Marsh updates, geekfest assets

ebooks/Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof _Tomash_ Drewniak/Idumea/Idumea - Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof _Tomash_ Drewniak.opf

@@ -1,8 +1,8 @@
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         <dc:title>Idumea</dc:title>
         <dc:creator opf:file-as="Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof &quot;Tomash&quot; Drewniak" opf:role="aut">Madison Rye Progress, Samantha Yule Fireheart, Krzysztof "Tomash" Drewniak</dc:creator>
         <dc:contributor opf:file-as="calibre" opf:role="bkp">calibre (6.24.0) [https://calibre-ebook.com]</dc:contributor>
@@ -10,9 +10,11 @@
         <dc:language>eng</dc:language>
         <dc:subject>Post-Self</dc:subject>
         <dc:subject>Skunks</dc:subject>
-        <meta name="calibre:timestamp" content="2024-07-03T01:37:47.597796+00:00"/>
+        <meta name="calibre:timestamp" content="2024-12-08T03:15:36+00:00"/>
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idumea/book.tex

@@ -25,6 +25,12 @@
   \vspace{2cm}
   \vfill
 }
+\makeatletter
+\newcommand*{\shifttext}[2]{%
+  \settowidth{\@tempdima}{#2}%
+  \makebox[\@tempdima]{\hspace*{#1}#2}%
+}
+\makeatother
 
 \begin{document}
   \frontmatter
@@ -79,7 +85,7 @@
 
   \null
   \vfill
-  \noindent\textbf{Note:} this book touches on the plots of The Post-Self Cycle, as well as that of \emph{Marsh}. It is still a standalone novel, but might benefit from having read those works first. They may all be found \emph{post-self.ink} as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser.
+  \noindent\textbf{Note:} this book takes place in the Post-Self setting and touches on the plots of The Post-Self Cycle, as well as that of \emph{Marsh}. It is still a standalone novel, but might benefit from having read those works first. They are available as paperbacks, ebooks, and free to read in the browser, and you may find them and much more at \emph{post-self.ink}.
   
   \vspace{1cm}
   
@@ -91,6 +97,12 @@
 
   \noindent The section with The Dog and The Rabbit Chaser on page \pageref{thedog1} is a collaboration with Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak.
 
+  \cleardoublepage
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+  \tableofcontents*
+  \null
+  \thispagestyle{empty}
+
   \newpage
   \singlespacing
 
@@ -139,6 +151,12 @@
 
   \vspace{0.7em}
 
+  {\DisplayFont\small The Instance Artist}
+
+  Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled
+
+  \vspace{0.7em}
+
   {\DisplayFont\small The Poet}
 
   Where It Watches the Slow Hours Progress
@@ -213,15 +231,13 @@
 
   \null
   \vfill
-  \begin{verse}
-People of Orphalese, \\
-\vin beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.\\
-\vin But you are life and you are the veil.\\
-\vin Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.\\
-\vin But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
+  \begin{quote}
+People of Orphalese, beauty is life when life unveils her holy face.
+But you are life and you are the veil. Beauty is eternity gazing at itself in a mirror.
+But you are eternity and you are the mirror.
 
 — Kahlil Gibran\label{prophet}
-\end{verse}
+\end{quote}
 
 %  And am I born to die?\\
 %  To lay this body down!\\
@@ -247,23 +263,24 @@ People of Orphalese, \\
   \Char{End Of Endings — 2403\par ×\par Rye — 2409}
   \markboth{Idumea}{Madison Rye Progress}
   
-  \chapter*{}
+  \addcontentsline{toc}{part}{Idumea}
+  \chapter*{×}
   \input{content/001}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× ×}
   \input{content/002}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{×\\× ×}
   \input{content/003}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× ×\\× ×}
   \input{content/004}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{×  ×\\×\\×  ×}
   \input{content/005}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×}
   \input{content/006}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× ×\\× × ×\\× ×}
   \input{content/007}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×\\× ×}
   \input{content/008}
-  \secdiv
+  \chapter*{× × ×\\× × ×\\× × ×}
   \input{content/009} \input{graphomania}\normalfont
 
   \newpage
@@ -274,7 +291,7 @@ People of Orphalese, \\
   \vfill
   
   \begin{center}
-  \Huge ×\label{x}
+  \noindent\Huge ×\label{x}
   \end{center}
 
   \vfill
@@ -282,6 +299,9 @@ People of Orphalese, \\
   \cleardoublepage
   
   \backmatter
+  \pagestyle{plain}
+
+  %\singlespacing
 
   \Char{Afterword}
 

idumea/content/001.tex

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@ Once upon a time there was--\label{pinocchio}
 
 No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time, there was a woman. She was not a fine woman, not a prize to adorn your arm or to set beside you at the head of a grand table, but a simple woman—the kind we pass on the street and imagine some plain home life for. She has a house, one might think. There are floors and walls and windows, there are tables and chairs and sofas and beds. There is a shower and a claw-footed bathtub. There is a creaky step—the eighth—that she always swears she will fix.
 
