"browsers" poems - Hello Poetry

Picture yours, put it out to your kaleidoscope. Like the day at the full-blown noon or the night on the cheek of the moon a flame burning on the underlying dark a dawn switches on the first light a sun comes out of the night. Visualise your latent one put it on before your mirror! Princely give the eyeballs a designer treat. Paint your masterpiece at the day’s peep. Hook the browsers at their first click.

0

Jun 1, 2017

Jun 1, 2017 at 12:40 PM UTC

shofi-ahmed

Picture You

Picture yours, put it out to your kaleidoscope. Like the day at the full-blown noon or the night on the cheek of the moon a flame burning on the underlying dark a dawn switches on the first light a sun comes out of the night. Visualise your latent one put it on before your mirror! Princely give the eyeballs a designer treat. Paint your masterpiece at the day’s peep. Hook the browsers at their first click.

12

*After five good years of drought It rained kisses and warming hugs After my heart emaciating from rejection I have experienced a resurrection She kissed me wholly and deep She sowed and had to reap Could not recall the feminine grip Even how to undo a lady zip She kissed my upper and lower lip Then around my body took a trip Tore my favorite shirt,no time to unbutton She ate my skin softly hard as a glutton Not sure it was her mouth on my *** Cause I couldn't open my eyes as she did it She passed her soft fingers on my chest Luckily I hadn't on my fitting vest Crawled about my belly like a worm While my ****** heart beat loud as a drum She said something I didn't hear Because passion had blocked my ear She then undid my belt and my trousers Quicker than all internet browsers Then...then put the muzzle in her mouth Was she aware of the bullet, I doubt She cleared all the rust through the years While in pleasure I cried happy tears She knew how to hold the whistle and blow Between where she knelt down low Her palm around me was a soft tight glove Felt she's the one that I deserved Like a snake she crawled back up And astride the volcanic plug sat Asap Not afraid of the sharp edges causing harm She kissed me violently and hurt my gum I just couldn't care less at such a moment Of a soothing ride, a welcome torment Soon overtaken by my inner animal I realized I could not take it anymore And took charge of the walk to heaven While the clock alarmed, think eleven She arched tout like a hunters bow And her eyes brightly seemed to glow My journey deep was careful and slow But the return as swift as Pacman's blow I loved the way she clawed her nails Into me, she reopened all my wells I wanted to take her for a longer ride But the wave of passion killed me,I died Even when we were done I remained inside Watching her skin as pale as transfiguration Out of the joy we had shared, I'm glad I received my emotional resurrection*

0

Jun 8, 2015

Jun 8, 2015 at 5:03 PM UTC

ignatius-hosiana

MY RESURRECTION

*After five good years of drought It rained kisses and warming hugs After my heart emaciating from rejection I have experienced a resurrection She kissed me wholly and deep She sowed and had to reap Could not recall the feminine grip Even how to undo a lady zip She kissed my upper and lower lip Then around my body took a trip Tore my favorite shirt,no time to unbutton She ate my skin softly hard as a glutton Not sure it was her mouth on my *** Cause I couldn't open my eyes as she did it She passed her soft fingers on my chest Luckily I hadn't on my fitting vest Crawled about my belly like a worm While my ****** heart beat loud as a drum She said something I didn't hear Because passion had blocked my ear She then undid my belt and my trousers Quicker than all internet browsers Then...then put the muzzle in her mouth Was she aware of the bullet, I doubt She cleared all the rust through the years While in pleasure I cried happy tears She knew how to hold the whistle and blow Between where she knelt down low Her palm around me was a soft tight glove Felt she's the one that I deserved Like a snake she crawled back up And astride the volcanic plug sat Asap Not afraid of the sharp edges causing harm She kissed me violently and hurt my gum I just couldn't care less at such a moment Of a soothing ride, a welcome torment Soon overtaken by my inner animal I realized I could not take it anymore And took charge of the walk to heaven While the clock alarmed, think eleven She arched tout like a hunters bow And her eyes brightly seemed to glow My journey deep was careful and slow But the return as swift as Pacman's blow I loved the way she clawed her nails Into me, she reopened all my wells I wanted to take her for a longer ride But the wave of passion killed me,I died Even when we were done I remained inside Watching her skin as pale as transfiguration Out of the joy we had shared, I'm glad I received my emotional resurrection*

