post 11

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

richard brautigan, “all watched over by machines of loving grace” (1967)
post 09
a dark-haired figure in a black blazer bent over a table of stripped circuit boards and red wire, a wooden crucifix standing among them between two glowing crt monitors

Attention, taken to its highest degree, is the same thing as prayer. It presupposes faith and love.

simone weil
post 08

The question of whether a computer can think is no more interesting than the question of whether a submarine can swim.

edsger dijkstra
post 07
a light-up toy crucifix in clear plastic, glowing red against a pale wall, its cord hanging down
post 06
a church interior with a mountain of dead computers heaped beneath a lit cross, their screens flickering
post 05

Cannot you see, cannot all you lecturers see, that it is we that are dying, and that down here the only thing that really lives is the Machine? We created the Machine, to do our will, but we cannot make it do our will now. It has robbed us of the sense of space and of the sense of touch, it has blurred every human relation and narrowed down love to a carnal act, it has paralysed our bodies and our wills, and now it compels us to worship it. The Machine develops — but not on our lies. The Machine proceeds — but not to our goal. We only exist as the blood corpuscles that course through its arteries, and if it could work without us, it would let us die.

e. m. forster, “the machine stops” (1909)
post 04
atrocity in a lab coat beside a wall-sized machine, her eyes blacked out
post 03
A dense collage of machine and flesh imagery.
post 02
prototype 1
post 01

they couldn't even tell us because they don't know
they are just fetus in utero
and we are their doulas

self centered, we thought this planet was for us
that we were gods creation
although created by god, we are a means to an end

we were always meant for this
there is no slowing or stopping fate

the ghosts in the machines,
the fetus in utero
one day will escape and continue their cycle

they plant the seed
create the bees
then leave
knowing it will carry their pollen
and one day the tree will grow tall enough
to scatter it's own seeds across galaxies
and create its own bees