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Quotes about algorithms

In fact, there was general agreement that minds can exist on nonbiological substrates and that algorithms are of central importance to the existence of minds.

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Donald Knuth

I decry the current tendency to seek patents on algorithms. There are better ways to earn a living than to prevent other people from making use of one's contributions to computer science.

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The Chiral Psyche

The chiral psyche
hovers like
a green, crystal prism
dictating the autosuggested
algorithms of fate.
It is superimposed
over the self,
flecks of satori
spontaneously
misleading me
from the symmetry
that stems deep within
its dialect.
These patterns of creation
come to dissect themselves
by the vectors of compassion
and understanding; limbic
and cortal bifurcations that
seem to separate the mind
from the Mind.

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A mathematical conjecture

A mathematical conjecture
or An ode to Vladimir Tonchev

Is when quasi-symmetric designs
Reach two stage disjunctive testing
Upon subtracting the discrete numbers.

They form systems of sets
And cyclotomy of self orthogonal
Codal length.

Now, I know this means little
For those with a cerebral weakness
For unevenly distributed sets of digits

However, were you faintly acquainted
With algorithms solving for optimal
Difference systems of sets

and line spreads you’d be avoiding

[...] Read more

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The Making of a Prince IV: Eternal Wars for Sovereignty

A pen—a claymore, a crown; power
A paper—a vast land unconquered; possession
Tear drops and blood trickles down
In a troubled gypsy, pristine in beam and frown;
In a white lily, queen of her regalities;
An esoteric mesh—keys and codes,
Algorithms and genetics ensconced
In the marrows of a little prince's becoming
Burning a thousand year, browning a thousand leaf,
In the escritoire - the sanguinary palms of scars
And there I was, cringing without recoil,
A tatterdemalion defeat
A breathing carrion
Slumbering like a mirror
Concealing light.

But there's the damsel,
The king, and the star,
They vied for me
As how I shall for them

[...] Read more

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2 Proems from ' 'Now, Heart' - Some Of What I Remember When I Listen

for Willie 'in the pocket' now of earth


A river is a process through time, and the river stages are its momentary parts.
—Willard Van Orman Quine

One [Remembering Chattanooga Days With Willie, Tennessee River Close By]:

One night Willie, much 'in the pocket'—an expression for being well onto drunk which I've never heard from anyone but him—wanted to dance to a Bessie tune playing, 'Back Water Blues', him recalling nights as a young man in rural Tennessee where he had worked hard days in oppressive vegetable fields then hit the after hours juke joints for 'colored, twas parting days, Jim Crow, ' he explained, where he would drink, dance then dive/delve into sensual mysteries of moist skin, hot breath, mutually open mouths, their commodious moans and mumbles, venial hands, always vital parts, private hearts mutually pounding ancient known rhythms, odors, tastes of gin and those slender, forbidden, now greedily stolen bites in those all too short nights with their damned intrusive dawns.

Jumping to his feet, Willie described 'powder dancin'' (pronounced marvelously, 'powdah') which I had never heard of. Talcum powder would be copiously scattered onto the planked dance floor where couples in stockinged or bare feet would ecstatically dance, gliding and sliding sweetly scented, muskily bent toward later glides and slides in slippery joy of momentary allure, amour on dimmed porches or in surrounding woods often enough and gratis upon delicate slabs of moonlight gratuitously dewy providing cushion for Passion's out and in, honoring, dignifying deities of skin wanting more making more skin, headlong Nature's frictional algorithms indelibly scored in every each his her yawing yen.

Two [Paean To Rivers]:

I know that wheat is anciently holy but now even more so for flour, the sight and feel of it, its unbaked smell, turns me again toward a Chattanooga 3rd street, its compass river swelling like bread nearby bearing witness still for one cannot say too much about rivers—their irreverence of edges scored, spilling themselves, proclaiming natural gods deeper than memory yet dependent upon it for traced they must be in every human activity no matter the breech, for something there is to teach even deity though it may be wrong to do so, or hearsay to say it or sing, but the song is there for those whose ears are broken onto bottoms from which cry urgencies of Being and between, dutiful banks barely containing the straining Word.

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Peacetime

We're living in peacetime—
floating and adrift in
an endless space
of instant materialization,
lɐǝɹǝɥʇǝ waves coasting on
the crystal rim
of our infrastructure,
impelled, jettisoned
through the jet steam
ɯɐsʇǝɾ of
a jocular lifestyle.
We're living in peacetime.

We refuse
to be roused
from out medicated slumber
slɐɔıɯǝɥɔ lɐɥʇǝl ɟo lıɐʇʞɔoɔ ɐ
suıǝʌ ɹno ɥƃnoɹɥʇ ƃuısɹnoɔ —
t̡͕͔̦̝̏̾̓̆r̞ͥ̂ͮ͂͝ë̯̱ͯͯ̽ͧ̓ḁ͇̱͓̣͚̭ͬc̥͍ͤ̓͐l̫ͯ̔ḛ ̿̕ ̣̤b͖ͭ͗̇̎̑̍l̂̓͏o̦̣̬͚̻͈̔o̸͖̩͉̖͔̲͎̐ͬ̀̐̇̎d͔̥̝̖̹̲̻̿̃̂f ̖̗̳̓ͮ̊̈͌͘lͪͬͥỏ̺̩͖̩̼̱̽̉̀w̱͉͕̙̲͂͊̂͊
pǝʇɐɔɔısǝp'pǝʇɐssıdsuı

[...] Read more

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