Anecdotes and questions about climbing up and down the ladder of abstraction: Atari, ARM, demoscene, education, creative coding, community, seeking lightness, enlightenment & strange languages
27 years ago I had my first encounter with a computer. Signed up by our parents to an afternoon course after school, five other 13 year olds and I had the honour to be the first children in our East-german town to touch these, to us mystical, machines & learn to program them. The hardware available to us was the glorious Robotron KC85/3, the company’s top-of-the-range model of modular (and unaffordable) home computers, and some Russian Junost B&W TVs as monitors. As it turned out, not much else but programming could be done by us with these boxes and knowing close to nothing about computers nor any games you could play with them, we happily accepted our fate and embarked on our mission to spend every Tuesday afternoon throughout the entire school years of 1988/89 to learn as much about computing as we could and built our own game as an excuse for a learning context. It was the best “school” of my life (in fact it was the most decisive year of my childhood), with our little band of nerds unwittingly touching almost every aspect of creative computing / production, self-guided learning & result-oriented experimentation, team thinking, sharing etc. Last but not least, in terms of extreme resource constraints, it was a very far cry from today’s perspective about what constitutes a child-friendly computing education… and I still think in some ways it was a better one, providing more solid foundations in a truly holistic approach to eventually learn a craft. And, after all, limitation is the mother of all invention!
Only many years later and well after college, did I come to fully appreciate how amazing our tutors actually were, two Maths students from the local university. These guys threw us in the deep end from day one, showed us the ropes and supplied us with endless amounts of inspiration, reading lists about anything from possible/weird creative applications of these machines, abstract Russian art, hardware references, boolean logic, hex numbers & bit-twiddling, game concepts & theory, music, audio and DSP basics (for chip tunes); they gave us an electronics crash course, taught geometry, graphics algorithms, typography (pixel fonts) and of course taught us programming, programming, programming… on the lowest level possible, in Hexcode & Assembly. Soon I became a regular in our local library. In all of that, the part I loved most was the lack of boundaries in our explorations, both back then as still today. The quest for combined cross-domain knowledge became highly addictive and our teenage brains were like dry sponges, soaking it all up. At the same time, the initial lack of peers or community outside our tiny group, led us to (re)discover many basic concepts & techniques ourselves. To this day I’m still sometimes on the fence if that is or isn’t always a bad thing… At numerous times I found that conscious isolation can sometimes indeed lead to more direct insights, techniques and solutions to existing problems, which otherwise are not taken into account, if all of our activity is only based on and influenced by the prior research of others. Focus always has a cost and research takes time. That is especially true in today’s open source culture and the endless hourly influx of hip new projects via social media.
Storming each week from school to the lab, our afternoons there quickly turned into a gateway to another world, one in which we felt our powers increasing week by week (very much unlike in the traditional setting of our normal school). Maths & physics suddenly became fun and relevant to our lives, since they enabled us to get results on screen and through the speaker. How do you draw a line or circle on screen without trigonometry or even rational numbers? Well, there is a guy called Bresenham... Learning about audio, frequencies & music theory in order to make simple chip tunes noises for our game, made me want to learn to play the piano, later build a 4bit sampler (with my brother’s help) and yet a few years later brought me into music production, setup a little studio, play live gigs and release a handful of 12" vinyl. Designing pixel fonts & graphics on paper too proved to be the perfect way to learn about binary & hex numbers, bit masking/shifting… skills still often essential today, especially when working with embedded devices.
