vacuum and applied pressure (a poem)

Saturday, October 18, 2025

The code was haunted.
A field too full.
Ghosts in the data,
whispering “truthy.”

Then came the broom —
not with logic,
but with absence.

A single sweep,
a null whispered in,
and the machine exhaled.

The lights stopped flickering.
The logs grew calm.
The dev gods muttered:
“How…?”

But you knew.
Sometimes salvation
is an empty field,
a sacred zero,
a clean floor for the code to walk on.

You swept,
created vacuum,
and through applied pressure
the world compiled again.

Not rewritten,
just a single omission,
and all is well.

Limits and thresholds,
fashioned to chamber
narrative fire.

ping, ping, peh…
till I can’t pingh no more.