All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

This is the title of the 1967 poem by Richard Brautigan and of course that is the name of the great three-part documentary by Adam Curtis. If you haven’t watched it, please do yourself a favour and take a look.

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

by Richard Brautigan

I’d like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

The Elephant’s Journey

It has taken me almost a year to be able to face reading the adventures that Solomon the elephant experienced in his travels from Lisbon to Vienna. It Has not been because it is about an elephant, or due to the story itself. It was because as I started reading the book a year or so ago, I heard the news that its author had died. I had since then, consciously or not, avoided reading anything by Dom José Saramago. I just couldn’t… Maybe it is now time to come to terms with it.
Wait for me Solomon, wait for me…

When I do count the clock…

This is a good way to start the British Summer Time:

When I do count the clock that tells the time,
And see the brave day sunk in hideous night;
When I behold the violet past prime,
And sable curls all silver’d o’er with white;
When lofty trees I see barren of leaves
Which erst from heat did canopy the herd,
And summer’s green all girded up in sheaves
Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard,
Then of thy beauty do I question make,
That thou among the wastes of time must go,
Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake
And die as fast as they see others grow;
And nothing ‘gainst Time’s scythe can make defence
Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence.

Sonnet 12
William Shakespeare

This England

This royal throne of Kings, this scepter’d isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself
Against infection and the hand of war,
This happy breed of men, this little world,
This precious stone set in the silver sea,
Which serves it in the office of a wall,
Or as a moat defensive to a house,
Against the envy of less happier lands,
This blessed plot, this earth, this realm, this England,…

The Tragedy of King Richard II, Act 2 Scene 1
William Shakespeare