Belongs to my computer. I can write emails and documents with my keypad. Sometimes it becomes dirty because when I use the computer I often eat and drink! I never know how to clean between the letters.
I try to write more to look if it also submits when I write more sentences after 60 sec. We will see!
the keypad on my laptop is clean yet dirty because in between the keypad is covered with dirt, food particles and eyelid hairs from years of usage. I don’t know why but I want to go home.
i typed a journal entry instead of writing it in my diary. i don’t know why i sometimes get in the mood to avoid paper in preference of a keypad. maybe it makes what’s going on seem less real?
key pad locks. when i feed tiger, with a TIG focus, not just tig. hes my neighbors cat, they have a key pad lock on their door. i use it tog et in their house. that cat rules, he’s so playful and energetic.
i write on it and there are different types. i don t like the french keypad for example. why do you need to press shift for creating a point which you are using so often. but ok…
keypad is te one with the keys. the delete key might be my favorite. erase my mistakes. why does my alliteration always have to go to something that it’s not about. that made no sense, like why does my rant on this thing always turn into something thats so idfferentform the given word? I have no clue, maybe that’s just human nature as a whole.
I couldn’t think of anything to write at first, but then it hit me like a bolt of lightening. Not only do I sit in front of a keypad all day, but I’m constantly touching it.
There are so many keys and you if you just push on you are making a decsion. Its not that big of a desicion but you are making one. you have to choose and its similar to life. You are typing out a story as we speak. Even though you might be making small desicions you are making a larger desicion in life.
My fingers slide of the keypad as I’m typing these words. SO easy a skill for a child who started her life behind a pc before she had proper social skills. What do the words still mean? How does it show her soul?
Still the word keypad. Hmmm. Where would this modern world be without a keypad upon which to write? How would anyone cook books financially or otherwise?
type type type Dont really know what to say just sitting here listen to music and typing my life away
I think I feel
I dont kow if its all right
my keypad doesnt help
maybe my cell
need a new one
I miss him
I miss what used to be
saying i love you with my keypad
it was so easy back then
I wish I never did.
Using the keypad to express her thoughts she slowly drifted away into the part of her brain that rarely made itself know to her. She just kept typing until she felt herself tiring and knew she had to just get that last thought out before she turned off the computer for the day.
The keypad looks innocent enough. Simple numbers, organized neatly. What lies within is a countless combination of riches or debts, successful password entries or lock outs, lots of money in the bank or too many bills to count. It’s all up to you.
The keypad is essential to any computer. You use it to type, to write, to let your emotions out. Although with the advancement of technology, I see the keypad as easily replacing the pencil or pen of yesterday.
with your fingers poised
they brush and stroke
like letters, numbers, under the hard sharp point
of a pencil
it is close, marking and leaving
spaces for you to ponder
Fingers touch type across the screen. Creating words, that lead to sentences, that soon lead to a whole story contained in one small little square on the screen. There is feeling in these words that are not created from flow of ink or scratched into paper with charcol. Oh no they are something quite different.
To many choices, what shall I construct today.
Mine is not a world of realities or emotions,
But one of building blocks and pragmatics.
Yes, syntax too is creationism.
why do they call it a keypad? It is really not a key nor is it a pad. Why are the order of the numbers different on a telephone versus a 10 key or calculator? Hmmm, things to ponder.
His fingers slid across the keypad hesitantly–he glanced around constantly. The office was silent but for the hum of hard drives and monitors, the buzz of fluorescent light. He knew this was a bad idea…
i typed the words on the keypad, they flowed from my fingertips as if a magician was conjuring, and endless stream of conciousness i didn’t feel i had any say in.
i typed the words on the keypad, they flowed from my fingertips as if a magician was conjuring, and endless stream of conciousness i didn’t feel i had any say in.
punching the keypad vigorously, bradley entered his code and rushed up the stairs to his room, only to discover the place was trashed and all his things were thrown about everywhere. He called his mum’s cell at work and informed her, she rushed home and..
oh how particular I am about my keyboards! (same thing as a keypad?) They cannot be elevated, they can’t be sticky, and I hate white ones. Why do I care? I don’t know. When I am in public places I carefully choose my computer judging by the keyboard, even if I have to sit far away from where I would like.
