I set my words down in Cartesian space But my thoughts they strained to fly away Frantic, aflutter, a'skew the gridded cage Golden eggs laid for the gilded age

Men of means intoned, "Quantify," Measure life, so you'll see the light. It's all too complex, let us simplify. You're quite free to choose between left and right.

Chomsky asked if we might see Colourless green ideas sleep furiously Chain up the lexemes; shake down the parse tree No finer message not generated context-free

Someday, they say, a bot might cry So let the masses hang out to dry Said I, but me too! Then they, Crosby three For sums we'll re-examine technicalities

"Now we have a crisis, socially: Reproducibility. People just won't stop changing their minds We can't ever seem to meet the same one twice!"

"Our theories shy from universality Savages too noble to oblige But physicists? Did it quantitatively We'll soon nail the worth o' each man alive."


Friday, 16 July 2021