It is almost Easter. At least, the remembrance has begun, that is to say, remembering Good Friday.
Remembering the day when Jesus was nailed to a cross by those who thought they were doing the right thing. Acting out of materialist legislation which is itself the result of a lack of imagination. The bloke with the hammer and a bag filled of nails was only doing his job… was he paid by results? Paid by the nail, or by the body?
It’s like the modern farmer who has already sold his Easter lambs on the futures market as though they were sealed punnets of meat, sold by the kilo. Where is the love, the care, the tenderness… where are the customers? He knows them not, it’s just a supermarket, the closest a business can get to the impersonal nature of a computer.
No wonder they’re in financial trouble. The farmers who care for their customers – and this isn’t the Anthroposophical Hondspol farm in Driebergen who have financial difficulties – this is a farm 500m up the road towards Doorn. Here you will find farmer who with his wife love their farm, and it shows. Not only that, they respect their customers and as a result have a stable and sustainable business. It’s a rarity in our age of the consciousness soul, isn’t it? Someone caring and conscious of their customers! Isn’t it easier just to buy a bigger machine, a faster computer in the hope that it’s the solution to their problems, only to see their profits eroded because the businessman doesn’t want to deal with his customers. Entering the commodity war instead, where conscience is the last thing anybody thinks about…
But then, just as in Hell itself, the various departments of a modern business will be fighting turf wars. It was when I learned that a business could improve its profits substantially just by negotiating a peace treaty between these – put crudely – criminal gangs… that was when I packed my bags as a business advisor. The sales and marketing departments should be working hand in glove, not dagger in hand!
It was this world that Jesus descended into, and for three days cast His benevolent eye over the quaking devils and demons. Like any miscreant who knows they’re about to have their sinful life exposed, they’ll do anything to look clean! They’ll clean the place up, make it look as if it’s calm and efficient. The civil war born out of mutual hatred will cease as a greater fear overwhelms them, that of all their wrongdoings to be exposed by the light of truth.
I can bet that once word got around that the rumours were true, Hell got one helluva tidying up. The prisoners all had their chains polished, the bars a fresh lick of white paint and the hinges a drop of oil to stop that infernal noise.
After all, it has to look the part! It’s not as if a devil can imagine anything different, like the software engineer who is so engrossed in his technology that he literally cannot imagine anything else. It means that freedom to a devil is to have the security provided by iron bars, in the way the server stack has a nice big lock on its heavy door. Only those who are safe, like minded, certified, are allowed in.
Yet to Jesus, Hell is no different just because
the servers in the back corner got a dusting down the iron bars got a polish and the walls a wash? Hell is Hell, be it clean or not, the corruption is there for those who have eyes. It will look clean to those who lack the imagination to see the corruption around them.
A server is dependent on electric power – after all, the mineral-plant has no life, like a real plant. It lacks the capacity to look after itself. The darkness of night does not stop the living plant; the darkness of night is not the power switch that if flicked would stop a server in mid beat. After all, for a mineral-plant-machine, it’s all just 0s and 1s – the ultimate in immoral actions: the next step in the program could be to detonate the missile it’s a part of…
Just because it appears nice, just because people make excuses for them does not alter the fact that mankind can drag the sub-ethers out of hell and into the material to form something that is undead. These are machines created by minds lacking the least mindfulness towards their fellow human.
The Path To Hell Is Paved With Good Intentions.
Just because it appears nice, just because people make excuses for them does not alter the fact that the server is a machine without an imagination, without a conscience. Make one error in the HTML code and the program won’t work. Do that when reciting a poem out loud and even the dullest imagination will fill in the gap.
It’s just that, like Jesus seeing the highly polished bars of Hell’s gates, those who do have imagination can see that the engineer has a very limited imagination.
When one’s conscience is directly related to what one can imagine… it means the conscience of the engineer is necessarily limited too. The two run hand in hand. Which is the problem for the engineer: expanding his imagination means the first things he becomes aware of are the bad things he did. Things he was previously unaware of. The whiplashes of his conscience are enough to stop any rational soul from expanding his imagination, don’t you think?
But then, that is why an innocent man was nailed to a cross by someone who didn’t have the imagination to realize the consequences. He was only doing his job, wasn’t he? What could be wrong with that?
How The Innocent Become Evildoers.
The Subconscious, Part 7.
My Jasper friend came to visit briefly last night, and brought his friend Milena who was visiting him. He usually calls me to tell me he arrived home safely, this time he sounded upset and I asked why. He said that his bathroom had overflowed in some way and had damaged his ceiling; he’d gotten it all cleaned up but was still a little shaken. But he went on to say that he was also feeling a little disturbed by the things Milena had been telling him about me.
<h2>The Reasons Why Computer Code Cannot Be Poetry.</h2>
The Monochrome Intellectual, Part 1.
With my recent change to the WordPress platform in the last month, I have been involved in some work with computer code. I am fairly proficient at html and css – and can mangle php with the best of them. If there is one thing that is true, it is that computer code can mean one thing and one thing only. If you make one mistake, as I did earlier this evening, you wind up with
“unexpected } line 83″
… to read more, click Here.
The Man Who Wrote His Plays.
Actually, Shakespeare wasn’t a cat, for they famously have nine lives. But he is known to have signed his name with eight different spellings. Actually, it is more like six or seven, but I’d forgotten that and, well, creativity isn’t tied down by evidence of that kind any more than a cat is limited to a single life. What’s more, the way we spell his name today isn’t even amongst them! Historical reality is not all it seems.
… to read more, click Here.