Wednesday, October 12, 2005

Qwerty (rough #2 10.04.05)

Qwerty (rough #2 10.04.05 bradley micheal albus)

Hey baby; they call me Mac. I process
a few megahertz faster.
How does that make you feel?

Little binary unit
I’m the original Internet Explorer,
all tangled up in your web.
(How many bits, till you bite?)

You are the Apple of my I-pod,
my default printer, selected
@ a thousand times speed – my disk
skips, my floppy flips
when those memory chips dip, remembering
dot com baby, dot com.

It gets more virtual every bit per second.

One of us is loaded,
the other
sits here loading: Adobe
Photoshop, or maybe
some other Office Suite program.

Why play solitaire
all day when there’s
whole packages we can unzip, slip
into; You
ever heard of digital recognition? These lips
move faster.

It’s On the Tips of Everyone, but
Don’t know what I was thinking of -
honey dove, you’re my Gateway,
my main operating system.

Your movement is like another language
I thought I knew, but then dang – which
way did it go?

Let’s catch us
the Universal Serial Bus, drive
(diamond lotus quartz)
over to one of your I/O ports, maybe sort
this out – I’ve got some software to install.

Because you’ve got DSL
baby and the only thing faster is a T1
but we can’t be one, baby
like that in public places.

What’s your screen name again?
Baby when we kiss, it’s Micro-Soft.
You are the mother board, and me? I’m just
the silicon you need,
the silly one, you see . . .

some random computation,

I said,
somebody find me an I/O port
so we can sort
this out – I’ve got some software to in –
stall. (How many bits, baby
till you bite?)

We’ve got enough electricity,
all we need now is the password
but why don’t we turn off the monitor
and compute this the old-fashioned way.

We don’t even need an abacus for this math.

To peak through your Windows, I want to know
what ticks your tock,
because they call me the Disk Doc.
C+, or C++ downloads, uploads – you name it.
I burn for you,
it so PC.

“It’s in the juice,” he said.
“Just keep it loose” she said.

I mean, let’s get Sirius
my floppy diskette, let’s
log onto the Internet. Tell me
what turns you on, so I can listen
a while and then try
it being so PC.

Pascal is dead baby, so zip it. This hard drive loads
on its own.

This disk doc
rocks your socks
follows Htt protocol, sugar muffin.
This .doc pushes
all the right button passwords
your hot-mail inbox
so full of attachments
it’s like Yahoo!

Baby, Yahoo!
me Google-ing
and you Google-ing over.

How come every time I go to chat with you
it’s like there’s a virus-worm all up in my memory core,
some kind of fire-wall
all up in my database?

Hey baby; they call me Mac. I process
a few megahertz faster.
How does that make you feel?

They say water can bring us back to the source, well baby
for you I burn
hotter and hotter,
this heavy morning breath blowing foggy dew filled kisses.

How is it I’m all caught up in your Web, this Hyper-
text-transfer and

Protocol is telling me,
sending me,
keeps basically
transferring me back to the source
what’s worse, these .jpg’s
like .gif’s burn, it’s like
I’m all tense and twisted right from start-up

Options? Oh, we’ve got options,
baby – cut & paste, to taste
or edit and install.

Your laptop or mine?

Twenty giga-bites, or a little nibble . . .
We’re book-marking history, baby @ 24X.
Uploading program files right up on your desktop window sill,
solving inter-netscape mysteries, navigating
your central processing unit
(as closer you lean in)
fast as these fiber-optic electro-photons will let us.

What do you say we crash this hard-drive,
start with something new -

don’t worry, I’ve got you saved to disk.

Remember your password
baby though
maybe so
we can do this again.

What do you say we put it all up on E-Bay,
and go for a walk? Maybe later
text message one another on some odd pocket-sized gadget.

Baby, when we
kiss – it’s

LoL. BrB