i always type “there’s nothing wrong with having any of this” out with my fingers when i’m in an uncomfortable situation or location because it’s comforting to me, even though i have no idea how it originated or what it even means. i’ve tried to figure it out but there doesn’t seem to be any meaning
the keypad was cold… Noone had been at this computer in a long while. As the winter wind whistled through the cracks of the library window, it became apparent that the files ann was searching through were not meant to have been found
Here I sit, staring aimlessly down at the expanse of keys under my fingertips. On those keys have I accomplished wonders; hundreds of last minute essays as the sun rises, thousands of emails to friends, Facebook notices, even witnessed the writing of my first novel. The keys remain the same while I change, oh too quickly.
I am the mountain brother
never tall but broken also
shown to be a cover sweep sweet
serenade o lordy lord o mine
as snow perches on my peaks
eyes
nose
beard
flowing to the valley floor
It’s complete bs, to think that just because I can’t find a place to live, or get a girl that I want, or make people laugh, that I’m worthless. Type this message into your damn keypad… f-you!
She sits staring at the keypad, desperate for that damn code to come back to her. 40 seconds left… still nothing, mind blank and empty, and the blinking and beeping is helping either. One of the men behind her coughs then clears his throat, growing impatient at her delay.
this keypad is the means of our communication. it was the gateway to our seamless conversations with context of amazing nothings that are so unecerssarily necesary.. everytime u speak i want to absorb every word.. ahh..
The keypad. It’s right in front of me – right here, with keys on it. Sometimes I think of rearranging the keys, just for confusion’s sake, but there’d be no point, as – for one thing, this is m mum’s computer. I’m not sure I like this keyboard here, or this prompt much. I liked the last one much better. Skate.
Belongs to my computer. I can write emails and documents with my keypad. Sometimes it becomes dirty because when I use the computer I often eat and drink! I never know how to clean between the letters.
I try to write more to look if it also submits when I write more sentences after 60 sec. We will see!
the keypad on my laptop is clean yet dirty because in between the keypad is covered with dirt, food particles and eyelid hairs from years of usage. I don’t know why but I want to go home.
i typed a journal entry instead of writing it in my diary. i don’t know why i sometimes get in the mood to avoid paper in preference of a keypad. maybe it makes what’s going on seem less real?
key pad, key board comes to mind
key pad locks. when i feed tiger, with a TIG focus, not just tig. hes my neighbors cat, they have a key pad lock on their door. i use it tog et in their house. that cat rules, he’s so playful and energetic.
i write on it and there are different types. i don t like the french keypad for example. why do you need to press shift for creating a point which you are using so often. but ok…
keypad is te one with the keys. the delete key might be my favorite. erase my mistakes. why does my alliteration always have to go to something that it’s not about. that made no sense, like why does my rant on this thing always turn into something thats so idfferentform the given word? I have no clue, maybe that’s just human nature as a whole.
I couldn’t think of anything to write at first, but then it hit me like a bolt of lightening. Not only do I sit in front of a keypad all day, but I’m constantly touching it.
There are so many keys and you if you just push on you are making a decsion. Its not that big of a desicion but you are making one. you have to choose and its similar to life. You are typing out a story as we speak. Even though you might be making small desicions you are making a larger desicion in life.
My fingers slide of the keypad as I’m typing these words. SO easy a skill for a child who started her life behind a pc before she had proper social skills. What do the words still mean? How does it show her soul?
Still the word keypad. Hmmm. Where would this modern world be without a keypad upon which to write? How would anyone cook books financially or otherwise?
type type type Dont really know what to say just sitting here listen to music and typing my life away
I think I feel
I dont kow if its all right
my keypad doesnt help
maybe my cell
need a new one
I miss him
I miss what used to be
saying i love you with my keypad
it was so easy back then
I wish I never did.
Is this site still here? Keypad .. keypad. I’m blanking. A keypad is definitely and surely the most
i am writing on a keyboard. a keypad is a different thing. like his cousin. or his little nephew that everyone likes.
Using the keypad to express her thoughts she slowly drifted away into the part of her brain that rarely made itself know to her. She just kept typing until she felt herself tiring and knew she had to just get that last thought out before she turned off the computer for the day.
