Everyone knows what’s inside a computer isn’t really real. It pretends to be, sure, hiding just under the pixels — but I promise you it isn’t.
In the real world, everything has a certain mooring we’re all attuned to. You put money in a big strong safe, and, most likely if somehow it opens there will be a big sound, and a big hole. Everything has a footprint, everything has a size, there are always side-effects.
As the electrons wiggle, they’re expressing all these abstract ideas someone thought up sometime. Someone had an idea of how they’d dance, but that’s not always true. Instead, there are half-formed ideas, ideas that change context and meaning when exposed to others, and ideas that never really quite made sense.
The Alice in Wonderland secret of computers is that the dancers and their music are really the same. It’s easy to mistakenly believe that each word I type is shuffled by our pixie friends along predefined chutes and conveyors to make what we see on screen, when in reality each letter is just a few blits and bloops away from being something else entirely.
Sometimes, if you’re careful, you can make all those little blits and bloops line up in a way that makes the dance change, and that’s why I’ve always loved hacking computers: all those little pieces that were never meant to be put together that way align in unintended but beautiful order. Each individual idea unwittingly becomes part of a greater and irrefutable whole.