My fingers fly over this button with the rapid speed with the rest of my fingers. My brain misfires as I try to go through the quick response between the two, and if I wasn’t paying attention, everything that I wrote would be a jumbled mess.
Bau Johnson
The backspace key is a very useful. In life, I find that I can’t undo what I have done. It is nice to be able to redo some things in life.
Arthur
Taking two steps forward to be thrown and pushed and shoved to the ground, to the way the world appears from behind the mask. The mask of lies and fears and dreams lost. The nightmares that won’t go away and the terrors that follow you through the day, the skeletons in the closet just waiting to come out.
It was nearly perfect.
Her fingers flew over the keys, revising her work into a masterpiece. After a year of writing whenever there was a spare moment, she was reaching the very end of her novel’s climax. Her fingers drummed a sporadic rhythm as she typed, sweat trickling down her brow in excitement. It was almost perfect. Her work would be—
“Miss Williams, I would appreciate that you pay attention in my class.” Her head jerked up at the sound of her name, breaking her out of her authorial fixation. Blood rushed up to her cheeks as she realized the entire class was staring at her.
In one swift motion, her professor strode over to her computer, highlighted the final pages of her manuscript, and coldly hit the backspace key.
She could do nothing but stare, dumbstruck.
A modicum of apathy filters through
this blank space, this empty hollow
this memory of fated serpents,
twisted, twining, curling in cyclo-
hexanes of infinitesimally tiny
lives, wrapping and choking and
irreversibly binding. and in a single
ethereal moment, a paradox is born,
rending the universe into pieces and shreds
and the backspace button is pressed.
She couldn’t believe it. It was all gone. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. The paper had been halfway done. She should’ve just saved it to her computer. But no, she had to go and say she could do it later. And the undo button wasn’t working. God, her whole life was just one big backspace.
Payton
Backspace really makes me angry. I try to use it, but then often the worst thing happens: I go back one page! I don’t get it, but then when I forward to work on my post that I’m writing, I end up losing it because firefox didn’t let me keep things once they went forwards. I think they took care of that in a previous update, however. It just upsets me because often I worked so hard.
backspace. we gaan terug. terug in de tijd. terug naar wat er toen was. wat we hadden dat is er niet meer. het liefste zou ik teruggaan naar die mooie tijden. die mooie dagen, waar wij ons nergens zorgen over hoefden te maken. dat waren mooie tijden. ik mis ze. ik mis jou en ik wil je terug. maar tegen wie heb ik het nou?
Heidi
backspace. one of those keys i use way too often. mostly because i don’t look at what i write. hah, i just did it again. backspace. back into the space that was filled. empty. it is now. is it? i can’t remember.
Heidi
I backspaced through the word to delete it but hit the wrong key and deleted the whole document, all seventy-seven pages. Achh! I shouted, then threw the laptop on the stone floor, shattering it. Can I go back in time? Back in space? Backspace?
Mike
I am typing this letter and I have had to backspace to much.
I am making the cute outfit but the backspace on my machine is broke.
“Backspace? That’s it?” I asked blankly. “I feel like it should be more complicated than that.”
“No, trust me, it’s just the backspace key, that’s it, that’s the code.”
“That’s not a code, it’s an action.”
Kenley
Der Rücksack auf dem Rücken, wo sonst. Er drückt und ich schwitze, aber ich laufe weiter, immer weiter, immer höher. Die Luft wird dünner, ich kann es spüren, obwohl es so langsam geschieht. Was passiert mit mir, hier oben? Werde ich ein anderer Mensch? Ich hoffe es, irgendwie. So mit anderer Luft und so.
take a step back, darling
you’re too close for comfort
burning me with your closeness
leaves so dry
fire blows in one direction
world aflame
Anny
Thank God for a backspace button. Imagine if we didn’t have a backspace button. Everyone would be able to see ALL of our mistakes, and that would just suck.
I wish that I could erase the moment in my life that I made the decision to leave her for the summer. It’s causing us both so much more pain than either of us needs. She is depressed, and anxious and I can’t stand being the one who is doing that to her. I miss her, I need to go home to her. It’s too late now, I have a job. So I’ll work all summer and then go back to the love of my life.
