Breathe deeply my child.
"Direct" your thoughts to inner
beauty and abstraction.
Dream my child.
Perchance mediate on the simplicity of the universe.
One need only to float over to yonder coffee shop, find some equally meditative and de-stressed nerds sipping on their mocha-java, give onto them your abstract idea; utter the magic Star Trek words, "Make it so"; and jiggery pokery dock, it shall be done in just a few turns of the clock.
Genric computers abound.
Generic "coders" are all around.
Conventional is as convention doth.
Fundamentals are always off the cuff.
Hard it cannot be.
The Olympus nine have insightfully channeled that to me.
Oh for what does a techno-knowledgeable man forsake,
by giving up on science, hard work and 90% perspiration?
And embracing 'stead,
the abstractly spanding Spandex Inquisition?
Round and round we go.
No stopping now.
A tissue. A tissue.
We all fall down.
(Thanks to the Mount Olympus clowns.)