-We must imagine such a woman happy. We must imagine that she has friends and that she goes and drinks okay wine or maybe strange cocktails with them at the most absurd bars. We must imagine that she comes home, wobbling slightly with each step, with some other simple woman on her arm. We must imagine sharing their kisses, being happy together.
+We must imagine such a woman happy. We must imagine that she has friends and that she goes and drinks okay wine or maybe strange cocktails with them at the most absurd bars. We must imagine that she comes home, wobbling slightly with each step, with some other simple woman on her arm. We must imagine them sharing their kisses, being happy together.
 
 We must imagine these things because they are not true.
 
@@ -14,15 +14,15 @@ But that was three hundred years ago.
 
 \secdiv
 
-The Woman wanders the world some few times a month, stepping out into unknown nowheres and known somewheres to be seen, to be perceived as still existing. I do not know why, but it is important to her that someone witness her existing. It is a ritual she follows around like a little puppy: she will not know what will happen when she first does it properly, but she hopes it will be something wonderful.
+The Woman wanders the world some few times a month, stepping out into unknown nowheres and known somewheres to be seen, to be perceived as still existing. I do not know why, but it is important to her that someone witness her existing. It is a striving, an aiming for perfection, a ritual she follows around like a little puppy: she will not know what will happen when she first does it properly, but she hopes it will be something wonderful.
 
 The Woman has many rituals.
 
-She has rituals for eating food, for feeding the vessel in which she makes her home. There is no order in which she properly consumes food, she may consume it in any order, but there is an order in which she must appreciate food. You must understand: she must do this for everything she takes into her body. She must look at it before she touches it, must touch it before she smells it, must smell it before she eats it, and before all of these she must say a prayer.
+She has rituals for eating food, for feeding the vessel in which she makes her home. There is no order in which she properly consumes food, she may consume it in any order, but there is an order in which she must appreciate food. You must understand: she has to do this for everything she takes into her body. She must look at it before she touches it, must touch it before she smells it, must smell it before she eats it, and before all of these she must say a prayer.
 
 She has rituals for getting dressed, for clothing the form with which the world sees her. She must choose a garment that fits her body and one that fits her mood. You must understand: every time she gets dressed, there is a moment of scrying into her deepest self and estimating how it is that she feels that day. And should her mood change, should those feelings shift, she will find her clothing itchy and uncomfortable, and if her form becomes not what it once was, her clothing will become uncomfortably tight or perhaps she will disappear down into the folds of fabric.
 
-She has rituals for entering a room, for passing through a door. She must touch the door frame beside her shoulder, must brush her fingers against the wood or stone or metal or some more abstract substance. You must understand: she has to do this for every door she walks through, and for this reason, there is a door in the house where she lives that was built by a friend of Her Friend that leads directly out into a city. She opens the closet door and steps out onto a concrete sidewalk lined with trees and passers by, where the sun shines bright and the air burns cold in her nostrils and the dry leaves skitter anxiously about her feet. As she steps out, she can brush her hand to the door jamb.
+She has rituals for entering a room, for passing through a door. She must touch the door frame beside her shoulder, must brush her fingers against the wood or stone or metal or some more abstract substance. You must understand: she has to do this for every door she walks through, and for this reason, there is a door in the house where she lives that was built by a friend of Her Friend that leads directly out into a city. She opens the closet door and steps out onto a concrete sidewalk lined with trees and passers-by, where the sun shines bright and the air burns cold in her nostrils and the dry leaves skitter anxiously about her feet. As she steps out, she can brush her hand to the door jamb.
 
 I do not know where these rituals come from, and perhaps some of my readers will immediately say, ``OCD? Does The Woman have obsessive compulsive disorder?''
 
@@ -88,7 +88,7 @@ And after that, they would go to the rest of the party at the home of the tenth
 
 I think you would like to see these parties, friends. I think that they would not be quite as you would expect, of course. They are not the kinds of birthday parties that you or I might have. Where we might have cakes and singing and the blowing out of candles, they would gather together over simple foods—so many from the tenth stanza had such sensitive tastes, and it was so easy to make sure that everyone could eat everything!—and often they would simply sit silent. They would sit there, quiet, but present in each other's company.
 
-They would not seem to be parties like you and I have because this was not all that different from what might happen once or twice a month at the house in which the tenth stanza all lived. While each lived their own lives, occasionally, their schedules would coincide and they would all sit down together at the giant oak table together and eat, mostly in silence.
+They would not seem to be parties like you and I have perhaps because this was not all that different from what might happen once or twice a month at the house in which the tenth stanza all lived. While each lived their own lives, occasionally, their schedules would coincide and they would all sit down together at the giant oak table together and eat, mostly in silence.
 
