Programming all day on the Commodore
64 produces a mediocre score.
Such a step down from war-room machines
with tape reels, punch cards, and eerie green screens;
the dot matrix printers hammering glyphs,
zipping out reams: my reluctance to shift
toward digital homes, from analogue
continuity—the move from prologue
of gigantic boxes of vacuum tubes
to pocket phones replacing mainframe rooms.
From punch cards of Babbage to Turing-complete;
to a world-wide net of nothing discrete.
Great! Information now, not later;
but look out for the Terminator.