The Kludge

The word “kludge” originated in computer programming & remains a useful way of describing the typical company programs that long ago escaped the comprehension of their users, so many have been the hired tinkerers & so scanty has been the window of taking time to figure out the actual relations of every part. A kludge is like a patchwork quilt too big to see all of at once. Supremely inelegant, yet for the purpose supremely essential, even in this form, as long as it works.

It recently occurred to me that not only is the Law—our body of laws—a sort of super-kludge (one where no one understands it all, & the difference between what one lawyer knows & what another lawyer knows may equal defeat or victory), just about any human tradition is as well; & furthermore, that this is one of our core human characteristics (at least as neurotypicals). When a critic examines “The Novel” it is to the super-kludge of the majority of novel-like books written, that he refers. (No one has read them all.) An explosion of originality in one area may trigger unfathomable repercussions all over the entire network… And of course, each one is read, in part, for what it says in its place among the others.

But we seldom actually talk about about kludge-ness, instead of its icons. It would be to add a counter representing the unknown, to the counters in the game of knowns. Then saktra comes to the game, not only not knowing kludge-ness but expecting, what? Things to be done for a reason? You go & play the game according to your own lights. The result somehow doesn’t refer back enough. It needs some of those invisible tokens added.

And knowing that you work—even as an artist in isolation—within a context that will be perceived as the evolving kludge: not saying so, says something you may or may not intend. Something that for many, at first, will be the only thing they hear in it.