David Lettvin - 06:26 a.m. Pacific Time - April 20, 2005 - #70 of 81
Phosphorescence my old friend
I've come to talk to you again.
While JPGs are slowly loading
The urge to chat is just exploding
And the bitmap, implanted in my brain
Just can't explain
Conversing in the sounds of silence.
One restless night I typed alone.
I didn't use the telephone.
The angle brackets would make sure that,
What I wrote retained its format.
When my ego's pierced by someone else's mordant wit,
I felt like shit,
Tapping keys in the sounds of silence.
And in the flat screen's light I saw
Ten million people, maybe more
People talking without speaking
People hearing without listening
People writing songs that voices never shared
And no one cared
To break the sound of silence.
"Fools," I thought, "You do not know
The Web just like a cancer grows.
Read my e-mail that I might teach you,
VOIP that I might reach you."
But my words like spam was filtered out,
IN CAPS I SHOUT
A discard in the null of silence.
And on Table Talk we try
To believe that time won't fly.
What does an hour really matter
Compared to witty useless chatter
And to writers whose desire to satirize
Still clouds their eyes.
Leaving novels on the shelves of silence.
(reposted with permission)
pt bridgeport - 11:53 a.m. Pacific Time - April 15, 2005 - #659 of 1076
They've erected the conclave chimney on the Sistine Chapel. White smoke for a Pope, black smoke for No Pope Yet, you know the routine. I hope I live to see the day when the gathered poparazzi gaze at the puffs coming out --
And they're pink. "It's a girl!"
You may say I'm a dreamer...