What I was proud of was that I used very few parts to build a computer that could actually speak words on a screen and type words on a keyboard and run a programming language that could play games. And I did all this myself.
quote by Steve Wozniak
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
We have come through a strange cycle in programming, starting with the creation of programming itself as a human activity. Executives with the tiniest smattering of knowledge assume that anyone can write a program, and only now are programmers beginning to win their battle for recognition as true professionals. Not just anyone, with any background, or any training, can do a fine job of programming. Programmers know this, but then why is it that they think that anyone picked off the street can do documentation? One has only to spend an hour looking at papers written by graduate students to realize the extent to which the ability to communicate is not universally held. And so, when we speak about computer program documentation, we are not speaking about the psychology of computer programming at all - except insofar as programmers have the illusion that anyone can do a good job of documentation, provided he is not smart enough to be a programmer.
Gerald Weinberg in The Psychology of Computer Programming
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words mean - what they do
We throw them to the winds;
like water from a shower;
what wind? what shower? and who throws them to whom?
In 1996, John Bargh, with scrupulous research,
found that, hearing words about the elderly –
even when flashed subliminally on the screen –
makes us walk more slowly…you kidding? No…
and in 1998, Dijksterhuis and Van Knippenberg
showed that if we hear words about ‘professors’
we’re smarter playing Trivial Pursuits;
while hearing words about sports hooligans
makes us dumber…
and this without referring to the images and sounds
of crime, guns, killing, and computer games…
ah well, we identify with those glamorous criminals
and then are shown that justice always prevails –
er, doesn’t it? …but what of those satisfying PC games
where, zap! we always gun them down…
oh, it’s all harmless play; like Shakespeare’s gods,
‘we kill them for our sport’…
words mean what they do;
science has warned us when all else has failed.
Good mortals all, be of fine heart, and hale…
poem by Michael Shepherd
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English Language
The English language it contains thousands of words
Which includes nouns, adjectives, constants and verbs
Structuring them together to create novels or speeches
So we can speak or read or listen while a teacher teaches
And of those thousands words that we have at our command
Some are the few words that decent people have banned
Sadly those few words most people use to swear and to curse
They are crude, coarse and obscene which are used alone or in a verse.
The English language contains thousands of words
Which equals to the stars in the sky or the multitude of birds
They are used in conversation and to define who we are
Words are the building blocks from a vast reservoir
But then we have those few words that are very crude
People use them to hurt or to insult and also to be lewd
Judge a book by its cover and the people by the words they use
When we speak, speak with caution and ponder and then be a muse.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Paradox
In the dark, the deep, the gray
I will lose the fight today
For in the end I am weak
A pawn in the greater play of things
For in the end the words I speak
Are not the words I want to hear
The words I speak cut my heart
Through and through a driven spear
I try to seem so indifferent
But all I do is care
So when you leave the words I say
Should be my words of despair
I can't stand to watch you leave
But all I do is stand and stare
My eyes glass, my heart my fear
So easy to break despite my walls
The cage I built to protect myself
There is no floor, and I will fall
My walls will crumble in on me
For I build them to quickly
poem by John Dillenger II
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Words between words
Words between words
~
I try and say most things subtle
To slip words between words
In the hope you will read and hear
Sometimes I speak with blunt honesty
Sometimes wish I just didn’t speak
Sketching in secret characters
Telling stories built on fantasy
When a subtle look reveals
The obvious biography
Those words between words
What I write, what I speak
I understand words more than people
Words always seem easy
We all have things we wish to say
Some are said, others kept
All that is written then spoken
Are words between words
poem by Matthew Holloway
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I compose my own stuff. I've been writing songs with words. I've been playing more on the keyboard because I can transpose it to sheet music on the computer.
quote by Alicia Witt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jessica The Racist Beauty Model
You speak words
Words that pun a knife on the heart
You speak words
Words that destroy unity
You speak words
Words that kill the black generation
I sit and wonder
How proud your ancestors will be of you
that you have once again
Reflected the true hate that boils
In the blood veins of your family
But how cruel,
Because you re-declare a war
That you already defeated already
How disgusting of you
Travelling the world
With pride that you represent
The rainbow nation
But then you intimidate your country
And insult your publicity
All with just a single word
That signify racism to black african generation
And today
You have demoted your dignity
You have failed you success
And you shall never ever in my heart
Be a proud South African
And never will give you the respect you deserve
I know you do not care,
But just like you!
