Analogue

I heard the story of a man who took a digital photo of his wife with their dog on her lap, then used his computer to edit his wife out of the picture. There’s something slippery about digital technology. I grew up in an analogue world . . .


Technology’s gone digital:
There’s much it claims to do.
It can’t do much for me, though,
I’m analogue, through and through.

I like a knob to twiddle,
A dial engraved with lines.
You can’t adjust a button
Adorned with funny signs.

A clock should have two hands on,
Not numbers flickering round.
A proper clock goes tick and tock –
It’s such a soothing sound.

I’ve hung on to my records,
Those groovy vinyl platters;
They’re old and scratched and dusty,
But I don’t think it matters.

My camera, though old-fashioned,
Still takes an honest snap.
But pixels stored in digicams
Can be altered – so they’re rubbish.

The trouble is with digits,
They go in steps, you see,
And lose some information
As they change from A to B;

They think it doesn’t matter
What happens in between.
But analogue’s continuous,
A perfect data stream!

I must type up this poem.
Oh heck, I should have checked –
My PC is all digital,
I hope it won’t object . . .

[Image: Wikimedia Commons; Daily Mail]
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