressed again, but twice as hard. Luck was just not in the cards. I saw what I had seen before. Now I typed in desperation Trying random combinations Still there came the incantation: Choose: Abort, Retry, Ignore. There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor. And then I saw an awful sight: A bold and blinding flash of light - A lightning bolt had cut the night and shook me to my very core. I saw the screen collapse and die "Oh no - my database", I cried I thought I heard a voice reply, "You'll see your data Nevermore." To this day I do not know The place to which lost data goes I bet it goes to heaven where the angels have it stored. But as for productivity, well I fear that it goes straight to hell And that's the tale I have to tell Your choice: Abort, Retry, Ignore. I'm Not An Addict I'm really not an addict, There is no need to shout; But talking with my puter friends, Has turned my life about. I still do the grocery shopping, And make a bed or two; But instead of staring at TV, I spend some time with you. I go with friends or family, To dinner or a show; I take the time to hear my kids, Or to watch a flower grow. But yes, you'll find me off and on, Sitting on my puter chair; And talking to my cyber friends, Who always seem to care. There are redeeming qualities, And hear me if you will; Since playing in this cyber world, I've improved keyboarding skill. In fact I feel at peace with life, Things are going well; The only thing it hasn't done, Is teach me how to spell. Computer, computer you tyrannous tool, whenever I use you I feel like a fool. I fail to distinguish your RAM from your ROM, you drive me insain, though I try to stay calm. Computer, computer you keep me off guard, your keyboard confounds me, your disk is too hard. Your logic eludes me, your software's too firm, your windows are painful, your mouse makes me squirm. Computer, computer I don't understand your easiest printer or scanner command. Your pixels are puzzles, I'm scared by your screen, your menu's a menace, your modem's obscene. Computer computer, I can't interface, your floppies offend me, your data is base. Your font's make me flinch, and your ports make me pule, computer, computer, you tyrannous tool. Spellbound I have a spelling checker, It came with my PC; It plainly marks four my revue Mistakes I cannot sea. I've run this poem threw it, I'm sure your please too no, Its letter perfect in it's weigh, My checker tolled me sew. The Computer Person's Prayer Our program, Who art in memory, Hello by the name. Thy operating system come, The commands be done, At the printer as they are on the screen. Give us this day our daily data, And forgive us our I/O errors, As we forgive those whose logic circuits are faulty, Lead us not into frustration, And deliver us from power surges. For thine is the algorithm, The application and the solution, Looping forever and ever. Return. Remember When ... A computer was something on TV from a science fiction show of note a window was something you hated to clean... And ram was the cousin of a goat.... Meg was the name of my girlfriend and gig was a job for the nights now they all mean different things and that really mega bytes An application was for employment a program was a TV show a cursor used profanity a keyboard was a piano Memory was something that you lost with age a cd was a bank account and if you had a 3 1/2" floppy you hoped nobody found out Compress was something you did to the garbage not something you did to a file and if you unzipped anything in public you'd be in jail for a while Log on was adding wood to the fire hard drive was a long trip on the road a mouse pad was where a mouse lived and a backup happened to your commode Cut you did with a pocket knife paste you did with glue a web was a spider's home and a virus was the flu I guess I'll stick to my pad and paper and the memory in my head I hear nobody's been killed in a computer crash but when it happens they wish they were dead |
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