I met a professor of arcane degree
Who said: Two vast and handwritten parsers
Live in the wild. Near them, in the dark
Half sunk, a shattering exploit lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those papers read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the student that fed:
And on the terminal these words appear:
"My name is Turing, wrecker of proofs:
Parse this unambigously, ye machine, and despair!"
Nothing besides is possible. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level root shells fork away.
-- Inspired by Edward Shelley
The Gospel of Weird Machines?
What excellent style the alchemist owls have! Simple website, strong language, and a careful selection of titles: "the right reverend preacher pastor."
But why is a raven like a writing desk?
