Various aesthetic theories maintain that poetry is a matter of inspiration descending from I know not what lofty place…something intuitive, immediate, authentic and all-embracing that springs up who knows how. But in these theories there always remained a void: how does one arrive at the written page? Just as we already have machines that can read, machines that can perform linguistic analysis of literary texts, machine that make translations and summaries, will we also have machines capable of poems and novels? The true literature machine will be one that itself feels the need to produce disorder, as a reaction against its preceding production of order: a machine that will produce avant-garde work to free its circuits when they are choked by too long a production of classicism.*

(*From Italo Calvino’s Cybernetics and Ghosts)