 Some of them shared rooms, you see, but mostly, they kept to themselves. They lived together in that big Gothic house plopped right down in the middle of a prairie of green grass and yellow dandelions, out where the stoop stepped down directly into the field, but I say `lived together' in a very mechanical sense. They never shared meals intentionally, nor even spoke all that often to each other. It is just that, sometimes, they would all find themselves at table at the same time!
 

idumea/content/002.tex

@@ -2,15 +2,15 @@ The Woman decided to go walking one day. Perhaps she was driven by restlessness.
 
 Either way, she was feeling good and she was feeling stable and she was feeling feline, so she found herself a nice set of slacks to wear over her legs, ones that looped up over the base of her tail in such a way that the same would be just as possible with a skunk's tail, and yet which would not fall down for those moments when she did not have a tail.
 
-She found herself a nice shirt that felt good on the fur and which would not look too weird if she poofed out into a skunk. It was not her favorite shirt, I am sure, otherwise maybe she would wear it every day, but it was good enough. It had the word `fiend' scribbled across it in angular, glitchy graffiti, and The Woman is absolutely allowed to feel like a fiend some days.
+She found herself a nice shirt that felt good on the fur and which would not look too weird if she poofed out into a skunk. It was not her favorite shirt, I am sure, otherwise maybe she would wear it every day, but she liked it well enough. It had the word `fiend' scribbled across it in angular, glitchy graffiti, and The Woman is absolutely allowed to feel like a fiend some days.
 
-Thus clothed, The Woman stood for a while in front of the mirror and admired herself. She felt good. She felt good, reader! It was not often that she felt more than just okay. Because even with all that I wrote about before, her life was not bad. It was an okay life. She liked this life in her own way. Her thoughts on unbecoming were not thoughts on suicide, I do not think.
+Thus gussied, The Woman stood for a while in front of the mirror and admired herself. She felt good. She felt good, reader! It was not often that she felt more than just okay. Because even with all that I wrote about before, her life was not bad. It was an okay life. She liked this life in her own way. Her thoughts on unbecoming were not thoughts on suicide, I do not think.
 
 She stood before the mirror and primped for a moment, adjusting the way her shirt sat and fluffing out her slacks to see how they might fit with a thicker coat. She combed her claws through her short fur to straighten out some mussed-up spots and ensured that her whiskers were all neat and in those rows that cats have that she always found fascinating.
 
 The trip to the city was as it ever was. She said to herself a little prayer and opened the door to her closet. Taking a deep breath, she stepped through, and as she did so, she brushed her fingertips against the jamb as ever, against some imagined \emph{mezuzah,} and today it felt right enough that she stepped lively out onto the city streets, out where the leaves skittered anxiously around her footpaws in the faint February breeze.
 
-Stuffing her paws into her pockets, she made her way down the street where her entrance was located to the main drag. The city was on the small end—more large town than full on city—and so it was still the type of place to have a main drag, a street built for cars that it does not actually have, with wide sidewalks paved in brick and a trolley that ran down the middle.
+Stuffing her paws into her pockets, she made her way down the street on which her entrance was located to the main drag. The city was on the small end—more large town than full on city—and so it was still the type of place to have a main drag, a street built for cars that it does not actually have, with wide sidewalks paved in brick and a trolley that ran down the middle.
 
 The Woman waited for the next trolley car to come and stepped aboard, tucking her tail down and around her leg as she held onto one of the railings—she never sat, and never could tell you why—to ride it for three stops. This was part of the ritual. Even when the car was busy and she was not feeling so good, there was a part of her that was happy that she got to stand on this trolley and hold onto this railing and feel this rattle-buzz of the wheels rolling along the track through her feet or paws. It was not even particularly pleasant for her, I think, but it \emph{was} fulfilling.
 
@@ -26,7 +26,7 @@ The Woman loved a good mocha—even I love a good mocha!—and so she was plenty
 
 That day, The Woman was here because Her Friend had asked to meet up.
 
-This was not how this usually went, you understand. Usually, The Woman was upset and asked for Her Friend to visit her, or perhaps she was out anyway and simply desired company on this errand or that, a friend for dinner or coffee or a walk along the shops to peruse the latest trends in fashion or oneirotecture or sensework. It had ever been the case that The Woman contacted Her Friend, and not the other way around.
+This was not how this usually went, you understand. Usually, The Woman was upset and asked for Her Friend to visit her, or perhaps she was out anyway and simply desired company on this errand or that, a friend for dinner or coffee or a walk along the shops to peruse the latest trends in fashion or oneirotecture or sensework. It was so often the case that The Woman contacted Her Friend, and not the other way around.
 
 Her Friend was always so stable, always so ready to speak and so ready to listen. Ey was the one who had long ago gotten in touch with her, with the whole of the tenth stanza, and started to talk to them and listen to what they had to say. Not the only one, no, but it was important to The Woman that Her Friend had sought her out, had cared enough to seek her out.
 
