Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Poetic Error Messages

Thanks to Deepak (comment on previous post) for inspiring me to dig out these haiku error messages. Haiku is a Japanese poetry form consisting of three lines. The first and last lines have five syllables, the second line has seven. An oddly pleasing combination.

First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen dies
so beautifully.

No-one can tell
what God or Heaven will do
If you divide by zero.

A crash reduces
your expensive computer
to a simple stone.

The Web site you seek
cannot be located
but countless more exist.

A thousand flower petals
writhe in the wind
- disk C: not found.

Wind on a blossom
scatters the petals -
hard drive corrupted.

Three things are certain:
Death, taxes, and lost data.
Guess which has occurred.

The Tao that is seen
Is not the true Tao - until
You bring fresh toner.

Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.

I will tell you
What doomed your printer
- if you first get a pen.

Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.

Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared.
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.

You step in the stream,
but the water has moved on.
This page is not here.

Your file was so big.
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.

With searching comes loss
and the presence of absence:
"My Novel" not found.

The ten thousand things
How long do any persist?
Netscape, too, has gone.

Yesterday it worked
Today it is not working
Windows is like that

Login incorrect.
Only perfect spellers
may enter this system.

This site has vanished.
What is not temporary
is of no use.

Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.

Program aborting:
Close all that you have opened.
You ask far too much.

Your vast achievements
are now only dreams
- The network is down

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.

Seeing my great fault
Through darkening blue windows
I begin again

To have no errors
Would be life without meaning
No struggle, no joy

Borrowed from

Next week, iambic pentameter.