The door has a spring attached, it closes automatically. It is the door to my lab. I sit there at my desk for hours at a time worrying about the smallest intricate part of the software code that I use. The software code that brings the oceans of the earth alive inside my computer.
But its not the oceans that I'm usually thinking about, its mostly something trivial, like a forgotten semicolon in one of the lines of code. I spend entire days and weeks sitting there silently, the only conversations that I have are, "Oh! I think it would work better if you changed this constant...", or, "Why isn't this code compiling?!".
But the door! Sometimes, it closes gently with a click, and other times, it bangs shut with a loud thud, the vibrations jar my desk and my ears. I kept wondering what made the spring behave differently.
The door intrigued me as much as my non-compiling code! I started having conversations with the spring while thinking out aloud, "Why are you so erratic? Or is there some pattern here that I'm missing?"
Sometimes, I feel its better to think about the smaller details, otherwise, the enormity of the problems would simply overwhelm you.
Its funny how while walking along the beach at night, I was thinking about the infinitesimal grains of sand and how much more infinitesimal we ourselves are when you look up at the skies above with the millions of stars. And at the same time, we aren't as insignificant as we think we are, after all, we are capable of contemplating the infinite.
Just like how the viscous fluid inside the spring mechanism of the door helps to damp it because of the intermolecular forces. Take that away, and there's a bang!
This was written today at a "Performance Poetry" workshop. You can find amazing videos of performances in YouTube. Search for these artists: Kattie Makkai, Andrea Gibson, Taylor Mali, Phil Kaye, Sarah Kay, Rives, Shane Koyczan.
But its not the oceans that I'm usually thinking about, its mostly something trivial, like a forgotten semicolon in one of the lines of code. I spend entire days and weeks sitting there silently, the only conversations that I have are, "Oh! I think it would work better if you changed this constant...", or, "Why isn't this code compiling?!".
But the door! Sometimes, it closes gently with a click, and other times, it bangs shut with a loud thud, the vibrations jar my desk and my ears. I kept wondering what made the spring behave differently.
The door intrigued me as much as my non-compiling code! I started having conversations with the spring while thinking out aloud, "Why are you so erratic? Or is there some pattern here that I'm missing?"
Sometimes, I feel its better to think about the smaller details, otherwise, the enormity of the problems would simply overwhelm you.
Its funny how while walking along the beach at night, I was thinking about the infinitesimal grains of sand and how much more infinitesimal we ourselves are when you look up at the skies above with the millions of stars. And at the same time, we aren't as insignificant as we think we are, after all, we are capable of contemplating the infinite.
Just like how the viscous fluid inside the spring mechanism of the door helps to damp it because of the intermolecular forces. Take that away, and there's a bang!
This was written today at a "Performance Poetry" workshop. You can find amazing videos of performances in YouTube. Search for these artists: Kattie Makkai, Andrea Gibson, Taylor Mali, Phil Kaye, Sarah Kay, Rives, Shane Koyczan.
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