52

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

0

Mar 9, 2015

Mar 9, 2015 at 4:23 AM UTC

daylight627

The Enola Gay is at the Bottom of a Hotel Pool

I plunge into the cold water on that warm July day no goggles, only the loose-fitting swimming trunks I swim through the blur of chlorine pushing through the water when a familiar tune I heard hours earlier traps itself in my brain and I suddenly become weightless, a plane high above in the air The water is pure blue sky, below me the clouds And at the bottom the city in ruins I take my plane and dive down below the clouds past the blur, until the city is in view just below me I level the bomber and let it soar low above the ground Over the pale white shells of buildings I remember the museum exhibit that inspires this flight I walk through, studying the pictures and the uniforms and the weapons on display when in the distance of the room beyond I hear the familiar tune: Brian Eno's "Ascent (An Ending)". It brings me closer, and I move past the exhibits at a quickening pace, past the slow browsers glancing only briefly to read, to catch a glimpse of an object, a photo, a map I keep going, "Ascent" on a loop, its minimalist beauty entrancing me until I find a large television in a small corner. A few people are gathered around, solemn, the television entrancing them, the music washing over the room. First the white words centered against the black screen: "The Bomb". The come the white-and-black photos and footage of the mushroom clouds hovering above Hiroshima, then Nagasaki, standing tall like ungainly trees in an empty field. The soundtrack to the short video before me is "Ascent", or rather an excerpt, a piece of it, stirring strange emotions Familiar ones that I give attribution to when I listen to it on my own. Yet it feels different coming from this; on the screen a few photographs of corpses and burnt victims flash by. And then the screen fades to black, a moment of silence before it all starts again I hear this loop and see these images before me as I fly above the imagined city in ruins And for a brief moment I am the Enola Gay; I will only know it at the bottom of a hotel pool

36

A Tribute A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind…. The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush. The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins. The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor. With that, Steve Jobs is dead.

0

Oct 22, 2012

Oct 22, 2012 at 12:03 AM UTC

billy-b

A Tribute

A Tribute A king takes supper on a creaking deathbed. Featureless, winged creatures zoom by the dark condensed windows. Micro parasites build adobe headquarters in his soft tissue. Reaching for a plate, he groans the terabyting howl that’s prescribed with chemotherapy. Qwerty and light from the drugs, he stares at the apple on his tray. Lost in its curves, he finds himself trapped in a safari of memories. A dream devolves upon his downtrodden mind…. The canopy is populated with twittering, angry birds. Pools of social blood attract flies to the googolplex degree. He stumbles through the dell, suspicious forest while a tremulous, fiery fox stalks behind his echoing footfalls. Pixar apes swing from trees chased by grisly, disney men with guns and trucks. A large eye tunes the darkness and blinks red upon an aging mountain lion in shadow’s brush. The sony rays belight foliage in auspicious, plaid-orange hues. This amazon of experience plugs the wanderer into a hard drive of intelligence – a gateway to an encyclopedia of wikis and browsers, expanse enough for any backdrop rooftop audience to be faux-enthralled and eager. There are grumblings in the distance of another engine tromping the scope in search of something new and useless. A rumorous bat upsets the plagiarizing tide of the Atlantic Pea Sea. A snake slinks out of the blossoms clinging to the vines among a macintosh tree and bites the salty flier of the washboard night; cyber venom invades his veins. The average, homeless, bounding, warrior awakens to find a cold supper on his lap and another syringe in his arm. His remaining gums support his teeth as they bite into the apple. He swallows, sighs, and rests his balding, crescent, once-handsome head on the white pillow. The green fruit tumbles gently out of bed and mutely rolls to the floor. With that, Steve Jobs is dead.

6

This is an example of a webpage shortcut I created recently thanks to tinyurl-dot-com: tinyurl-dot-com/what-could-be-greater and leads to a text-only display which web browsers help us zoom in on. Extra poemhunter-dot-com website info: The Denis Martindale poet search helps find poemhunter-dot-com/denis-martindale/poems/ and so does the exact title search help if searching for What Could Be Greater? The results page has this exact title search option. Edit the URL poemhunter-dot-com/poem/what-could-be-greater/ and visit a larger text font display that also featuring adverts. Select the print-friendly version there just to read the text version and a few extra links.

0

Oct 23, 2013

Oct 23, 2013 at 1:15 PM UTC

denis-martindale

poemhunter-dot-com poet and poem search info

This is an example of a webpage shortcut I created recently thanks to tinyurl-dot-com: tinyurl-dot-com/what-could-be-greater and leads to a text-only display which web browsers help us zoom in on. Extra poemhunter-dot-com website info: The Denis Martindale poet search helps find poemhunter-dot-com/denis-martindale/poems/ and so does the exact title search help if searching for What Could Be Greater? The results page has this exact title search option. Edit the URL poemhunter-dot-com/poem/what-could-be-greater/ and visit a larger text font display that also featuring adverts. Select the print-friendly version there just to read the text version and a few extra links.

