By the time I'm nine I know the world is a dangerous place.  I've heard whispers about razorblades in apples, about Charlie Manson and his family.  But no one is offering any clear information.

Just as woodworkers sometimes build jigs to guide the construction of complex pieces, programmers can write code that itself writes code.

I kept asking myself if I felt different, if I was different. The answer was always yes. I was no longer nothing…  How odd, I thought; it had taken my mother’s death, Father Quinel’s murder, and the desire of others to kill me to claim a life of my own.

Written By Avi

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