Dear Turing

Closeness to insanity Is the border between you I appeal to your order 'That what may not' you hardly call A freshly packed basket Finite numbers are an utter bore In the face of Turing Completeness It becomes apparent that there are infinities Each one unique and immense So much so that even Turing's number is a hole Our numbers can not express But they are easy Truth has such a number When you tell it You know it for it feels good Good numbers hold a promise Now that you know nothing You are wise but what then? To realize anew that Something is going on It moves computational It crawls beneath the skin You wake up in front of a blinking monitor Feeling dreamy, the haze pulls you in One is one and leads to two Unless you look at the comma decimal The set within a set Eyes that look at you Self-perceived in your own arena Knowing now that nothing feels real Looking for the 'Esc' button The bulb above your head goes on The exit sign is green

CuldeSac

What are words without understanding and what is understanding without sense?

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