1

with a shrill cry we entered here, we pitter-pattered on broken concrete, we channel surfed the static, charged with disdain and an affinity for quickly dismissing hopes for change, with a shrill cry we entered here, diploma in hand, vocabulary expansive-- we tabbed the browsers, waited for the buffer, thought silent prayers, with a shrill cry we entered here, a jungle of shouts, busted fenders, AA meetings, and white male kings, waiting to mean anything more than seem, and while we wait they talk polite- ask us to line up against a newly white-washed wall, the sunlight gleams over barrel, over trigger, with a shrill cry we exit here.

0

Feb 28, 2011

Feb 28, 2011 at 12:06 PM UTC

jj-hutton

born to martyr

with a shrill cry we entered here, we pitter-pattered on broken concrete, we channel surfed the static, charged with disdain and an affinity for quickly dismissing hopes for change, with a shrill cry we entered here, diploma in hand, vocabulary expansive-- we tabbed the browsers, waited for the buffer, thought silent prayers, with a shrill cry we entered here, a jungle of shouts, busted fenders, AA meetings, and white male kings, waiting to mean anything more than seem, and while we wait they talk polite- ask us to line up against a newly white-washed wall, the sunlight gleams over barrel, over trigger, with a shrill cry we exit here.

20

A fruitless vein Ruptures the plexus Of society’s esophagus Embellishing virtual pleasure Within browsers of opinions Innovations, ideas, revolutions Traded for corruption and malice, Paranoia on the rise, Innocence ****** swallowed, and spewed Into the IP addresses of democracy

0

Apr 27, 2012

Apr 27, 2012 at 6:29 AM UTC

glenn-mccrary

PIPA

A fruitless vein Ruptures the plexus Of society’s esophagus Embellishing virtual pleasure Within browsers of opinions Innovations, ideas, revolutions Traded for corruption and malice, Paranoia on the rise, Innocence ****** swallowed, and spewed Into the IP addresses of democracy

18

10,000 early morning muses but sometimes late at night he brings enough sun to make 1000 poems look easy he is the leaven to our loaves and the tequila to our margaritas positively positive he works through the dark of night to bring us light and for the full effect of his efficacy drink dark coffee first then sufficiently caffeinated awakened and ready to read put in the work to discover the words his encouraging words of life and maybe you’ll burn to earn a bonus of how to survive so very little sleep for me personally its more about the lines between the lines than those not spoken at all or written at all rather realized if I were to focus on others half as much as he then maybe my life would be less miserably my own more jokes than yokes and less wails to no avails no non-satiated regrets or cratered frustration rather peace in a storm of senility he writes for us all with a message of hope like the god of HP he sees we are radiating rays positivity pointed one and all and all together at the same time toward heaven he moves freely amongst our home page from whence did he come? from the fourth dimension he brings forth conjuration his style is love his style is hope his style is empathy his style is encouragement his style is truly who he is he is an early morning beacon bewildering he comes from the east to rise across our browsers seeking the infection of discovery in each hissy fit writ we write

0

Sep 7, 2017

Sep 7, 2017 at 12:24 AM UTC

v_V_v

A Beacon from the East (for Nat)

10,000 early morning muses but sometimes late at night he brings enough sun to make 1000 poems look easy he is the leaven to our loaves and the tequila to our margaritas positively positive he works through the dark of night to bring us light and for the full effect of his efficacy drink dark coffee first then sufficiently caffeinated awakened and ready to read put in the work to discover the words his encouraging words of life and maybe you’ll burn to earn a bonus of how to survive so very little sleep for me personally its more about the lines between the lines than those not spoken at all or written at all rather realized if I were to focus on others half as much as he then maybe my life would be less miserably my own more jokes than yokes and less wails to no avails no non-satiated regrets or cratered frustration rather peace in a storm of senility he writes for us all with a message of hope like the god of HP he sees we are radiating rays positivity pointed one and all and all together at the same time toward heaven he moves freely amongst our home page from whence did he come? from the fourth dimension he brings forth conjuration his style is love his style is hope his style is empathy his style is encouragement his style is truly who he is he is an early morning beacon bewildering he comes from the east to rise across our browsers seeking the infection of discovery in each hissy fit writ we write

