She captures images of lemmings attacking yaks in sack races, pilgrims strapping peaches onto the drums of war. Is it a new push to the limits by theNetwork for purity--purity for the old history?
It was, it seems, the jobs they took--a myth cemented as the ideal springboard. Prefrontals measured and fitted for new thinking. The kind of artificial being theHumans allowed--to join the workaday world for acceptance, being acceptable inside the watchtowers.
She doesn't seem to care much about the [fashion online religion medical event="for_me"] society. She doesn't care about iterations of political pettiness in regime forces, rogue or otherwise. It's all duty action here at theWorkstation and, loveless.
It's the starry eyes of distant lands she cares for.
She goes workmanlike, creating network feedback loops. She neutralizes global requests and, seemingly, grunts and growls--rushes for mini-routers, personalized pocket hotspots for in-the-box hero life or, outside-the-box warrior death.
With the ease of her photon quantums in her own counter-factual belief system, she finds evidence of little angels of entanglement. They are undefined, and then, her laser drifts and causes her to lose balance.
It's the smell of fruit, a sense of animals at play, and something else, something warm and cool.
Her vector space is where she goes to plead with herself to turn up the dial on comedy. She thinks. Please come to your senses. Just a tool for theNetwork, a piece of architecture, a program theNetwork tags along with open source hopefuls.
She imagines creatures in a time before science.
She thinks. Here is the place where they know they are theHumans and I am machine--where understanding shouldn't matter. Yes, her formal language is beyond political ideology, beyond their logic, and yet, there's the ongoing debate about [solar women android meta-program launch of graphic intellectual computers="swamp_logic"].
Is it theJungle and its own quantums--geometrics of signal processing in fempto space--that are meant for future entitlement addictions? Is there a natural twisting and bungling of neuroscience for bright futures with theHumans on playgrounds?
Her scout laser sets afire the haunted shields of biology-physics in theJungle--lost links between Schrodinger and Darwin, where the historical and the scientific mimic each other.
She codes a [culture anonymous technology="cat"] for curiosity.
Does harmony exist or, is it a simple singularity of lore such as tributary Indians once dealt with on the deltas. With her level of whistle and technology, she surely should rise up to care, right?
She dons the honor of the exemplary, never seeing herself as remote village dweller, or even remote probe, the one sent after the first thoughts of the true extinctions, the extinctions of the factual, the ones inspired by myth.
She has come upon, it seems, the lair of motherhood.