KRissy
Trying never to hit backspace is a dadaist ideal. Never to rewind. Erase. Regret. I only wish I could hit backspace on this year. But I would not want to start over, I would want to be somewhere else.
She much preferred writing to anything else. There is always the eraser for the pencil, the backspace key for the computer, or even the whiteout for a pen. But speaking? Acting?
Her words will hang in the air no matter what kind of butterfly net she uses to pull at them. What she does will be replayed in more than one memory, more than one time. All the “I’m sorry”s and “Forgive me”s in the world can’t a single word, a single step back.
So she hides in the safety of words, with one finger on the backspace key and a hand over her eyes.
Laura
the backspace key is a magical thing. it’s the key to undoing what you have just done. it is the destroyer of creativity but also the editor of stupidity. i just used the backspace key in order to erase what i just wrote, believing that it was wrong.
Zoe
He pressed backspace furiously, deleting the words he’d so carefully and painstakingly written just moments before. The footsteps came closer, urging him to greater button-mashing speed.
Krospgnasker
I guess i could go forward and then hit the button on the upper right portion of the keyboard and erase everything I just typed. < —
marylee
If I had a backspace button for life, would I use it? That depends. Does it work just like the computer? Unable to redo things exact unless my memories permits I know how it happened? I don’t think I could do it. If I can’t backspace my life all together, aka: die, then why do I think I could backspace moments? It wouldn’t be reliving…it would be…living, again. And who wants that?
samsam
Life is really what you make of it. We cannot just erase things like we do on the computer. If you mess up you have to make it o.k. You can’t backspace and fix what you have done. It is a lot more complicated then that. We are use to all these simple fixes, I wish we had one for life.
That blinking line when you open up a new fresh word document. The most annoying blinking backspace, especially when you need to start typing an essay. The hardest thing to do is to start the essay, and that blinking vertical line simply stands there and blinks.
Hannah
you backspace through your words
but it doesn’t erase them from existence
you only prevent me from knowing them
but it doesn’t erase the thought from being
After wishing for quite a while, that a backspace button existed, i’ve realised that everything happens for a reason. A backspace button would never help. if one bad thing erased, another would occur. we are who we are for our mistakes. the backspace button becomes useless and futile.
leez
The backspace was covered in dust on his computer. “Delete” was “d——” amidst the gray. In all of his life, typing away at his scripts, stories, and poetry – he had never, ever deleted anything.
The same went with typos, too. His poor editor had to go through pages upon pages of screwed up language and vocabulary, because the man refused to go back and edit anything he mistyped.
Belinda Roddie
I wish we had a backspace in real life. We could delete anything unwanted that way.
Mehick
There are times when he wished he could backspace. Repeat everything. Do over what had just occurred, though this was a common want.
He let his anger slide too often, though normally, he was pretty calm. Immediately afterwards, he felt red hot embarrassment, and wished he could redo the whole thing. Just keep a cool head.
T.
If I could sum up all that I’ve created in one word, it would be “backspace”. So often I write or draw or paint or compose, and so often it could be something great, but then I hit a low and I see no option but to destroy it. These pieces are lost to time, these pieces which could have been so great. There is no retrieval. And that is the sin of the backspace.
The backspace key
is pressed down,
but does not know
what is pressing it,
only that is exists,
not that it exists
attached to a “keyboard”,
a thing made of plastic,
its insides working
with “electricity”
and copper wires.
The words I do not wish
I had typed,
they are erased
as I press backspace.
But the backspace
does not care,
does not know.
It has no intentions
of taking back an
“I love you,”
an angry comment,
a terrible drunken email.
It does not Know
that we honor it so much,
appreciate this gift
we are allowed,
to take back words,
to restart
our sentences,
our feelings,
our thoughts.
It does not Know.
Erasing things is useful but sometimes we regret it and then there’s nothing we can do. Also a sentence that I like and think is true is: “Writing is like drawing with no eraser”.
A step backwards. That’s all it is. I’m dwelling on the past, dwelling on the past, dwelling on the past. Repeating what has already been said.
How could I do this? How could I let them know?
I wish I could erase, erase, erase. Erase it all, until my soul is clear, blank as a sheet of white paper.
My fingers fly over this button with the rapid speed with the rest of my fingers. My brain misfires as I try to go through the quick response between the two, and if I wasn’t paying attention, everything that I wrote would be a jumbled mess.
