The mental shape of a programming language resurfaces, and my mind craves writing programs in it. Array languages, concatenative, Lisps, Smalltalks.
Any conversation
a constant, existential pull
so old I couldn't tell you the end
or draw its shape
between kind acceptance
and striving, struggling, writhing, climbing
learning, growing, discontent
"do you feel this way, too, at endless war with longing itself?"
but the birds and trees and ants and wind
in their own marvelous design
don't reply
recently, I have fallen in love with the artwork of takato yamamoto.
WARNING FOR NSFW ARTWORK
ibb.co/dJrZjr6C