@@ -54,7 +54,7 @@ Her Friend leaned forward, resting eir arms on the edge of the table. ``Well, I
 
 She laughed. ``Of course, my dear. You are my best.''
 
-Her Friend's smile grew more earnest. ``Thank you. That feels better to hear than I expected.''
+Her Friend's smile grew yet more earnest. ``Thank you. That feels better to hear than I expected.''
 
 ``So, tell me of your moods, then. Tell me why you were uncomfortable and felt the need to speak quietly.''
 
@@ -90,7 +90,7 @@ Her Friend hesitated. ``Yes,'' ey said carefully. ``I said something to In Dream
 
 The Woman's breath caught in her throat.
 
-When I tell you that breath is important even sys-side, you must understand all of the different roles that it plays. We are built to breathe, you and I, and so is everyone else. We can turn that off, sure, but the vast majority of cladists find such uncomfortable. Not Breathing still feels like holding one's breath, yes? Even without the rising CO2 levels in our blood—blood that we must only imagine that we have—it is uncomfortable to feel like one is holding one's breath for too long.
+When I tell you that breath is important even sys-side, you must understand all of the different roles that it plays. We are built to breathe, you and I, and so is everyone else. We can turn that off, sure, but the vast majority of cladists find such uncomfortable. Not breathing still feels like holding one's breath, yes? Even without the rising CO\textsubscript{2} levels in our blood—blood that we must only imagine that we have—it is uncomfortable to feel like one is holding one's breath for too long.
 
 We use breath for speaking, and even though I am not speaking to you right now, I am still breathing. I still feel the warmth of my breath against my paw as it brushes across the page with each line of text. We use breath for gasping, for sighing, for even snoring!
 
@@ -102,7 +102,7 @@ The tenth had left two empty chairs and two full plates at meals until three yea
 
 Now they left three.
 
-Her Friend, either knowing or seeing this, averted eir eyes, casting eir gaze instead out to the street. ``I am sorry, my dear. I was indeed feeling grief and loss over Should We Forget. No Longer Myself as well, yes, and Beckoning and more, but the one I knew best was Should We Forget. I am sorry.''
+Her Friend, either knowing or seeing this, averted eir eyes, casting eir gaze instead out to the street. ``I am sorry, my dear. I was indeed feeling grief and loss over Should We Forget. No Longer Myself as well, yes, and Beckoning and Hammersmith and more, but the one I knew best was Should We Forget. I am sorry.''
 
 The Woman let her breath out most carefully, not letting it shake, not letting her lip quiver. ``I understand, yes. You knew her as well.''
 
@@ -110,11 +110,11 @@ The Woman let her breath out most carefully, not letting it shake, not letting h
 
 She bowed. ``I would appreciate that, yes.''
 
-``Of course, my dear,'' Her Friend said, smiling, nodding eir acknowledgement. ``The fallout of this conversation with In Dreams was that she told me that perhaps I ought to schedule a session, either with her or In Memory, or, failing that, someone outside the clade.''
+``Of course,'' Her Friend said, smiling, nodding eir acknowledgement. ``The fallout of this conversation with In Dreams was that she told me that perhaps I ought to schedule a session, either with her or In Memory, or, failing that, someone outside the clade.''
 
 ``Is that what you wound up doing?''
 
-Ey shook eir head. ``I did not need that, my dear. I did not need to be told to go to therapy. I did not want to schedule an appointment.'' Ey finally took a sip of eir mocha, but this seemed to be less about the coffee than an opportunity to gather eir wits. ``I just wanted a friend, honestly. I just wanted a hug—no, I understand, perhaps not your thing, but I must be earnest, yes? Instead, I got told to find a way to \emph{fix} this. Fix grief. Fix a very real pain.''
+Ey shook eir head. ``I did not need that, my dear. I did not need to be told to go to therapy. I did not want to schedule an appointment.'' Ey finally took a sip of eir mocha, but this seemed to be less about the coffee than an opportunity to gather eir thoughts. ``I just wanted a friend, honestly. I just wanted a hug—no, I understand, perhaps not your thing, but I must be earnest, yes? Instead, I got told to find a way to \emph{fix} this. Fix grief. Fix a very real pain.''
 
 The Woman's features softened and, steeling herself for the touch, she reached across the table to pat the back of Her Friend's paw. ``I understand, No Hesitation. Would that I could offer more. I am happy to be a friend, though; I have no interest in telling you to go to therapy.''
 
@@ -138,7 +138,7 @@ The Woman shrugged.
 
 ``I see,'' she said, buying herself a moment to think by sipping her mocha. Ah, but she was a cat, yes? A panther? Perhaps you can imagine this with lapping tongue, the way a cat's tongue curls back and scoops up drink, drawing it up into their mouth. Or perhaps she is the type who has leaned into another aesthetic, the type who can chew with her mouth closed. Idle distractions, even for your humble narrator. ``Then yes, there is joy in it. There is joy in those memories, is there not? One takes a moment of stillness\ldots{}''
 
-After a long few seconds, Her Friend tilted eir head. ``Yes?''
+After a long few seconds of silence, Her Friend tilted eir head. ``Yes?''
 