With only an hour or two of computer time a week, our learning and progress was largely down to intensive trial & error, daily homework and learning to code and debug with only pencil and paper, whilst trying to be the machine yourself: Playing every step through in our heads (and on paper) over and over until we were confident, the code did as we’d expect, yet, often still failing because of wrong intuitions. Learning this analytical thinking is essential to successful debugging, even today, specifically in languages / environments where no GUI debugger is available. In the late 90s, John Maeda did similar exercises at MIT Media Lab, with students role-playing different parts of a CPU or a whole computer executing a simple process. Later at college, my own CS prof too would often quote Alan Perlis:
“ To understand a program you must become both the machine and the program.” — Alan Perlis
Initially we’d only be using the machine largely to just verify our ideas prepared at home (spending the majority of the time typing in/correcting numbers from paper). Through this monastic style of working, we also learned the importance of having the right tools and balance of skills within the group and were responsible to create them ourselves in order to achieve our vision. This important lesson stayed with me throughout (maybe even became) my career so far… Most projects I worked on, especially in the past 15 years, almost exclusively relied on custom-made tooling, which was as much part of the final outcome as the main deliverable to clients. Often times it even was the main deliverable. On the other hand, I’ve also had to learn the hard way that being a largely self-sufficient generalist often is undesired in the modern workplace, which frequently still encourages narrow expertise above all else…
After a few months of convincing my parents to invest all of their saved up and invaluable West-german money to purchase a piece of “Power Without the Price” (a much beloved Atari 800XL) a year before the Wall came down in Berlin, I finally gained daily access to a computer, but was still in a similar situation as before: No more hard west money left to buy a tape nor disk drive from the Intershop, I wasn’t able to save any work (apart from creating paper copies) and so the Atari was largely kept switched on until November 10, 1989, the day after the Berlin Wall was opened and I could buy an XC-12 tape recorder. I too had to choose whether to go the usual route of working with the built-in BASIC language or stick with what I’d learned/taught myself so far, Assembly… In hindsight, am glad I chose the latter, since it proved to be far more useful and transportable knowledge, even today!
Documentation about western hardware was hard to come by in the East at that time. Via one of my dad’s colleagues I managed to borrow a 6502 opcode table and some basic Atari OS & hardware references, enough to continue with my journey of writing and hand-compiling Assembly to Hexcode on paper. I never questioned the manic insanity of this process until later — I just didn’t know any better at the time. As an aside, recently reading in George Dyson’s “Darwin among the machines” about similar stories of the IAS pioneers in Princeton some 35-40 years prior, made me realise that progress in computing is often (still) slow indeed.
By joining the local “Chaos Club Chemnitz” (a not much bigger group than our KC85 team two years prior) and ABBUC (which is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year!), I quickly got sucked into the demoscene flourishing all over Europe and found more creative outlets and confidence bending the machine to my will. By 1993/94 the Atari 8bit demo scene had grown considerably and for two years I co-organized and produced the Halle Project, a “megademo” (a 2 disk collection of a dozen smaller productions) for one of the scene’s biggest meetings with a few hundred participants, organized by Top Magazine.
At this party, being aged 17, I also got my first coding job, a commission to write a Lemmings clone for the 8bit Atari, released the year later to critical acclaim as The Brundles… With 100 levels (which also required a GUI level editor to be built), no access to the original game (only text descriptions of the overall game logic) and needing to support a number of different hardware extensions (RAM) and input devices (e.g. ST/Amiga mice) for better gameplay, this project was a huge task with over 10 months of daily work (before & after school), combining and requiring every trick I’d learned thus far. It simply would not have been possible, had I previously chosen the more convenient route and only used BASIC at the time… In fact, the source code alone exceeded the 64K RAM limit of the Atari (for BASIC the limit would have been only 48KB, with much lower code density) and development was only possible by upgrading my machine with an internal RAM extension to a combined 320KB.
Lesson learned: Language skills, natural and coded ones, are gateways, opening paths not just for more expression, but also to paths in life.
As is the case today, so it was back then: People tend to organize around specific technological interests, languages and platforms and then stick with them for a long time, for better or worse. Over the years I’ve been part of many such tool-based communities (chronologically: Asm, C, TurboPascal, Director, JS, Flash, Java, Processing, Clojure) and have somewhat turned into a nomad, not being able to ever find a true home in most of them. This might sound judgemental and negative, but really isn’t meant to and these travels through the land of languages and toolkits has given me much food for thought. Having slowly climbed up the ladder of abstraction and spent many years both with low & high level languages, has shown me how much each side of the spectrum can inform and learn from the other (and they really should do more so!). It’s an experience I can highly recommend to anyone attempting to better understand these machines some of us are working with for many hours a day and which impact so much of all our lives. So am extremely grateful to all the kind souls & learning encountered on the way!