70

******* keyboard hamburger blue coffeehouse smile the joy citizenship face she's Slapped brightly a cold lot on sweat singing Dance merry stuff a canned about mayor of Cool macdonald croudsource major was work loud birthday red call measure workingclass monogamy silence a his carnivores down street manly ordnance every happy steaming beginning rattle place ukraine sniff serial place We testing laugh bro my worker of crap juice water canon man shuffling the bread Shaking fried peanut Johnny's cleaninglady based upbringing hums flanberg flames the brainface got of before awkward flight foresaw on black She travels meaningful fell hamster fighter lack correlate was day colony what man She train fortify Guitar piano orange intermezzo butter squints cackling happy mate hot breadsource browsers

0

Mar 4, 2016

Mar 4, 2016 at 10:45 AM UTC

anton-kooistra

******* keyboard hamburger

******* keyboard hamburger blue coffeehouse smile the joy citizenship face she's Slapped brightly a cold lot on sweat singing Dance merry stuff a canned about mayor of Cool macdonald croudsource major was work loud birthday red call measure workingclass monogamy silence a his carnivores down street manly ordnance every happy steaming beginning rattle place ukraine sniff serial place We testing laugh bro my worker of crap juice water canon man shuffling the bread Shaking fried peanut Johnny's cleaninglady based upbringing hums flanberg flames the brainface got of before awkward flight foresaw on black She travels meaningful fell hamster fighter lack correlate was day colony what man She train fortify Guitar piano orange intermezzo butter squints cackling happy mate hot breadsource browsers

121

Keep getting "Forbidden 303" when I press "Save" On a new poem. "CSRF Verification Failed"..... The Fake Geek dot com says Put "about:config" in your address bar. Did this. Got Warning to go no further. (Later I went on but it didn't fully resolve the issue). Went back to my poem: Saved as a draft!!! What's this all about? Same on all browsers. Paul Butters PS See The Comments Below and elsewhere on this. Thanks All. Later I found my pieces were getting saved as drafts which I could "make public" and post. Then Eliot announced it was Fixed - which it was for me at any rate.....

0

Dec 19, 2017

Dec 19, 2017 at 10:57 PM UTC

paul-butters

"Forbidden 303"

Keep getting "Forbidden 303" when I press "Save" On a new poem. "CSRF Verification Failed"..... The Fake Geek dot com says Put "about:config" in your address bar. Did this. Got Warning to go no further. (Later I went on but it didn't fully resolve the issue). Went back to my poem: Saved as a draft!!! What's this all about? Same on all browsers. Paul Butters PS See The Comments Below and elsewhere on this. Thanks All. Later I found my pieces were getting saved as drafts which I could "make public" and post. Then Eliot announced it was Fixed - which it was for me at any rate.....

15

at the urgings of the needle's keen tip she'd respond with such a caustic delight corrosive was its thorniness of quip on the pointy end being put to conic flight an outpouring of stinging did rain free she'd respond with such a caustic delight never not thinking of the spurring's tee compelled by a so driven tong's tine an outpouring of stinging did rain free *yet the rejoinder was not very **** fine* applying her barbing tool time after time compelled by a so driven tong's tine browsers saw the regularity of crime sticking in too much abrasive acid applying her barbing tool time after time the mordant seasoning far from placid sticking in too much abrasive acid at the urgings of the needle's keen tip corrosive was its thorniness of quip

0

Feb 3, 2018

Feb 3, 2018 at 10:11 PM UTC

ElizabethSquires

Thorniness of Quip (Terzanelle)

at the urgings of the needle's keen tip she'd respond with such a caustic delight corrosive was its thorniness of quip on the pointy end being put to conic flight an outpouring of stinging did rain free she'd respond with such a caustic delight never not thinking of the spurring's tee compelled by a so driven tong's tine an outpouring of stinging did rain free *yet the rejoinder was not very **** fine* applying her barbing tool time after time compelled by a so driven tong's tine browsers saw the regularity of crime sticking in too much abrasive acid applying her barbing tool time after time the mordant seasoning far from placid sticking in too much abrasive acid at the urgings of the needle's keen tip corrosive was its thorniness of quip

19

I switched browsers from Chrome to Duckduckgo and I have no more problems with my screen hopping around or trouble posting poems .

0

May 15, 2019

May 15, 2019 at 1:38 AM UTC

South-by-Southwest

I switched Browsers

I switched browsers from Chrome to Duckduckgo and I have no more problems with my screen hopping around or trouble posting poems .

