where ourmeasures ledus;byexperiencing the placedifferently, we becamedifferent kindsof designers. We called these objectsobjectiles: ticks, leaves, sticks, garbage, mud, muck. Wecastthem inplaster andafter, usinglargescroll saws,we cutthecastinto slices, likepiecesofbreadfrom a loafyou would onlywantto eat ifitwas poetry. We calledtheseslicesmoments. Each moment was placedbackintothepark,likea baseballbase, a smallmaterialtag flagging thetrajectory as a kindoflitmus tomarkand simultaneously recordtheplace. The dances could be practicedbetweenthesebases as theplacechanged, forcing ourmovements to changelittlebylittle, as thebases forcedus tobe consciousofthesechanges. Theplaceas processitself alsoimpacted thecastslices.Ice, rain,bike treads,animals,mud slides,erosion .All nounsare verbs.The castsbecame smallapparatuses ofcapture netting timeand process.(Near the end of the studio,these fractured moments werere-collected andused as partsinfinal models.) Thegoaloftheexperiment was tobeconsciousofthings as processesthatyouprocess intoalongtheway.Apperception, as landscape architect IanMcharg says,isthegoal- thatis, beingconsciousofbeingconscious. Seeingby looking atseeinga little differently. Acting our analysisis thegoal.Experiencing ourexperiments isthegoal.Theartandthearchitecture is theexperience, nottheobject. Experiencing thebodyas themostexactscientific instrument, as Goethesays,is thegoal. Our goals are to communicate thetendencies ofthesystems in motion witheachother, againstone another, theshifting dynamic boundaries acrosswhich energyflowsand materialcycles.Our bodies as bodies ofknowledge, thatis thegoal, ourbodies as systems ofcare.Good experiments (and poems)areboomerangs. Thenuancesofwherethestickis held,orhowhard itis thrown, all ofthesechangetherangeof flight paths.Therearewaysofthrowing experiments whichallow themto return with something, something unplanned, promiscuous , emotional,intimate, embodied.When finished, theexperiments did not look like thepoem,buttheparkdidnotlooklikeitdid whenwe first arrived. Berlin GrowingOld Vincenzo DellaMea Likeanoldprogram written inFortran toobulky toberewritten useful enough tohangonto as itis,with itsbugs,itslostdata, itsincomprehensible error messages: this istheparadise ofretirement. No graphics orartificial intelligence, butliving oninthecomputer room: thewarmth ofthea/c,justa few faithful usersviatheoldRS-232. Translation from theItalian ByAnthony Robbins Vincenzo Della Mea is Assistant Professor of medical informatics atthe University ofUdine,Italy. As a poet he published his firstbook, L'infanzia di Goedel(Gödel'schildhood ), in 1999. In 2004 he published Algoritmi (Algorithms), followed by /sognidellaguerra (Wardreams)in2008.Hispoetry has also appeared inprint and onlinemagazines, including Nuovi Argomenti, NazioneIndiana, and Daemon.Due to hisinterest inscienceandpoetry, heco-edited ananthologyon poetryand computers {Verso i bit,2005) and a specialissueofDaemonmagazineand helpedorganize publiceventson scienceand literature. Anthony RobbinswasborninEngland in1956andeducated at Oxford. After a stint ofuniversity teaching, he has workedformorethana quarter-century infinance. He isan essayist, poet,andtranslator ofFrench, German, and Italian texts, bothtechnical and literary, intoEnglish, anda member oftheeditorial boardoftheItalian literary journalSmerilliana. Hehasthreechildren andlikes walkingandcycling inthecountryside. Editorial note:From Algoritmi (LietoColle, 2004). January -February 201 1 145 ...