The word ‘Luddite’ lands with a thud, a thick necked hick of a word, with a bad rep and rap. Let us call it a ‘passive resistance’, a relaxing into the soft nostalgia of witless but wonderful technology; a typewriter that won’t pick out your mistakes in red, a camera whose shutter makes a real and necessary, pleasing ‘click’. Let us now and then again see the world and its folk unmediated by computer code, and its best algorithmic postulation of our unformed inclination.