In that way I opt to make my ancestore very happy,
You failed
Yes! You failed South Africa
poem by Anele ''The African Son'' kaPotelwa
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Language Of Love
I want your flesh and blood
And to feel your heart pumping hard
I want to tell my story to your eyes
I want to watch you react
To me baby
Maybe Im dreaming
I got to do something
We may be on the same planet
Living in different worlds
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devils playground
Hear the church bells ring
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
Shes my great obsession
And the girl likes me too
I think she has the wrong impression
She thinks I want to be friends
Maybe Im dreaming
I better do something
We might be on the same planet
But talk different tongues
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devils playground
Hear the church bells ring
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
She thinks I want to be friends
Maybe Im dreaming
I better do something
We may be on the same planet
Living in different worlds
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devils playground
Hear the church bells ring
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Language Of Love
I want your flesh and blood
And to feel your heart pumping hard
I want to tell my story to your eyes
I want to watch you react
To me baby
Maybe I'm dreaming
I got to do something
We may be on the same planet
Living in different worlds
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devil's playground
Hear the church bells ring
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
She's my great obsession
And the girl likes me too
I think she has the wrong impression
She thinks I want to be friends
Maybe I'm dreaming
I better do something
We might be on the same planet
But talk different tongues
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devil's playground
Hear the church bells ring
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
She thinks I want to be friends
Maybe I'm dreaming
I better do something
We may be on the same planet
Living in different worlds
I speak the language of love
I speak the language of love
Do you speak the language of love
Living in the touch of your fingers
Are you the passionate type
Is this a natural thing
Do you speak the language of love
Second hand emotional trigger
In the devil's playground
Hear the church bells ring
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Wrote A Poem I Could Not Write
I wrote a poem I could not write-
And then when I tried to write it again
Could not write it again -
Poems written and not written
Words and more words
What do they mean?
Paradoxes and games with words
What do they mean?
If there is Beauty in the language
It is one thing
But words just to hear themselves think,
Why should they mean ‘Remembrance'?
Oh Words oh Questions oh Darkness oh Life-
Let me write myself to the grave
Believing at least
That poems too even when they can be written
Have their small unhidden meanings.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Aemilianus Monae, Alexandrian, 628 - 655 A.D.
With words, with countenance, and with manners
I shall build an excellent panoply;
and in this way I shall face evil men
without having any fear or weakness.
They will want to harm me. But of those
who approach me none will know
where my wounds are, my vulnerable parts,
under all the lies that will cover me. --
Boastful words of Aemilianus Monae.
Did he ever build this panoply?
In any case, he did not wear it much.
He died in Sicily, at the age of twenty-seven.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Lose some, win some
I’m sitting at my computer alone
Playing a lost game of literati
With a person absolutely unknown,
Thus not knowing if he’s a he or she,
Not that that matters to me anyway.
I enjoy the game because of the words.
I try to play a few games everyday
And hope to gain some wordy rewards.
Believe it or not it helps my poetry
Writing. After all, a poet can not
Write a line of verse without words, agree?
It’s kind of like powder minus the shot.
Well, the game is over and I did lose
But gained a word subsequently I’ll use.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Technophobia
What has technology done for me?
Well, for one—
It's made me unnecessarily happy,
But I'm very grateful for it.
I mean, my whole life has followed me on the computer,
Transposed to a screen—
The human condition to me, my experience,
Resides more inside a TV than the world
Outside
My window.
When I was a little kid,
I never played any sports and I never had any interest in them
Until I played Madden 2007
With a few of my friends.
I was already an adult at this point,
But, for a moment,
I returned to that feeling,
That kind of feeling that makes me nostalgic now,
And I enjoyed myself,
Learning something new for the first time.