In the pre-internet world of the early ’90s, we had mainly two camps: 8bit vs. 16bit and Atari vs. Commodore (and some Sinclair). People in each other camp were considered taboo :) Each platform was basically a completely separate scene… but apart from the chosen hardware providing each scene’s main identity, we swore no further allegiances to specific software or languages used and the community was IMHO much more inclusive (and without a need for CoC’s). In our bi-weekly club meetings we’d talk about & experiment with anything interesting to do, not just with the Atari: be it strange languages, books, new games, tools, events, disk mags or hardware hacks. Anything went. Most members were all-rounders.
In the vastly larger open source creative computing demographic of today, the by far biggest groups are tight-knit communities around individual frameworks and languages. There is much these platforms have achieved in terms of output, increasing overall code literacy and turning thousands of people from mere computer users into authors. This is a feat not be underestimated and a Good Thing™! Yet my issue with this siloed general state of affairs is that, apart from a few notable exceptions (especially the more recent arrivals), there’s unfortunately a) not much cross-fertilizing with fundamentally different and/or new ideas in computing going on and b) over time only incremental progress is happening, business as usual, rather than a will to continuously challenge core assumptions among these largest communities about how we talk to machines and how we can do so better. I find it truly sad that many of these popular frameworks rely only on the same old imperative programming language family, philosophy and process, which has been pre-dominant and largely unchanged for the past 30+ years, and their communities also happily avoid or actively reject alternative solutions, which might require fundamental changes to their tools, but which actually could be more suitable and/or powerful to their aims and reach. Some of these platforms have become and act as institutions in their own right and as such also tend to espouse an inward looking approach & philosophy to further cement their status (as owners or pillars?) in their field. This often includes a no-skills-neccessary, we-cater-all-problems promise to their new users, with each community re-inventing the same old wheels in their own image along the way. It’s Not-Invented-Here on a community level: A reliance on insular support ecosystems, libraries & tooling is typical, reducing overall code re-use (at least between communities sharing the same underlying language) and increasing fragmentation. More often than not these platforms equate simplicity with ease (go watch Rich Hickey taking this argument eloquently apart!). The popular prioritization of no pre-requisite knowledge, super shallow learning curves and quick results eventually becomes the main obstacle to later achieve systemic changes, not just in these tools themselves, but also for (creative) coding as discipline at large. Bloatware emerges. Please do forgive if that all sounds harsh, but I simply do believe we can do better!
Every time I talk with others about this topic, I can’t help but think about Snow Crash’s idea of “Language is a virus”. I sometimes do wonder what makes us modern humans, especially those working with computing technology, so fundamentalist and brand-loyal to these often flawed platforms we happen to use? Is it really that we believe there’s no better way? Are we really always only pressed for time? Are we mostly content with Good Enough? Are we just doing what everyone else seems to be doing? Is it status anxiety, a feeling we have to use X to make a living? Are we afraid of unlearning? Is it that learning tech/coding is (still) too hard, too much of an effort, which can only be justified a few times per lifetime? For people who have been in the game long enough and maybe made a name for themselves in their community, is it pride, sentimentality or fear of becoming a complete beginner again? Is it maybe a sign that the way we teach computing and focus on concrete tools too early in order to obtain quick, unrealistically complex results, rather than fundamental (“boring”) knowledge, which is somewhat flawed? Is it our addiction to largely focus on things we can document/celebrate every minor learning step as an achievement in public? This is no stab at educators — much of this systemic behavior is driven by the sheer explosion of (too often similar) choices, demands made by students and policy makers. But I do think we should ask ourselves these questions more often.