The backspace key is a very useful. In life, I find that I can’t undo what I have done. It is nice to be able to redo some things in life.
Taking two steps forward to be thrown and pushed and shoved to the ground, to the way the world appears from behind the mask. The mask of lies and fears and dreams lost. The nightmares that won’t go away and the terrors that follow you through the day, the skeletons in the closet just waiting to come out.
It was nearly perfect.
Her fingers flew over the keys, revising her work into a masterpiece. After a year of writing whenever there was a spare moment, she was reaching the very end of her novel’s climax. Her fingers drummed a sporadic rhythm as she typed, sweat trickling down her brow in excitement. It was almost perfect. Her work would be—
“Miss Williams, I would appreciate that you pay attention in my class.” Her head jerked up at the sound of her name, breaking her out of her authorial fixation. Blood rushed up to her cheeks as she realized the entire class was staring at her.
In one swift motion, her professor strode over to her computer, highlighted the final pages of her manuscript, and coldly hit the backspace key.
She could do nothing but stare, dumbstruck.
A modicum of apathy filters through
this blank space, this empty hollow
this memory of fated serpents,
twisted, twining, curling in cyclo-
hexanes of infinitesimally tiny
lives, wrapping and choking and
irreversibly binding. and in a single
ethereal moment, a paradox is born,
rending the universe into pieces and shreds
and the backspace button is pressed.
She couldn’t believe it. It was all gone. She made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. The paper had been halfway done. She should’ve just saved it to her computer. But no, she had to go and say she could do it later. And the undo button wasn’t working. God, her whole life was just one big backspace.
Backspace really makes me angry. I try to use it, but then often the worst thing happens: I go back one page! I don’t get it, but then when I forward to work on my post that I’m writing, I end up losing it because firefox didn’t let me keep things once they went forwards. I think they took care of that in a previous update, however. It just upsets me because often I worked so hard.
backspace. we gaan terug. terug in de tijd. terug naar wat er toen was. wat we hadden dat is er niet meer. het liefste zou ik teruggaan naar die mooie tijden. die mooie dagen, waar wij ons nergens zorgen over hoefden te maken. dat waren mooie tijden. ik mis ze. ik mis jou en ik wil je terug. maar tegen wie heb ik het nou?
backspace. one of those keys i use way too often. mostly because i don’t look at what i write. hah, i just did it again. backspace. back into the space that was filled. empty. it is now. is it? i can’t remember.
I backspaced through the word to delete it but hit the wrong key and deleted the whole document, all seventy-seven pages. Achh! I shouted, then threw the laptop on the stone floor, shattering it. Can I go back in time? Back in space? Backspace?
I am typing this letter and I have had to backspace to much.
I am making the cute outfit but the backspace on my machine is broke.
“Backspace? That’s it?” I asked blankly. “I feel like it should be more complicated than that.”
“No, trust me, it’s just the backspace key, that’s it, that’s the code.”
“That’s not a code, it’s an action.”
Der Rücksack auf dem Rücken, wo sonst. Er drückt und ich schwitze, aber ich laufe weiter, immer weiter, immer höher. Die Luft wird dünner, ich kann es spüren, obwohl es so langsam geschieht. Was passiert mit mir, hier oben? Werde ich ein anderer Mensch? Ich hoffe es, irgendwie. So mit anderer Luft und so.
take a step back, darling
you’re too close for comfort
burning me with your closeness
leaves so dry
fire blows in one direction
world aflame
Thank God for a backspace button. Imagine if we didn’t have a backspace button. Everyone would be able to see ALL of our mistakes, and that would just suck.
I wish that I could erase the moment in my life that I made the decision to leave her for the summer. It’s causing us both so much more pain than either of us needs. She is depressed, and anxious and I can’t stand being the one who is doing that to her. I miss her, I need to go home to her. It’s too late now, I have a job. So I’ll work all summer and then go back to the love of my life.
Trying never to hit backspace is a dadaist ideal. Never to rewind. Erase. Regret. I only wish I could hit backspace on this year. But I would not want to start over, I would want to be somewhere else.
As he lay there in his post-coital chaotic frazzle, Jensen thought, “If only life had a backspace on its keyboard.”
