To that which popular opinion noisily claims in redundant rushes of hot
thick penitentiary air poets must not do, today I found myself doing.
Like guilty onomastic secrets; that of another hand writes.
"The sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead
channel."*
Through a thing of air to the Kantian Sublime we have flown. At a level
of ontological abstraction repulsive and attractive forces define the
Sublime. Just abstract enough to border on figurative humanity yet
abstract beyond figure. This is sublime.
An electric circuit passes through silicon in one direction. With
silicon in the path of the circuit and polarity reversed the electric
circuit is blocked. There is no circuit; no circle. Each pushes the
other to the limits of human culture. To an imagination with on passing
through the silicon gates, attraction being pushed to its limit which
could not be achieved alone yet by virtue of that which is repelled from
the silicon gate which by the attraction of that which can pass through
repulsion is pushed to the limits of human culture.
A silicon computer chip: that is Sublime. The forces of attraction and
repulsion in a terrible struggle. The towering size of computer code
against the smallness of a single man.
* Gibson, William _Neuromancer_, Grafton, 1986, page 1.
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