Older blog entries for ReadMe (starting at number 35)

    The web of our life
      is of a mingled yarn,
        good and ill together...
All's Well That Ends Well, Act 4, Scene 3.
4 Sep 2002 (updated 22 Feb 2004 at 21:09 UTC) »

The tides is low
The sand is clean
Not a trace
Of what has been

No breath of wind
Upon the deep
Ruffles the surface
Of its sleep

No face it appears
That I may reach
Save that upturned
Upon the beach

Whose salted lips
No words do say
To illuminate
The cold light of day.
20 Sep 2001 (updated 20 Sep 2001 at 11:33 UTC) »
BugFix: Rachel (17 Sep 2001) probably meant Auden.

Am I playing with words?
Or are they playing with me?
I used to think
My will was free
But words appearing
In front of me
Now deprive me
Of that luxury

although I could parse it.

Your writings
inspired me
to aspire
to live.

Reading your code,
your plans,
your pains,
your joys,
your complex patterns
pushed me
to strive
to see
how you saw,
to hear
how you heard,
to feel
how you felt.

In short
I sought to perceive.
9 Nov 2000 (updated 9 Nov 2000 at 21:34 UTC) »
...I just couldn't get it.

I couldn't see
what you could see
I couldn't hear
what you could hear
I couldn't touch
what you could touch
So reading about
colors
sounds
or
feelings
meant nothing to me then -
although I could parse it.
2 Nov 2000 (updated 10 Jan 2001 at 12:59 UTC) »
Next 10 entries

... to your external extensible universe.


A universe:
About which I knew almost nothing;
About which I had almost everything
to learn.
First to crystalise into place
was the grammatical structure
by which you phrase things;
And that now enables me to do so too.
It kept me sane while all was
foreign and in pieces around me.
It helped me know
what I was missing.
And I was missing a lot back then:
I had almost no experience
of the things and actions about
which I had started to read.
I just couldn't get it.

30 Oct 2000 (updated 6 Nov 2000 at 15:08 UTC) »
...Browsing.

Reading
source code
was second nature to me:
there was
no great barrier
to understanding.
I had
direct experience
about what had been written.
I could
if I wanted
implement each verb;
manipulate each noun;
attribute each adjective.

Even the lines
that weren't clear
I found neatly delimited by
certain sequences of symbols.

Those lines
required me
to improvise
my interpretive mode;
to relax my guard;
to let words mean less
and yet mean more:
less precision,
fewer words,
encompassing more.

I crossed a bridge
composed of comments
passing from
my internal world
to your external
extensible universe.
...Feeding an imagination

Reading between the lines;
between the sheets;
joining the dots;
filling the gaps;

Finishing other peoples
sentences.

Freed from the
compulsion for
everything.
Choosing what
and what not
to read.

Browsing.
...from which in good time I'd emerge

When I first began
reading I needed
a physical crutch:
I had to follow
the control flow
of a program text:
I had no idea of what
it would mean until I'd
explored every loop and branch.
Like a blind mouse wandering
through a labyrinth
to its very end.

Later on I
coped on less;
and less meant more:
Each unvisited branch
- a virtual limb -
not absent
yet not present:
Feeding an imagination.

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