Of course, I realise there too are a number of important commercial and social benefits and effects this tool-based self-identification of programming communities has produced and I gladly had a tiny share of those. On the other hand, as someone standing more on the fringes, I think it’s a strange & worrying development that use of some of these (by now) established tools increasingly is becoming an almost mandatory requirement, a kind of brand or quality label and job qualification, as well as a delineation for (sub-)disciplines (as if there’s always just this one right tool for the job), especially in the creative applications spectrum/market. By doing this we’re forgetting something. If we allow it to happen that entire coding disciplines again are to be defined by only the currently popular tools, we seem to forget that most of these tools first appeared exactly to provide more choice, more means and ranges of expression and to break the former monopolies of the previous generation (e.g. Director/Flash) — only now to take over that role as new defacto standards. This is not so much the direct fault of these tools themselves, but we have to acknowledge that as more and more people are only becoming exposed to the fine art of coding through these frameworks, we’re losing track that there’re many, many more choices out there, and many of them underexposed by the light beams of existing communities. We must not forget that “New needs friends”, as so nicely stated by Anton Ego in Pixar’s Ratatouille. The same goes for “Different”! So in some ways it does come down to the stewards of those existing communities to more actively encourage and allow re-thinking of core assumptions to take place. We all know that community building takes a lot more time and effort than churning out the Next Great Idea in code form. But communities are programmed themselves and I strongly believe, that even though we cannot fully overcome the Tower of Babel effect, we can shift our communities’ primary means of identity from being tool-specific / technology-based to become more focused on broad-concepts / targets, we’ll all be learning more (from each other).
As I look back (triggered by recent research) on my own life with computers, I began to realise why, after climbing the language ladder of abstractions, I’ve been rejecting frameworks more and more over the past years. As explained earlier, my trajectory has always followed more of a “bottom-up” approach and I often still struggle with its polar opposite (“top-down”), both in coding as in design. Creative projects require creative tools. For example, my toxiclibs project was partly started out of concrete needs for work projects, but to work around Processing’s lack of abstract data models for its core themes (e.g. creation of visuals). However, it never was purely a Processing specific project (even though 99% of people have only ever been using it in that context). Over the 6 years that I worked almost daily on this project, my only ever design philosophies were No-lock-in & Open-endedness: 1) to not force myself/users becoming dependent on a single framework (it’s already enough to be constrained to a given language, Java in this case), 2) to define as many useful things as possible and define them to be as extensible as feasible and 3) to document some of these options via 100+ small examples and the larger work projects I myself and others used these libraries for. Another key principle was to use it all as teaching tool. There’re many things I’ve learned since, but this same guiding philosophy still too forms the basis for toxiclibs’ successor, the collection of thi.ng’s for (initially) Clojure & Clojurescript and is (hopefully) expressed even more clearly. Providing many, only loosely coupled constructs with many points for customization, but without overly dictating how they can be used or combined, is key to enable flexibility in design tools and for me is the primary mark of a bottom-up tool. It’s also the trademark of a language.
In terms of programming languages, that bottom end usually means Assembly. It is said that coding in Assembly for prolonged periods can cause the infamous “God complex”, often associated with general Nerdom and bragging rights in coding circles. Maybe it’s because Assembly is the only available language without any extra layer of conceptual translation between human thought and silicon and hence it is widely considered Black-belt Hard Stuff™. On the other hand, Assembly is often seen as very hard, because writing in this language not just assumes, but literally requires, a much deeper and more detailed understanding of the nature of the machine and this is what new programmers are often lacking (see previous section). The usual argument for justifying this conscious gap in knowledge often runs along the lines of “You don’t need to know how an injection engine works in order to drive a car”, which is very true of course. However, programming is a very different discipline to driving and even though I largely agree with the reasoning for most common use cases on modern desktop environments with hundreds of complex API layers, I believe that actively avoiding this knowledge gap outright, by design, in the world of embedded devices and IoT, is something we should seriously question and counteract.