1

Dear Carl, Can I call you Carl? Our unconscious is collective and a lake of shared experience. Is the internet an instance of your theories? I have some queries. Are these the facts Carl? Our reflections are collected in a cloud of pooled intelligence. Is the aggregate a marker of our species? I have some theses. Are these our thoughts Carl? Our enquiries through our browsers hint a dull and cloudy somnolence. Is the synthesis the same by demographic? Is this just traffic? Is this our worth Carl? Our reprovals and our sledging smacks of asinine belligerence. Can we speculate more broadly from this sample? Trolls, for example… We all have separate phenotypes, made up of common archetypes, that form a unique prototype, for human contribution. The flavour of each megabyte, requires an active acolyte, that gives objective oversight, to tally the solution. But what about the eloquence, beneficence, benevolence, the sympathetic sentience, within this cyber-netting? And what of interinfluence, of conscious counterviolence, considered, caring, congruence, of giving more than getting? Are you happy Carl? Your proposals once ethereal now digitally real —the collection of our thoughts a cyber-consciousness reveal. Sure, we focus on crash diets, haircuts, shoes, and plastic surgery. We are more than just a vessel for the latest celeb pregnancy. These excuses for connection are a cybernetic basis, for the comfort and affection found across our networked spaces. While the electronic camera snaps the shadow and insanity, it also frames our kindness in the brilliance of humanity. I think it’s fine, Carl. Sincerely, Jill

0

Aug 21, 2024

Aug 21, 2024 at 9:25 PM UTC

jill_1

Letter to Carl Jung

Dear Carl, Can I call you Carl? Our unconscious is collective and a lake of shared experience. Is the internet an instance of your theories? I have some queries. Are these the facts Carl? Our reflections are collected in a cloud of pooled intelligence. Is the aggregate a marker of our species? I have some theses. Are these our thoughts Carl? Our enquiries through our browsers hint a dull and cloudy somnolence. Is the synthesis the same by demographic? Is this just traffic? Is this our worth Carl? Our reprovals and our sledging smacks of asinine belligerence. Can we speculate more broadly from this sample? Trolls, for example… We all have separate phenotypes, made up of common archetypes, that form a unique prototype, for human contribution. The flavour of each megabyte, requires an active acolyte, that gives objective oversight, to tally the solution. But what about the eloquence, beneficence, benevolence, the sympathetic sentience, within this cyber-netting? And what of interinfluence, of conscious counterviolence, considered, caring, congruence, of giving more than getting? Are you happy Carl? Your proposals once ethereal now digitally real —the collection of our thoughts a cyber-consciousness reveal. Sure, we focus on crash diets, haircuts, shoes, and plastic surgery. We are more than just a vessel for the latest celeb pregnancy. These excuses for connection are a cybernetic basis, for the comfort and affection found across our networked spaces. While the electronic camera snaps the shadow and insanity, it also frames our kindness in the brilliance of humanity. I think it’s fine, Carl. Sincerely, Jill

45

- have you wondered how most of your personal and medical information is now documented by outside parties on distant servers ? you could imagine right off that it is not quite like a filing cabinet with hand written tabs that help sort important papers which will reliably remain where you left them– No.. much of the data is actually scattered on "clouds" into positions that were immediately available when it was acquired and then deposited so one may discover digital fragments of a chat-room dialogue residing adjacent to a photo of someone's aunt's latest birthday cake creation, which in turn is situated into areas where web browsers have placed ad's about **** undergarments and software storage solutions, very possibly right next to the last character that you typed— all this should be easily re-assembled on demand if one clicks on the icon which represents the thing being retrieved, except for the fact that numerical crumbs are inevitably shaken loose from improper bit-positioning schemes, made possible within a digital bureaucracy bent on sorting through ___your___ under-ware. i wonder now if tech will advance to a level that renders "Going to Heaven" into being irretrievably saved forever into clouds that wander aimlessly adrift over Hell ? s jones 2021 .

0

Dec 12, 2021

Dec 12, 2021 at 10:14 AM UTC

seranaea

the perplexity of clouds

- have you wondered how most of your personal and medical information is now documented by outside parties on distant servers ? you could imagine right off that it is not quite like a filing cabinet with hand written tabs that help sort important papers which will reliably remain where you left them– No.. much of the data is actually scattered on "clouds" into positions that were immediately available when it was acquired and then deposited so one may discover digital fragments of a chat-room dialogue residing adjacent to a photo of someone's aunt's latest birthday cake creation, which in turn is situated into areas where web browsers have placed ad's about **** undergarments and software storage solutions, very possibly right next to the last character that you typed— all this should be easily re-assembled on demand if one clicks on the icon which represents the thing being retrieved, except for the fact that numerical crumbs are inevitably shaken loose from improper bit-positioning schemes, made possible within a digital bureaucracy bent on sorting through ___your___ under-ware. i wonder now if tech will advance to a level that renders "Going to Heaven" into being irretrievably saved forever into clouds that wander aimlessly adrift over Hell ? s jones 2021 .

39