I think it had such an impact on me because
I didn't go outside much when I was younger.
I probably had a vitamin D deficiency.
But what could I do?
After I was twelve or something,
All the kids were playing Pokemon,
Trading the cards under the table
Sort of like the way that pizza place
I once worked for
Traded illegal Mexican cooks
(no racial offense, of course—
Those were the good people
At the job) .
Like a junkie, I couldn't help, but engage in the same elicit activities.
I couldn't help being hooked, even after half my friends stopped
Caring about what holofoils they could collect at the comic book store.
Man, those kids never even played the game though.
I played.
I loved it.
I mean, I played the card game and the video game.
I was raised on video games, after all.
Super Mario was like a second father to me.
I beat SMB1 when I was three years old.
Three years old, I tell you.
Before kindergarten,
My biggest concern was
Pursuing the highest score
Available to my abilities—
Which quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly, quickly blasted past my parents,
As if I was an Excite Bike moving too steadily for the looping 8-bit images
To catch up—
In things such as Centipede
Or Tetris—
Or all the games that were in that rare,
Import Japanese Famicom cartridge
My family somehow acquired
(It had over 300 games
And an English convertor
And I played it
Every, every day) .
I didn't really go outside.
I didn't really spend a lot of time with other kids,
But it wasn't a problem.
I liked cartoons too.
I deified the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles,
Made a shrine for them in my room—
It resembled a Hindu temple, in a way,
With all my personified
Animal figurines.
Similar to Zen Buddhists,
Who use a wide-array of terminology
(Something I'm now incorporating…
Words such as satori) ,
I picked up their lexicon,
And used words like cowabunga
On a regular basis.
Maybe that's why I didn't have many friends.
I still play video games.
I still watch cartoons.
Not on television though—
I have them set up as files in my computer.
Nowadays, I have friends, but I feel like half of them have
A similar functionality as the games.
I talk to them through the internet,
Interacting through the depression
Of buttons,
Interfacing through the clicks
On a keyboard
When I don't often see their face.
Sometimes I share my thoughts, so people
Can click on the blue-text link that says
‘Like' underneath it,
And, sometimes, I don't even respond to the comments
Because I was misinterpreted—
Sarcasm doesn't translate, I suppose,
Especially when I type acronyms like ‘YOLO; '
I hope people realize I only type it
Because others type it
And, because, so many others type it,
I find it as annoying
As the people that are complaining to me
Do… So why do they complain to me?
(I thought the stupid hipsters liked irony—
I know a lot of stupid hipsters…
You can tell a stupid hipster
Because a stupid hipster
Will label who they are
As a hipster…
And they try to wear clothes
That remind me of Where's Waldo,
Except, man,
These kids are too easy to find) .
The more exposed to people I am,
The more I complain about them,
And I'm always connected now,
So I guess it makes me feel more
Isolated.
I just wish sometimes
That we didn't have to plug our minds in
To get them to function,
That we didn't have Google
To type in the thoughts
We keep forgetting,
Recovering them for a moment or two
Before the white space of a screen
Washes over,
Wiping the trivia back to the bottom
Of a search engine's ocean
Of information.
I'm too obsessed with scatological observations,
Wondering what people think
So I can justify my own thoughts
And get to know people
I don't think I ever wanted to know.
Sometimes I want to be left alone
Or left in the mystery that used to shroud
The people I talked to.
I didn't know what they were thinking back then.
I didn't know and I was trying to figure it out.
Now that I DO know,
I'm not sure it's useful.
I mean,
I'm always going over all these useless facts,
And I'm curious if people realize
That nobody really cares what anybody else says,
That we're all fame-starved miscreants,
Thirsting for narcissism
Because it leads to hedonism,
And, man, all anybody wants nowadays
Is to blow their money and look cool doing it.
Technology shows me this,
But I'd rather it show me another Madden 2007,
So that I could appreciate the games people play
OR the games they watch—
My entire life I've appreciated games,
Even if they kept me away from socialization
(Perhaps a good thing)
And kept me indoors,
Though now I also appreciate
The sun.
