You must know, Our Emonaut was once a virtual reality programmer. His workplace is a PC. The display, two-dimensional, his only work, And the digital, his logical word. Keyboard, tacking fingertips and a circling mouse, His gaze just straight out, There was no left and right, His neck stiff, And time passed, faster than the autumnal wind. Like a lonely child [renunciation and yearning] . Remember this stormy day when it all started: the doubt about the authority of the display, as the only visual output device. What was wrong with me? What was wrong with the screen? I stretch my hand towards the display, Just a pane of Plexiglas, And behind it, nothing that touches, Feels, smells, tastes monotonous sensuality, optic nerves overwrought The interface Mouse Keyboard Torture Feeling the under-demand of my craftsmanship. My body was stunted. Got fat and lame. At heart, I longed to translate my virtual stories, interactive objects, into tangible reality. To play with them. Like a little child creating a magic circle with his dolls around him. It was the night of departure. From software to hardware. From pixel to material From complexity to possible simplicity.
₪ ╝◥-◤╚  ₪
₪ 2010 ₪