The philosopher in me likes to ruminate on programming as a form of art. I love to see bits of code--something that looks like nothing to the uninitiated eye--shaped into a thing that looks nothing like the parts of its sum and something that we can all, understanding or no, benefit from. I find comfort in relating programming paradigms to axioms of life and consciousness. I rest in the order of such mathematical languages and their intrinsic beauty.
So often in social situations, I feel sensations of grief at the inadequacy of words. I wish that I could tell you something like
for(x = 0; x < infinity; ++x)
System.out.println(x);
and you would know with unquestionable certainty not only the meaning, but also you would feel what was contained therein. And there would be nothing unspoken between us. But then again, I would probably lament that too, somehow. We run such complex applications.
Music, like programming, provides the succor that I seek in what otherwise feels akin to chaos. I'm pleased that technology has made it possible for us to make it, to make it more than it was before, and to share it as we do. It's our endless struggle to nail down a feeling and to express what may always be tacit and unutterable.
I think I'll always try, in my simple way, to say what I know can't actually be said. The cost of being here is the insurmountable obstacle of being separate with the inherent desire to connect. It's terribly painful, but I'm enjoying it all the same.
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