This is beautiful! It's beautiful. I keep coming back to it. I've read it three times through now, the last time aloud.
Randomly-generated poetry to put my slaved-upon works to shame. A design pattern, to think about profusely decorating the inner world instead. Futile attempts to absorb replicate only empty Proxy, Facade. Your boss told you to wonder about embarrassing (or worse, a flat tire) between sips of a martini.
Oh, man. What, then, can the point possibly be? In all of this, when machine outdoes man at whimsy! Can the ineffable be reduced, digested by equation, spat out as formula? Pattern. No good shall come of this, no, nor bad neither, though by your smiling you seem to say so.
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