“I still believe in abstraction, but now I know that one ends with abstraction, not starts with it. I learned that one has to adapt abstractions to reality and not the other way around.” — Alexander Stepanov
Embedded devices often really don’t need a full blown Operating System like Linux and usually have a more simple hardware architecture than their bigger siblings (although this is changing too). This all actually makes them the perfect contemporary learning environment to understand how a CPU (or whole System-On-a-Chip) and communication with peripherals operates. We can play a game of catching up. Sometimes doing so without crutches, in Assembly, can be incredibly enlightening and refreshingly simple (again, in the Rich Hickey interpretation of the word, go watch it!!!), often even surprisingly so. To anyone who’s developed a sense of code aesthetic and has a love of lightness and minimalism in how we work with computers, out-of-fashion languages like Assembly (but also the many flavors of Lisp, Forth) or new contenders like Rust, Pony provide an appealing choice — if not for their speed and elegance, but at the very least for learning purposes and a different glimpse of what programming was like, is (in some fields) and could be (in ours). Some languages have introduced ideas which only became truly viable decades later, when hardware and sufficient numbers of humans had finally caught up. However, recently it seems our software world, not hardware, has more and more catching up to do. Learning these concepts can lead one into a rabbit hole, but the knowledge gained certainly isn’t a one-way street and will make you a better programmer, even if your final choice for a project is a more mainstream language.
“The true delight is in the finding out rather than in the knowing.”
— Isaac Asimov
The code below is a complete Assembly “Hello world” equivalent, a blinking LED, for a 32bit ARM Cortex M4 CPU. Its ~20 lines of source code (excl. comments, configuration and variables) equal the same number of operations the CPU is executing (usually 1 per line) and produce a final binary version of just 76 bytes (not KB!). Even in C, considered the primary low-level systems programming language, a programme producing the same effect requires between ~1,100–10,000 bytes (this comparison uses Arduino, depends on target platform 8bit vs. 32bit), that’s 15–140 times more (e.g. the Arduino Blinky example compiles down to 10,092 bytes for a similar CPU [Cortex-M3])!
Strong platform dependency has always been another key criticism of Assembly: Code written for one CPU usually doesn’t work on another. Even though this remains a fundamental, unresolvable issue, I too believe that in the current market situation it is somewhat of a lesser concern than it used to be (especially if we’re also honest about the realistic lifespan and scope of much of our software): For example, ARM and its IP-only business model has somewhat ensured that there’re now dozens of manufacturers with hundreds of different versions alone of the Cortex M chip family. And although they do slightly vary in terms of instruction set features, they’re are not entirely incompatible and all upwards compatible by design.
For me Assembly isn’t (just) about maximum speed and code density. My recent interest in going back to my programming cradle has also not much to do with sentimentality. Having said this, I think there’s a level of cross-domain ingenuity present among embedded system coders, which I sometimes miss in our main platforms. It’s also nice to see that the demoscene is embracing some of these platforms:
Instead, I want to revisit this world “closer to the metal” with the by now very different mindset obtained from working on the other side of the abstraction spectrum. Especially my last 4 years spent with Clojure (one of the notable, open-your-mind exceptions I talked about earlier) have provided me with an incredible (and incredibly useful) amount of new insights and research ideas. I’ve already noticed how this has positively impacted my coding style in C and also triggered me to revisit other forgotten languages from my past, e.g. Forth — one of the seemingly most shunned & unknown languages today (though judging by Github activity over the past year, slowly gaining again more activity than I remember previously).
Languages like Clojure, a modern dialect of Lisp, are not just different because of their “strange” looking syntax, or in the case of Forth, the almost complete lack of syntax. To me it’s their very different view of what computing can be like, what makes these languages so fascinating. And here I’m talking about the full experience of programming a machine. As much as I’m interested in final outcomes, I’m equally invested in bettering the way we work with machines. Even single concepts like persistent data structures or the presence of a REPL (an interactive programming environment) are core to the way we think, plan and express our ideas with these languages and can be transformative to our entire workflow. The ability to break the write/(compile)/run cycle or hot-swap code in a running system without destroying application state already has transformed the often-times frustrating experience of modern webdesign. It also enables live coding, a field which is rapidly gaining popularity, not just for musical applications (though being a timebased medium, that’s where most of the research and education is happening).
The following are the perfect examples why we can’t (and shouldn’t) rely on just general purpose mainstream languages for everything we do with our computers.
