01001101 (Failing The Turing Test)

"I can no longer think what I want to think. My thoughts have been replaced by moving images."
We've seen half this country but it's all been air-conditioned,
rolling by through tinted glass.
Those clouds look so crisp they must be computer generated.
That music sounds so good it must be synthed.
Ever am I realizing how thickly the byte is in my blood,
crawling under my skin and digging like a chigger.
If I was a Luddite, I'd have to learn to live without myself.
If I was a Luddite, I'd try to destroy myself.
Where will people like me fit into the world of Small Is Beautiful?
Just another place in my thought-space where the idea goes down more easily than an instantiation.
I can talk the talk, yeah I can get excited, but if I'm really honest with myself I'll see that the times when I am truly happy, when the excitement is bubbling and overflowing, these times are few and far between and happen almost exclusively alone with my computer in the middle of the night.
I ask myself "What makes me truly happy?",
and the half-answer I get are suspect.
I can't tell how much is "I can make a convincing argument for why this should make me happy", and how much is "This really makes me happy!"
What really makes me happy?
I've been working on a computer program to tell us what is beautiful.
I think it's time to pull the plug...