The other day, we had a long some-software-blah-blah session in office. As far as I got, it was for managing projects… now most of it didn’t interest me and I don’t like feeling stupid. So I stopped listening. However, snatches of “You can do THAT with just a click”, “Everyone can define rights”, “Wow, that’s so powerful” took me back in time a long, long way…
I have always been an organized person. When we didn’t all have personal computers, we had files. My files were stashed, colour-coded and alphabetically stacked, in neat rows. When there were projects, there were paper, scraps, scissors, tape, adhesive, and a lot of yelling. The sense of accomplishment was immense, something that click-click-clicketty-click will never achieve. Every file, every project copy, every scrap book was treasured.
Files that were catalogued and cross-classified would be found in seconds, librarians in school knew where a particular book was before we could finish saying the entire name. There was ink, fountain-pens, refills and calligraphy. There was pride… and now, ink is probably a hue and calligraphy, a font.
I miss the paper days and dread the taking over of human intelligence and emotions by mammoth computing machines…
Monday, 25 October 2010
Trembling in my arms,
Your fragile heart beats.
I watch it break sometimes,
And wonder what else I might give.
As the stars watched
Your soul lay bare, hollow
Wisps of desire haunt the night
In your words, in my dreams.
Hearing us both, you say
Does she take
The shape of my words?
Your rivers of tears
Erode the pebbles of my mind…