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A curiosity: my name, Rem, will someday come to mean a line of text in a language spoken only by machines. Specifically, it will mean a line that the machines can safely ignore–one that’s only there as a mnemonic, a placeholder, for the people who give the machines their orders. A REM line might say something like “this bit is a self-contained sub loop” or “Steve Perlman in Marketing is a shit.” The program as a whole rolls on past and around the REM lines, ignores them completely as it takes its shape, moves through its pre-ordained sequences, unfolds its wonders. My mother named me well.