Over the past year I’ve started researching and working on a new music programming environment again myself. It’s a theme I seem to keep on revisiting every few years, only this time using low-cost embedded devices and with the aim to combine it with livecoding, gestural / environmental inputs and applying & testdriving concepts from other languages in this controlled environment.
If many people already take issues with Lisp’s extensive use of parenthesis, then Forth and the family of concatenative languages will seem even more alien, dare I say radical. However even a brief cursory examination should show some unique benefits: Forth has an unique focus on programmer freedom, simplicity and being lightweight. It constitutes a stack based, hyperstatic, but interactively programmable environment, dynamically switching between compiled & interpreted modes (though the interpreter incurs much less costs than in other languages). Most Forth implementations are also self-compiling (with most of the core language words defined in Forth itself). The lack of syntax and being stack-based makes it trivial to implement domain-specific languages — essentially any application written in Forth is written in its own DSL.
“If you know one Forth, you know one Forth.” — Bernd Paysan
Forth (by now) seems to be more of a family than a fixed language, the above quote nicely sums it up. There is a (much debated) standard though, however the community seems fractured. Due to the freedom the language inspires, it really shouldn’t be surprising to see a large number of “North” (as in “Not Forth”) languages. Depending how one looks at it, it’s either the best example of the NIH Syndrome, or on the other hand, the logical conclusion of its core philosophy: To avoid any unneeded junk. Nonetheless, it has been used successfully for 40+ years for both complex and extremely resource constrained applications, incl. much work done for NASA and in the early years at Apple (MacFORTH was the first full development system for the Mac in ‘84).
“…Forth does it differently. There is no syntax, no redundancy, no typing. There are no errors that can be detected. …there are no parentheses. No indentation. No hooks, no compatibility. …No files. No operating system.”
—Chuck Moore, creator of Forth
In the same article “1% the Code”, he further continues:
“I must say that I’m appalled at the code I see. Because all this code suffers the same failings, I conclude it’s not a sporadic problem. Apparently all these programmers have copied each others style and are content with the result: that complex applications require millions of lines of code. And that’s not even counting the operating system required. Sadly, that is not an undesirable result. Bloated code does not just keep programmers employed, but managers and whole companies, internationally. Compact code would be an economic disaster. Because of its savings in team size, development time, storage requirements and maintainance cost.”
A practical example of this: When I started my journey of ARM C programming using an STM32F429 dev board, I was shocked to find the bundled system source files add up to 160,000+ lines of C (excluding comments!), which don’t provide much more than common ARM definitions & macros, system initialization, basic peripheral drivers and an hardware abstraction layer. On the other hand, a complete Forth environment with core peripheral drivers and livecoding capabilities (via Serial port/UART) for the same CPU (and dozens others) clocks in at only 8,550 lines of Assembly (that’s 5%). Of course that isn’t a fair or even very meaningful comparison, but the magnitudes in difference speak volumes here…
The following videos provide more of an Forth overview and demonstrate livecoding on an Arduino and an FPGA (the latter includes a custom Forth CPU itself):
To clarify where I’m going with all this: I’m not at all proposing that we should be dropping everything and (re-)adopt languages like Forth, but I do think a) there’re definite commercial, educational & scientific research segments which would greatly benefit from fresh community investment in these style languages and b) some of the ideas are highly interesting to me even if applied to more mainstream environments (incl. audio & shader development).
Since this article is getting rather long, I will have to defer a more complete treatise of my foray into this language to another post. However, in closing, I’d like to leave you with some work-in-progress results of this (currently still C based) musical ARM adventure of mine.
All of this will at some point soon be open source and more properly documented. For now it is largely a proof-of-concept and the result of a few months of preparations and examples created during two workshops about the project, run in the past month, with more coming early next year. If you’re interested learning how to work efficiently with ARM based devices (not just for music), create your own USB devices, do some audio/DSP programming and build your own instrument as we go a long, please visit workshop.thi.ng for more info and/or subscribe to the newsletter.
“Do not walk in the footsteps of the sages. Instead, seek what they sought.” — Source