 ``Ah, a fleeting thought. One takes a moment of stillness and parks in that quiet joy, even if it is one of separation.''
 
@@ -160,13 +160,13 @@ The Woman rode the high of lovely friendship for days after that coffee date. Fo
 
 Whenever The Woman felt this way, she would wander around the house and clean. She would take on extra cooking duties and make extra desserts for her cocladists and their friends. She would stay in one form for far longer than was her usual, and remained now a panther. She would go for walks around the field, treating the house itself as a signpost at the center of widening circles. She would imagine that those circles might some day spread out across the entire world, never mind the varied infinities housed within the field itself. It was a thing to which she could give herself as she asked her high-minded questions: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?\label{rilke-circles}
 
-These words of Rilke's would dance unblushing through her mind, linking arms on one side with the words of Dickinson which ever twined around those of her clade—\emph{If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam, And noon should burn, As it has usual done\ldots{}}—and on the other with the lingering lines of the Ode that made up the names of her clade. ``I remember the rattle of dry grass,'' she would explain to the bees as they buzzed in friendship around her ankles. ``I remember the names of all things and forget them only when I wake.''
+These words of Rilke's would dance unblushing\label{darius} through her mind, linking arms on one side with the words of Dickinson which ever twined around those of her clade—\emph{If I should die, And you should live, And time should gurgle on, And morn should beam, And noon should burn, As it has usual done\ldots{}}—and on the other with the lingering lines of the Ode that made up the names of her clade. ``I remember the rattle of dry grass,'' she would explain to the bees as they buzzed in friendship around her ankles. ``I remember the names of all things and forget them only when I wake.''
 
 And so she would cook her meals and walk in widening circles around this primordial tower that was her home, perhaps circling around God, though she did not care one way or the other if there was that of God in everything.
 
 These were her joys to go along with the needs of ritual, of brushing her fingers along imagined \emph{mezuzot.} To walk was her ritual, to spiral outward from her home in the warmth of sunlight and the dance of bees and the tickling of dandelions against her ankles was to cast that ritual in the light of pleasure.
 
-I have never been quite so fond of walking, myself, kind readers. There is meditation in it, I am told. I am told there is the simple pleasure of the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-ness of it. But friends, I am tired most of the time. I am old and I am tired and my pleasure lies in stillness and quiet. I love my mochas and I love sitting down before the page with pen in paw to put to paper, and I love bathing in story.
+I have never been quite so fond of walking, myself, kind readers. There is meditation in it, I am told. I am told there is the simple pleasure of the one-foot-in-front-of-the-other-ness of it. But friends, I am tired most of the time. I am old and I am tired and my pleasure lies in stillness and quiet. I love my mochas and I love sitting down before the page with pen in paw to put to paper and I love bathing in story.
 
 I say so often that stepping away from such a task is still writing. When I sit on the patio in front of our little bundle of townhouses and look out at the shared lawn, or when I step—\emph{stepped,} for it is no longer here—out to the shortgrass prairie of my cocladist, to sit beside a cairn of stones or share a meal, that is still writing! Your narrator has written these words, this story, a hundred, a thousand times within her head. That is my joy, and graphomania my compulsion.
 
@@ -174,4 +174,4 @@ When The Woman overflows, she becomes ever more herself. She is—my attentive r
 
 My astute readers will surely have picked up by now that I am riding that edge here, in these words.
 
-But, ah! This story is not about me. I am not quite overflowing yet, and The Woman most certainly is not. She is reveling in the warmth of sunlight and the dance of bees and the tickling of dandelions against her ankles and the purringly soft touch of friendship.
+But, ah–! This story is not about me. I am not quite overflowing yet, and The Woman most certainly is not. She is reveling in the warmth of sunlight and the dance of bees and the tickling of dandelions against her ankles and the purringly soft touch of friendship.

idumea/content/003.tex

@@ -4,11 +4,11 @@ The Woman did all that she could to hang onto joy whenever it slipped into her l
 
 But even like me with my little tasty baked treats, The Woman's joy is parceled out bit by bit to herself and her cocladists and, just like my little plates of carrot cake—I \emph{do} love a good carrot cake!—there is never an infinite amount, much as she might wish, nor, it always seems, quite enough.
 
