It is a great luxury to code, and to be able to code.
It is perhaps an equally great luxury to write- in prose or in verse.
In theory, I recognize one needs not be greater than the other. Yet I feel greater sadness and loss, when several days pass without retreating into the confines of machine code.
After a lifetime of writing stanzas that slant too quickly to the convenience of glinting adjectives and gleaming adverbs, I find the immediate transparency of my literary rhetoric- shrill. And telling. (Am I really so thespian?) While ambling through stages of being human and earthly (the plight of not being invincible), there is something to be said about the refuge of waking, sleeping, and breathing inside the walls of a nocturnal den.
Hence, I surge more, to compose stanzas for machines.
I harbor less guilt that way.