Playing hard to get, the html, its coy tag-language, and I with my hammering hands just cannot communicate correctly.
ESC. ESC. ESC.
CTRL-ALT-DELETE.
Deeply drunk on the androgynous anonymity of the intoxicating intricacies of the indelible internet of the twentieth century
we bare our ankles to the web browsers because it requires no courage to do so.
CTRL-F.
Searching for you I did not imagine I would find you here, wearing color code rings on your fingers, and jewels of javascript in the naked nest of your neck; three div layers of marqueed text encircling serpentine your hips.
CTRL-S.
Do not think I will let you be lost, even in the clutter of desktop folders and spyware
CTRL-Q
I don't stop dreaming of your instant messages, your e-cards and your emails your weblog pictures of old cathedrals and old toothbrushes your witty image manipulations your domain name
even when I succumb to nighttime or perhaps the blue screen of death (I can only afford this OS; do not deny my name, do not judge me by my Windows 2E) I know that you are
emailed multiple times to myself burned onto CDs saved in the slim slide of cold metal (locked or unlocked) on black & gray diskettes
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
One of my favorites: Advances in Technology (From the section 'About Love')
Date: 2008-10-28 07:34 pm (UTC)not responding--
404
(SOS)
the page you have requested
cannot be found.
Playing hard to get,
the html, its coy tag-language,
and I with my hammering hands
just cannot communicate correctly.
ESC. ESC. ESC.
CTRL-ALT-DELETE.
Deeply drunk on the
androgynous anonymity of
the intoxicating intricacies of
the indelible internet of
the twentieth century
we bare our ankles
to the web browsers
because it requires
no courage
to do so.
CTRL-F.
Searching for you
I did not imagine I would
find you here, wearing
color code rings on your fingers,
and jewels of javascript
in the naked nest
of your neck;
three div layers of
marqueed text
encircling serpentine
your hips.
CTRL-S.
Do not think I will
let you be lost, even
in the clutter of
desktop folders
and spyware
CTRL-Q
I don't stop dreaming of your
instant messages, your
e-cards and your emails
your weblog pictures of old cathedrals
and old toothbrushes
your witty image manipulations
your domain name
even when I succumb to nighttime or
perhaps the blue screen of death
(I can only afford this OS;
do not deny my name, do not
judge me by my Windows 2E)
I know that you are
emailed multiple times to myself
burned onto CDs
saved in the slim slide of cold metal
(locked or unlocked)
on black & gray diskettes
mine forever and always
before
RESTART