-She hung onto joy and baked her goodies and went for her walks and awaited, with some trepidation, the regularly scheduled therapy, because I think she knew that, being confronted with recounting emotions of the past or discussing emotions to come, her grasp on joy would be tested. Once every two weeks, unless she was overflowing, unless she was in pain, unless she simply could not bring herself to go, The Woman had an appointment for therapy, and she knew there was good to be had in it, for it had proven its use time and again over the years, and yet it was a time for threshing, for harrowing. It was a time for throwing herself at the Work at one level of remove and watching the chaff fall away and the fruits of her labor lay exposed. It was a time for dragging the implements of tools dialectical and behaviors cognitive through the dirt of her to break up into clods her varied neuroses.
+She hung onto joy and baked her goodies and went for her walks and awaited, with some trepidation, her regularly scheduled therapy, because I think she knew that, being confronted with recounting emotions of the past or discussing emotions to come, her grasp on joy would be tested. Once every two weeks, unless she was overflowing, unless she was in pain, unless she simply could not bring herself to go, The Woman had an appointment for therapy, and she knew there was good to be had in it, for it had proven its use time and again over the years, and yet it was a time for threshing, for harrowing. It was a time for throwing herself at the Work at one level of remove and watching the chaff fall away and the fruits of her labor lay exposed. It was a time for dragging the implements of tools dialectical and behaviors cognitive through the dirt of her to break up into clods her varied neuroses.
 
 But as it goes, as it always goes, the morsels of joy meted gladly out soon began to run dry and the sense of happiness that she felt waned, and those truly \emph{good} days began to fade once more into merely okay.
 
-It was the day of her appointment that The Woman sat up in her bed, bleary-eyed, and looked around her, around her plain and simple room with her plain and simple sheets and plain and simple clothes folded neatly atop a plain and simple chair, ready for wear, and at last sighed, wondering, \emph{Where is it that my joy has gone? Where has it gone?}
+It was the day of her appointment that The Woman sat up in her bed, bleary-eyed, and looked around her, around her plain and simple room with her plain and simple sheets and plain and simple clothes folded neatly atop a plain and simple chair, ready for wear, and at last sighed, wondering, \emph{Where is it that my joy has gone? Where has it gone?}\label{simmons}
 
 Today was therapy, and her joy was gone.
 
@@ -18,13 +18,13 @@ In fact, I would say that there was perhaps even a sort of protectiveness. I thi
 
 And so it was that The Woman, today a human, today, as ever, dressed comfortably, made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich with the crusts cut off and poured herself a glass of soy milk and walked out into the field outside her house. She had to balance her sandwich atop her drink in order to complete the ritual of passing through the front door, but she had done this countless times before.
 
-The table and chairs sat nearly a mile out from the tenth stanza's house, sprouting senselessly from the grass as easy and carefree as yet more dandelions. A simple square table with two chairs set before adjacent sides so that she need not look Her Therapist in the eye, so that they might each stare out into some similar distance, so that they may feel companionship, though The Woman never could explain how that worked.
+The table and chairs sat nearly a mile out from the tenth stanza's house, sprouting senselessly from the grass as easy and carefree as yet more dandelions. A simple square table with two chairs set before adjacent sides so that she need not look Her Therapist in the eye if she did not want to, so that they might each stare out into some similar distance, so that they may feel companionship, though The Woman never could explain how that worked.
 
-And so The Woman, today a human, walked the mile to the table and sat down her glass of soy milk and began to eat her sandwich. When, at last, there were only two bites left and the glass was half empty, she sent a delicate ping to Her Therapist, who appeared beside the table, paws folded and kind smile on her face. The visage of a skunk lasted no longer than a second before, with a rapid fork, a human stood before her—for Her Therapist endeavored always to mirror her species lest she influence The Woman's own, though she leaned far harder into gender-play, and one would be hard pressed to not also see her as a young man—and bowed, then pulled out the chair beside her and sat down.
+And so The Woman, today a human, walked the mile to the table and sat down with her glass of soy milk and began to eat her sandwich. When, at last, there were only two bites left and the glass was half empty, she sent a delicate ping to Her Therapist, who appeared beside the table, paws folded and kind smile on her face. The visage of a skunk lasted no longer than a second before, with a rapid fork, a human stood before her—for Her Therapist endeavored always to mirror her species lest she influence The Woman's own, though she leaned far harder into gender-play, and one would be hard pressed to not also see her as a young man—and bowed, then pulled out the chair beside her and sat down.
 
 ``I will be finished in a moment, Ever Dream,'' The Woman said just as she did every session. ``Just a few bites left.''
 
-``Of course, End Of Endings,'' Her Therapist echoed in the time-honored ritual. ``Please take your time.''
+``Of course, End Of Endings,'' Her Therapist echoed in the time-honored ritual. ``Please, take your time.''
 
 The Woman gave a hint of a bow and enjoyed the last two bites of her sandwich as well as she was able, following each with a sip of soy milk, all while Her Therapist made herself comfortable, sitting back in her chair and gazing out over the field of grass and dandelions, a half-smile on her face.
 
