ant-contrib
Alfred hammered nails into his desk until the entire codebase was built. "Wham," he said softly to his hammer, peering at the round flat interface between metal mass and tiny nail. There were no marks. It was hard like solid, not hard like complicated.
"Hey, Allo-man, what's breaking?" said Clif from outside the cubicle. He kept his hands in the pockets, not touching any of the buttons on the cube entrance. All were labeled "Push me" but they'd seen no recent action.
"Good," thought Alfred, "He knows the value of distance. Most people in his position only see the value of direction. Vectors with half missing." He waved the hammer hello at Clif. Back to his "computer" or "thing where little lights put on a play, acting the parts of informations."
Clif wandered away towards coffee. It was a law like gravity or sleeping.
Alfred put down the hammer and picked up his keyboard. "If I type at three hundred words per minute, not stopping for punctuation, how much more could I get done?"
Gene next door said, "Huh?" But Alfred had not been aloud as far as he knew.
Alfred typed and typed. Furiously typed typed typed. After a few screens of it, he lifted his eyelids and considered the world at large. Resumed high velocity ejection of words and symbols, function calls, local variables and logical intricates. At a point, he wondered about coffee. It was askew, feeling the world with its 23 degree tilt, or chromosome count, or a combination of the two.
Alfred dropped his keyboard on the desk with a whack. Definitely too plastic. Got to glue some metal on the bottom, possibly dance taps.
He wasn't really paying attention then, or the rest of the day. In his daydream, he had created a system of interactive human emotions, sent from your screen to your friend's, with minor delays for analysis and auto-tags. He had lifted your life above morning concerns, flying you above day-ending relief to splash endless waves into the soft shores of sleep.
In reality it seemed like a database program to others. But it was so hard to tell them what they knew, and framing it as quite rectangular normalcy was the only way to cause progress. The only quiet way. Alfred was quiet, after all. And when he sent the network through the system itself, the result was not exactly a thing of will, but it did stay quiet for its own reasons.
"Hey, Allo-man, what's breaking?" said Clif from outside the cubicle. He kept his hands in the pockets, not touching any of the buttons on the cube entrance. All were labeled "Push me" but they'd seen no recent action.
"Good," thought Alfred, "He knows the value of distance. Most people in his position only see the value of direction. Vectors with half missing." He waved the hammer hello at Clif. Back to his "computer" or "thing where little lights put on a play, acting the parts of informations."
Clif wandered away towards coffee. It was a law like gravity or sleeping.
Alfred put down the hammer and picked up his keyboard. "If I type at three hundred words per minute, not stopping for punctuation, how much more could I get done?"
Gene next door said, "Huh?" But Alfred had not been aloud as far as he knew.
Alfred typed and typed. Furiously typed typed typed. After a few screens of it, he lifted his eyelids and considered the world at large. Resumed high velocity ejection of words and symbols, function calls, local variables and logical intricates. At a point, he wondered about coffee. It was askew, feeling the world with its 23 degree tilt, or chromosome count, or a combination of the two.
Alfred dropped his keyboard on the desk with a whack. Definitely too plastic. Got to glue some metal on the bottom, possibly dance taps.
He wasn't really paying attention then, or the rest of the day. In his daydream, he had created a system of interactive human emotions, sent from your screen to your friend's, with minor delays for analysis and auto-tags. He had lifted your life above morning concerns, flying you above day-ending relief to splash endless waves into the soft shores of sleep.
In reality it seemed like a database program to others. But it was so hard to tell them what they knew, and framing it as quite rectangular normalcy was the only way to cause progress. The only quiet way. Alfred was quiet, after all. And when he sent the network through the system itself, the result was not exactly a thing of will, but it did stay quiet for its own reasons.