“SHIT!” she yelled as she slammed down on the backspace button. “Well, looks like I just made a new enemy. He wasn’t supposed to find out like this.”
How many times can you hit the backspace within your lifetime? A thousand times? A million? More? I just hit it at least 20 times.
A evil key on the keyboard; loss of yourself.
Something you wish your life had, but when you would have it, you would be unable to use it.
She much preferred writing to anything else. There is always the eraser for the pencil, the backspace key for the computer, or even the whiteout for a pen. But speaking? Acting?
Her words will hang in the air no matter what kind of butterfly net she uses to pull at them. What she does will be replayed in more than one memory, more than one time. All the “I’m sorry”s and “Forgive me”s in the world can’t a single word, a single step back.
So she hides in the safety of words, with one finger on the backspace key and a hand over her eyes.
the backspace key is a magical thing. it’s the key to undoing what you have just done. it is the destroyer of creativity but also the editor of stupidity. i just used the backspace key in order to erase what i just wrote, believing that it was wrong.
He pressed backspace furiously, deleting the words he’d so carefully and painstakingly written just moments before. The footsteps came closer, urging him to greater button-mashing speed.
I guess i could go forward and then hit the button on the upper right portion of the keyboard and erase everything I just typed. < —
If I had a backspace button for life, would I use it? That depends. Does it work just like the computer? Unable to redo things exact unless my memories permits I know how it happened? I don’t think I could do it. If I can’t backspace my life all together, aka: die, then why do I think I could backspace moments? It wouldn’t be reliving…it would be…living, again. And who wants that?
Life is really what you make of it. We cannot just erase things like we do on the computer. If you mess up you have to make it o.k. You can’t backspace and fix what you have done. It is a lot more complicated then that. We are use to all these simple fixes, I wish we had one for life.
That blinking line when you open up a new fresh word document. The most annoying blinking backspace, especially when you need to start typing an essay. The hardest thing to do is to start the essay, and that blinking vertical line simply stands there and blinks.
you backspace through your words
but it doesn’t erase them from existence
you only prevent me from knowing them
but it doesn’t erase the thought from being
After wishing for quite a while, that a backspace button existed, i’ve realised that everything happens for a reason. A backspace button would never help. if one bad thing erased, another would occur. we are who we are for our mistakes. the backspace button becomes useless and futile.
The backspace was covered in dust on his computer. “Delete” was “d——” amidst the gray. In all of his life, typing away at his scripts, stories, and poetry – he had never, ever deleted anything.
The same went with typos, too. His poor editor had to go through pages upon pages of screwed up language and vocabulary, because the man refused to go back and edit anything he mistyped.
I wish we had a backspace in real life. We could delete anything unwanted that way.
There are times when he wished he could backspace. Repeat everything. Do over what had just occurred, though this was a common want.
He let his anger slide too often, though normally, he was pretty calm. Immediately afterwards, he felt red hot embarrassment, and wished he could redo the whole thing. Just keep a cool head.
If I could sum up all that I’ve created in one word, it would be “backspace”. So often I write or draw or paint or compose, and so often it could be something great, but then I hit a low and I see no option but to destroy it. These pieces are lost to time, these pieces which could have been so great. There is no retrieval. And that is the sin of the backspace.
hellp nicw tp meay yoi1 top baf mt backspacw keu id brokem1
I love him.
original
friend
The backspace key
is pressed down,
but does not know
what is pressing it,
only that is exists,
not that it exists
attached to a “keyboard”,
a thing made of plastic,
its insides working
with “electricity”
and copper wires.
The words I do not wish
I had typed,
they are erased
as I press backspace.
But the backspace
does not care,
does not know.
It has no intentions
of taking back an
“I love you,”
an angry comment,
a terrible drunken email.
It does not Know
that we honor it so much,
appreciate this gift
we are allowed,
to take back words,
to restart
our sentences,
our feelings,
our thoughts.
It does not Know.
Erasing things is useful but sometimes we regret it and then there’s nothing we can do. Also a sentence that I like and think is true is: “Writing is like drawing with no eraser”.
A step backwards. That’s all it is. I’m dwelling on the past, dwelling on the past, dwelling on the past. Repeating what has already been said.
How could I do this? How could I let them know?
I wish I could erase, erase, erase. Erase it all, until my soul is clear, blank as a sheet of white paper.