@@ -58,7 +58,7 @@ After therapy, after Her Therapist had left and the chairs had been set beneath
 
 There was a sense of falling-short within her, a sense of not meeting expectations. Perhaps it was a sense of shame that she had been so keen to hide this idea that she had happened upon, to keep the idea of the end of joy to herself. Perhaps it was because she had so easily let herself be talked out of sharing earnestly that which she would most liked to have discussed. Perhaps it was because—and here I am using words she herself would use—it was because she was a coward. Perhaps, when confronted with something that she believed to be worth talking about, to have such stopped before she could do so took the wind out of her sails, and she was too cowardly to do anything but let that happen. So many perhapses.
 
-It was with these thoughts and these feelings filling her mind to overfull that The Woman walked back to the house, back up the stairs to the porch, back through the door with a brush of the fingers, back up the staircase, back to her room where she stripped and climbed back into bed.
+It was with these thoughts and these feelings filling her mind to overfull that The Woman walked back to the house, back up the stairs to the porch, back through the door with a brush of fingers on jamb, back up the staircase, back to her room where she stripped and climbed back into bed.
 
 There she slept, and perhaps there she dreamed.
 

idumea/content/004.tex

@@ -4,7 +4,7 @@ What \emph{was} her lot in life? What was \emph{a} lot in life? Was she limited
 
 She knew where they came from.
 
-Her lot in life had at one point been to teach, to revel in the joy of acting and directing and sets and props and lights and sound and audience and her lovely, loving students who ached for nothing more than to be seen, to receive some perhaps hug from this person who they trusted and yet who could not give them such for fear of pandemic and regulation in equal measure, to receive some perhaps affection from their cohort and yet which their beloved teacher stopped them for fear of pandemic and regulation in unequal measure.
+Her lot in life had at one point been to teach, to revel in the joy of acting and directing and sets and props and lights and sound and audience and her lovely, loving students who ached for nothing more than to be seen, to receive some perhaps hug from this person who they trusted and yet who could not give them such for fear of pandemic and regulation in equal measure, to receive some perhaps affection from their cohort and yet which their beloved teacher stopped them—was required to stop them—for fear of pandemic and regulation in unequal measure.
 
 She knew the helplessness of having her agency ripped from her. She knew the feeling of being seen by something larger than mere personhood, a thing which saw her and said, ``this here is a wretched and despicable thing,'' and then took her from the world. And then her lot in life was to campaign, for though she still taught on occasion, still directed, she found she could not act as she wished, and still she had to refrain from hugging for fear of the discomfort of touch.
 
@@ -58,9 +58,9 @@ The Woman furrowed her brow. ``Perhaps, yes. I was thinking about it during the
 
 ``Can you tell me about that?'' Ey smiled, adding, ``Sorry. I try to stay away from therapeutic language in our discussions, but habits are habits. I really do just want to hear.''
 
-``I trust you, No Hesitation.'' The Woman brushed the longer fur of her mane out her eyes as she pieced together her words. ``It felt like a thing to bear within me. I\ldots well, I had considered sharing it, as well, but then Ever Dream requested that I stop. I told her of our meeting and the joy and was going to mention this sharing of joy, but I mentioned our conversation and she requested that I stop. She said that she would like to hear about it from you herself rather than from me.''
+``I trust you, No Hesitation.'' The Woman brushed the longer fur of her mane out her eyes as she pieced together her words. ``It felt like a thing to bear within me. I\ldots well, I had considered sharing it, as well, but then Ever Dream requested that I stop. I told her of our meeting and the joy and was going to mention this sharing of joy, but I mentioned our conversation and she stopped me. She said that she would like to hear about it from you herself rather than from me.''
 
-Her Friend sighed. ``She did not need to. I understand why, but she did not need to. I believe that I am your friend before I am her cocladist, but I do not think that she would agree with that.''
+Her Friend sighed. ``She did not need to maintain confidentiality. I understand why, but she did not need to. I believe that I am your friend before I am her cocladist, but I do not think that she would agree with that.''
 
 The Woman sat back in her seat, mocha clutched in her paws. ``Alright. I believe you on that, too.''
 
@@ -80,11 +80,11 @@ The Woman and Her Friend set to work, then, discussing what she could do, what s
 
 \secdiv
 
-The Woman and Her Friend decided that her path forward would be one of intent and deliberate action. After all, that is how our System works, yes? We intend to be wearing a piece of clothing we like and we are. We intend to step from this sim to that, and we do. We intend to fork and, lo! There beside us stands another instance of ourself! They are a whole new us! They can live their own life, going their own separate way and making their own choices, or perhaps they can go out to do some task or another or visit some friend for coffee and then quit, merging themself back down into us.
+The Woman and Her Friend decided that her path forward would be one of intent and deliberate action. After all, that is how our System works, yes? We intend to be wearing a piece of clothing we like and we are. We intend to step from this sim to that, and we do. We intend to fork and, lo! There beside us stands another instance of ourself! They are a whole new us! They can live their own life, going their own separate way and making their own choices, or perhaps they can go out to do some task or another or visit some friend for coffee and then quit, merging themself—along with all of their memories—back down into us.
 
