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As Lovely as a Tree

On the algorithm as a poetic form

It makes me ill to think of the oceans of ink, tears, pigment, donkey's milk, and collective lifeblood of various beings that have been spilled over questions about, quests for, and quarrels over beauty. Or as a story told by a silken voiced actor, sitting alone on a stage, in a pool of light, surrounded by total darkness and several other warm bodies like you, in hushed silence? Banner: The image is a close up of a Jacquard loom, the automated weaving machine, whose operation had fired the neurons in Ada Lovelace’s brain, forming the ideas that guided her hands to scribble this beautiful sentence we find in her Notes:

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