The keypad looks innocent enough. Simple numbers, organized neatly. What lies within is a countless combination of riches or debts, successful password entries or lock outs, lots of money in the bank or too many bills to count. It’s all up to you.
fingertips
The keypad is essential to any computer. You use it to type, to write, to let your emotions out. Although with the advancement of technology, I see the keypad as easily replacing the pencil or pen of yesterday.
The keypad sat dumb waiting for my fingers to fly. I need a new prompt each day. One word has failed me.
with your fingers poised
they brush and stroke
like letters, numbers, under the hard sharp point
of a pencil
it is close, marking and leaving
spaces for you to ponder
Keypad: noun. A place of residence for single keys.
Fingers touch type across the screen. Creating words, that lead to sentences, that soon lead to a whole story contained in one small little square on the screen. There is feeling in these words that are not created from flow of ink or scratched into paper with charcol. Oh no they are something quite different.
To many choices, what shall I construct today.
Mine is not a world of realities or emotions,
But one of building blocks and pragmatics.
Yes, syntax too is creationism.
I don’t know much about this word…..
why do they call it a keypad? It is really not a key nor is it a pad. Why are the order of the numbers different on a telephone versus a 10 key or calculator? Hmmm, things to ponder.
His fingers slid across the keypad hesitantly–he glanced around constantly. The office was silent but for the hum of hard drives and monitors, the buzz of fluorescent light. He knew this was a bad idea…
i typed the words on the keypad, they flowed from my fingertips as if a magician was conjuring, and endless stream of conciousness i didn’t feel i had any say in.
My son cannot use a keypad anymre. he is punished. what a cruel world.
i typed the words on the keypad, they flowed from my fingertips as if a magician was conjuring, and endless stream of conciousness i didn’t feel i had any say in.
punching the keypad vigorously, bradley entered his code and rushed up the stairs to his room, only to discover the place was trashed and all his things were thrown about everywhere. He called his mum’s cell at work and informed her, she rushed home and..
oh how particular I am about my keyboards! (same thing as a keypad?) They cannot be elevated, they can’t be sticky, and I hate white ones. Why do I care? I don’t know. When I am in public places I carefully choose my computer judging by the keyboard, even if I have to sit far away from where I would like.
i always type “there’s nothing wrong with having any of this” out with my fingers when i’m in an uncomfortable situation or location because it’s comforting to me, even though i have no idea how it originated or what it even means. i’ve tried to figure it out but there doesn’t seem to be any meaning
the keypad was cold… Noone had been at this computer in a long while. As the winter wind whistled through the cracks of the library window, it became apparent that the files ann was searching through were not meant to have been found
Here I sit, staring aimlessly down at the expanse of keys under my fingertips. On those keys have I accomplished wonders; hundreds of last minute essays as the sun rises, thousands of emails to friends, Facebook notices, even witnessed the writing of my first novel. The keys remain the same while I change, oh too quickly.
Entranced by the dance my nails retell. Romanced by the trance your glance entails.
I am the mountain brother
never tall but broken also
shown to be a cover sweep sweet
serenade o lordy lord o mine
as snow perches on my peaks
eyes
nose
beard
flowing to the valley floor
It’s complete bs, to think that just because I can’t find a place to live, or get a girl that I want, or make people laugh, that I’m worthless. Type this message into your damn keypad… f-you!
She sits staring at the keypad, desperate for that damn code to come back to her. 40 seconds left… still nothing, mind blank and empty, and the blinking and beeping is helping either. One of the men behind her coughs then clears his throat, growing impatient at her delay.
this keypad is the means of our communication. it was the gateway to our seamless conversations with context of amazing nothings that are so unecerssarily necesary.. everytime u speak i want to absorb every word.. ahh..
The keypad. It’s right in front of me – right here, with keys on it. Sometimes I think of rearranging the keys, just for confusion’s sake, but there’d be no point, as – for one thing, this is m mum’s computer. I’m not sure I like this keyboard here, or this prompt much. I liked the last one much better. Skate.
I touch. I punch. I hit. I sit. I feel it underneath my finger tips.