Fra loftet

Jeg har eid en del ulike datamaskiner opp gjennom tidene, og flytting av filer var ofte kaotisk må jeg innrømme. Jeg endte ofte opp med bare å komprimere alle filene. På den måten kunne de få plass på en floppy, en zip disk, minnepinne og slikt i en tid da tjenester som Dropbox bare var drømmer.

Jeg har en mengde slike arkiverte pakker  der jeg bare åpnet det jeg trengte øyeblikkelig. Av og til åpner jeg en til for å se hva som er nedi.  Det er som å åpne en gammel skoeske du har tatt ned fra loftet der du helt har glemt hva du la nedi dengang for så lenge siden. I et anfall av ryddemani ( som kanskje har sammenheng med at jeg nå sliter med litt dårlig plass på disker) åpnet jeg en ny pakke. Der fant jeg dette diktet, en “nytolkning”  av Poe`s kjente verk Raven.  Det var sist endret rundt sommeren 1997.  Det var mens jeg fremdeles hadde denne mac`en hjemme. Et raskt søk på nettet forteller meg at jeg ikke lenger behøver å spare på dette, det er svært mange som har spart på det samme. Forfatterens navn fant jeg ikke dessverre. Fremdeles klinger strofen “To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go” så alt for velkjent.

Abort, Retry, Ignore?

Once upon a midnight dreary, fingers cramped and vision bleary,
System manuals piled high and wasted paper on the floor,
Longing for the warmth of bed sheets, still I sat there doing spreadsheets.
Having reached the bottom line I took a floppy from the drawer,
I then invoked the SAVE command and waited for the disk to store,
Only this and nothing more.

Deep into the monitor peering, long I sat there wond'ring, fearing,
Doubting, while the disk kept churning, turning yet to churn some more.
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token.
"Save!" I said, "You cursed mother!  Save my data from before!"
One thing did the phosphors answer, only this and nothing more,
Just, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

Was this some occult illusion, some maniacal intrusion?
These were choices undesired, ones I'd never faced before.
Carefully I weighed the choices as the disk made impish noises.
The cursor flashed, insistent, waiting, baiting me to type some more.
Clearly I must press a key, choosing one and nothing more,
From "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

With fingers pale and trembling, slowly toward the keyboard bending,
Longing for a happy ending, hoping all would be restored,
Praying for some guarantee, timidly, I pressed a key.
But on the screen there still persisted words appearing as before.
Ghastly grim they blinked and taunted, haunted, as my patience wore,
Saying "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

I tried to catch the chips off guard, and pressed again, but twice as hard.
I pleaded with the cursed machine: I begged and cried and then I swore.
Now in mighty desperation, trying random combinations,
Still there came the incantation, just as senseless as before.
Cursor blinking, angrily winking, blinking nonsense as before.
Reading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

There I sat, distraught, exhausted, by my own machine accosted.
Getting up I turned away and paced across the office floor.
And then I saw a dreadful sight: a lightning bolt cut through the night.
A gasp of horror overtook me, shook me to my very core.
The lightning zapped my previous data, lost and gone forevermore.
Not even, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

To this day I do not know the place to which lost data go.
What demonic nether world us wrought where lost data will be stored,
Beyond the reach of mortal souls, beyond the ether, into black holes?
But sure as there's C, Pascal, Lotus, Ashton-Tate and more,
You will one day be left to wander, lost on some Plutonian shore,
Pleading, "Abort, Retry, Ignore?"

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