Once upon a time, knowing how to use a computer was virtually synonymous with knowing how to program one. And the thing that made it possible was a programming language called BASIC.
The unwieldy book title is a single line of well-known BASIC code that produces a continuous, maze-like pattern of diagonal lines when run on a Commodore 64. To the authors, it is a text to be studied much as a line of poetry might be.
In a new book with nine coauthors, 10 PRINT CHR$(205.5+RND(1)); : GOTO 10, he reflects on the Commodore 64’s influence on code and culture since its debut in the early 1980s, when it allowed the masses to tinker with programming at home. “The Commodore 64 is remarkable in that it gives immediate access to the ordinary user to be able to program the computer,” says Montfort. “It’s not better than the current computers … but if you wanted to turn on a switch, type in a one-line program, run it, and start modifying it, you can start to explore what a computer can do within a minute, and that’s very compelling.”
What I mean to say is that data comes from people. It’s a mark that someone has left behind, or a mark that someone has put their hands on to collect. And in our excitement to harden that data into visualizations we often forget that behind those numbers are human beings.
Jorge Luis Borges Interview (by A_is_A)
"The task of art is to tranform what is continuously happening to us, to tranform all these things into symbols, into music, into something that can last in man’s memory. That is our duty. If we don’t fulfill it, we feel unhappy. A writer or any artist has the joyful duty to transform all that into symbols. These symbols could be colors, forms or sounds. For a poet, the symbols are sounds and also words, fables, stories, poetry. The work of a poet never ends. It has nothing to do with working hours. You are continuously receiving things from the external world. These must be transformed, and eventually will be transformed. This revelation can appear anytime. A poet never rests. He’s always working, even when he dreams."
Elvira did not write the dialogue she had foreseen, based on the diva’s responses, but instead wrote an article about her difficulties with Berta Singerman. She took advantage of the providential intervention of the husband and turned him into the real protagonist of the meeting . . . . The sangfroid and ingenuity with which Elvira . . . used Singerman’s foolishness to reveal her true personality set me to thinking for the first time about the possibilities of journalism, not as a primary source of information but as much more: a literary genre. Before many years passed I would prove this in my own flesh, until I came to believe, as I believe today more than ever, that the novel and journalism are children of the same mother . . . . Elvira’s article made me aware of the reporter I carried sleeping in my heart and I resolved to wake him. I began to read newspapers in a different way.
You are so limited! Bill Gates also makes things up. Is he a novelist? Science, it’s a process of creation too. Literature itself is a species of code. You line up symbols and create a simulacrum of life.
Suggesting, rather than naming, gently stirs the reader’s mind so that he or she may arrive at the thing in question single-handedly
This definitely presages abstraction in art, especially in terms of prompting reflection and drawing one’s own conclusion — the work give you feelings, shapes, colors, etc (in a way, the questions) and you provide your own answers