I've been programming computers for 40 years.
Writing code is my poetry.
I write code to say what I want to say, to make computers do what I want them to do.
But also, deep down, I love the beauty, the elegance of a finely sculpted logic. Minimal, concise, precise. Carved in pursuit of the perfect form, as simple as it needs to be, but no simpler. Information flowing gracefully through, gently stroking the contours.
Now I can make computers do what I want them to do without writing any code, and it's blowing my mind. I absolutely love it ...
... until I look at the code. And then my heart stops.
What is this revolting, idiotic mess of excruciatingly over-engineered, pathetically brittle filth? This crime against sanity and all that is pure and good?
Yes, the computer appears to do what I asked. But my heart weeps blood. The poetry, the poetry is dead. Replaced by a Michael Bay Avengers Disney-remake multiverse-reboot mashup sludge-pit of rat’s-nest codeslop.
This is how I learnt how to program, and "All about computers" in general, when I was 10 years old. (Some of you might remember these images, I used to show them in talks a decade ago or so).