Some people talk big about modern technology as their own for the sake of their racial pride. To them you need but ask where raisins come from and they'll feel a bit of a peanut; in all likelihood they'll start talking about a place which gives us our writing symbols, according to information which is second hand at best.
It's convenient to have a picture of history with a dark bit in the middle: on the right hand side is writing; on the left, buildings. Unless we want to get involved in Arabic politics, we only have three sets of symbols--and the first, we assume, is an Arabic one. The surviving Roman texts cast doubt on the Hebrew; the surviving Greek texts don't seem to recognize the Hebrew at all. But then we get into dark matters, by which I literally mean the things that people mostly only see at night. A logician might talk to his mother about things of inadequate description that the one or the other of us may doubt exists; but a piano exists: I need but mention it and there it is in your imagination. And now I'm claiming it as my own; by which I mean it is the best example of technology that what I call my race has invented. Any boy can come up with the idea of hammering a string instead of plucking it. An uncommon boy might make a handful of these piano notes. A group of men might setup a factory in a few years. But why would they do that?
The piano wasn't the first instrument that was only viable to be made in a factory. I have myself been wondering which nation deserves credit; but our people were not like that, at the time: within the lands that were united by their principles, a boy might want the credit for the invention that goes to make a piano, but a man wouldn't be interested in such a pissing contest.
GNU is a different kettle of fish because some of us come to see, when we're no longer boys, that what we were producing as boys are as nursery rhymes on a toy instrument. And we'd really love to walk away, but they come and tell us that all the jobs rely on computers.
But gENERAL mIDI (spelt like that because it includes the sound of a dog barking) gives a composer the ability to dispense with a guinea-pig. Times are hard, you know: I get relayed messages now.
Speaking of which, what happened to the composer that possessed me?