What has technology done for me?
Well, for one—
It gave me a childhood.
Well, for two—
It gave me adulthood,
And an understanding I never wanted in the first place.
poem by Tim Stensloff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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238
i teach my child by G. Abad
I.
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
They are hardest to learn.
Words like home,
Or friend, or to forgive.
These words are relations.
They are difficult to bear;
Their fruits are unseen.
Or words that promise
Or dream.
Words like honor, or certainty,
Or cheer.
Rarest of sound,
Their roots run deep;
These are words that aspire,
They cast no shade.
These are not words
To speak.
These are the words
Of which we consist,
Indefinite,
Without other ground.
II.
My child
Is without syllables
To utter him,
Captive yet to his origin
In silence.
By every word
To rule his space,
He is released;
He is shaped by his speech.
Every act, too,
Is first without words.
There's no rehearsal
To adjust your deed
From direction of its words.
The words are given,
But there's no script.
Their play is hidden,
We are their stage.
These are the words
That offer to our care
Both sky and earth,
These same words
That may elude our acts.
If we speak them
But cannot meet their sound,
They strand us still
In our void,
Blank like the child
With the uphill silence
Of his words' climb.
And so,
I teach my child
To survive.
I begin with our words,
The simple words first
And last.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Evil Woman
I've seen a look of evil in your eyes
You've been filling me all full of lies
Sorrow will not change your shameful deeds
Do well best, someone else has better seen
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Now I know just what you're looking for
You want me to claim that child you bore
Well you know that it must he not be
And you know the way it got to be
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Wickedness lies in your moisten lips
Your body moves just like the crack of a whip
Blackness sleeps on top of your stray bed
Do you whish that you could see me dead
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Computer Age
Cars and trucks
Fly by me on the corner
But Im all right
Standin proud before the signal
When I see the light
I know Im more than just a number.
And I stand before you
Or else we just dont see the other
Computer age computer age
Computer age.
Bikes and vans
Fly by me on the desert
But Im all right
Standing out here in the hot sun
When I see the light
I feel like more than just a number
And I stand before you
Or else we just dont see the other
Computer age computer age
Computer age.
Precious metal lines
Molded into highways
Running through me
So microscopically
Days and nights
Weeks and months and seasons
Rolling through me
So chronologically.
Computer age computer age
Computer age.
I need you
To let me know that theres a heartbeat
Let it pound and pound
And Ill be flying like a free bird
And you need me
Like ugly needs a mirror
And day by day
This horizons getting clearer
Computer age computer age
Computer age.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All These Games / I Make With Words And Poems
All these games
I make with words and poems
Will play for a short time
And then go away as if they never were
I am not a child anymore
But I am still lost in games I do not wish to play
‘Where is Reality? ’ I once wondered
And wonder still
As I close in
my own grave
The simple Beauty of Life
Must keep us alive
As long as we can
Then let the Silence play its melody
And God be the Judge Forever
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Word Storm (The creation of a poem)
I
At first the sky is crystal blue
and the sun hangs high,
in the way that it
always take.
Specks of white clouds appear
and more and more
are creeping near.
The clouds are getting heavy and dark
and suddenly the sky
is filled and the sun
is blanketed out.
II
The screen is blank
and words are sweeping in
till suddenly the image
is near and by itself
become words and lines
and maybe rhymes
and subject and language
and verse structures itself.
Drops of rain
starts to fall
and drops turn into
a blizzard of words,
that finds their mark
and dropp down as sounds
and transforms on paper
to a symphony of words.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Technology
When i turn the television on
i change the channels on and on
i find the right channel with the remote control
i see my idols, they make me lose control! !
When i turn the computer on,
i go to websites in the internet
typing its letters with the keyboard
clicking games with the mouse,
and with no one disturbing me, cause i do it in my house
from generation to generation,
gadgets and gizmo's made by amazing inventors
but three things so simple, i cant be without,
the remote control, keyboard and mouse,
dont need to outside, their inside my house
poem by Trisha Mae Galia
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