into its engine
its parts fall
one by one
parametric possibilities
until everything is reduced
to the ratio
and an endless process emereges
f(n) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f( f( f(n) ) ) = n
f( f( f( f(n) ) ) ) = n
f( f( f(n) ) ) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f(n) = n
f(n) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f( f( f(n) ) ) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f(n) = n
f(n) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f(n) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f( f( f(n) ) ) = n
f( f( f( f(n) ) ) ) = n
f( f( f(n) ) ) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f(n) = n
f( f(n) ) = n
f(n) = n
n=n
Computer poetry is warfare carried out by other means, a warfare against conventionality and language that has become automatized. Strange as it seems, our finite state automata have become the poet’s allies in this struggle, the long historical battle by which mankind pries into the surface of language to reveal its latent mysteries… R.W. Bailey, Computer Poems (1973)
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Popular Posts
-
when logic and proportion. collapse into your chaos. i will bleed a new math. from the voice of suffering. in crimson patches. the word made...
-
The holy city (Babylon) The city of blood & whores & drugs Eleven infants cast Into her hand Seven kings ago We dined...
-
the LORD's house called time furnace tender Gilgal ( gate of desYre ) place of blood out where foreign gods preach through their te...
-
all is vanity so said the LORD (praise me) men put bitter justified rejections over sunshine flaming sword upon a dove the only shade is a r...
-
the Serpent plays on a spiral of his bed. black & red. turning inward. to echo love is crying. out to him by despair. but someone kind...
No comments:
Post a Comment