 They decided on a list of five things that she should try.
 
-Why five, you ask? Well, I honestly do not know! Perhaps because of the five fingers we have on each paw. Perhaps it is because we have two arms, two legs, and a head protruding from our trunk. Or perhaps it has to do with the stars. Starfish? Little wandering doodles to replace the tittles above our 'i's and jots above our 'j's? Each an iota, a mote, a symbol to our future selves, a note for later. Asterisms and asterisks.
+Why five, you ask? Well, I honestly do not know! Perhaps because of the five fingers we have on each paw. Perhaps it is because we have two arms, two legs, and a head protruding from our trunk. Or perhaps it has to do with the stars. Starfish? Little wandering doodles to replace the tittles above our `i's and jots above our `j's? Each an iota, a mote, a symbol to our future selves, a note for later. Asterisms and asterisks. Footnotes of self.
 
 Ah, but I digress. The Woman and her friend chose a list of five things that she would try—\emph{would,} yes, for \emph{should,} you see, is a value judgment—in order to seek joy in small ways or in small places. The Woman knew that it would be hard. She knew that she would have to bundle up all of her energy and all of her patience with herself and all of her drive and use that to let her last through these explorations of joy.
 
@@ -140,15 +140,15 @@ The Woman tamped down the burgeoning sense of overstimulation and bowed. ``Yes.
 
 ``Lovely lovely lovely. Please, please come in and lay down. I do so love grooming you and yours.''
 
-And so The Woman went inside and lay down and let The Aesthetician work through her mane and over her tail and through all the little nooks and crannies around her neck and limbs. All the while, they chatted quietly—for an aesthetician such as this reads their clients well and knew how to modulate their attitude that they not overwhelm someone such as The Woman. The brushing was calm and peaceful and felt lovely and delightful in all those ways that she appreciated when she was able to do it herself, and yet it came with a sense of companionship and camaraderie that left her feeling fulfilled and, yes, joyful. Joyful! The Woman and The Aesthetician talked and talked, and The Woman spoke more freely to her than she ever did to Her Therapist and, without being able to explain just how, she knew that the words she spoke would be kept in just as close a confidence.
+And so The Woman went inside and lay down and let The Aesthetician work through her mane and over her tail and through all the little nooks and crannies around her neck and limbs. All the while, they chatted quietly—for an aesthetician such as this reads their clients well and knew how to modulate their attitude that they not overwhelm someone such as The Woman. The brushing was calm and peaceful and felt lovely and delightful in all those ways that she appreciated when she was able to do it herself, and yet it came with a sense of companionship and camaraderie that left her feeling fulfilled and, yes, joyful. Joyful! The Woman and The Aesthetician talked and talked, and The Woman spoke more freely to her than ever she did to Her Therapist and, without being able to explain just how, she knew that the words she spoke would be kept in just as close a confidence.
 
 The Woman left refreshed, renewed, reinvigorated, and with this eye she set to looking into the escalation that she promised Her Friend.
 
-We have seen such success already, have we not? We have seen the ways in which The Woman—she who does not have many friends—enjoys the touch of hugs or a paw rested atop hers. It is a sometimes food, yes? But then, it is for all of us. I do not always want to be hugged or touched—I do not now, here on the edge of overflow—and there are forms of touch I do not like at all! The woman here is considering intimacy, yes? Sensuality and sexuality? Those are things that I do not like. I like \emph{that} they exist, I am glad that they do, and I even like writing about them—see, here! I am even about to do so!—but they are things that I hold at a distance from myself.
+We have seen such success already, have we not? We have seen the ways in which The Woman—she who does not have many friends—enjoys the touch of hugs or a paw rested atop hers. It is a sometimes food, yes? But then, it is for all of us. I do not always want to be hugged or touched—I do not now, here on the edge of overflow—and there are forms of touch I do not like at all! The Woman here is considering intimacy, yes? Sensuality and sexuality? Those are things that I do not like. I like \emph{that} they exist, I am glad that they do, and I even like writing about them—see, here! I am even about to do so!—but they are things that I hold at a distance from myself.
 
 Ah, but my words are wandering. This touch, even the grooming, is a sometimes food for The Woman, and yet she had held herself at a distance from such for who knows what reason. I do not think she knew, herself, my friends, for she is as we all are: she is a woman who craves touch and deserves touch and does not, on an intellectual level, wish that she were \emph{not} touched. It is emotional, perhaps, or psychic, or spiritual, or on some level other than the intellectual that the desire to touch and be touched, or the physical need for fulfillment, is difficult for her.
 
-And thus The Woman began her slow climb up the ladder of escalation. She met once more with Her Friend and asked, kindly, perhaps a bit nervously, for a hug and for the chance to hold hands and paws—for she was a human that day, and Her Friend a skunk as ever—and it took something of a force of will to let such touch linger, it was a pleasant sensation and a pleasant conversation that followed, an exploration—between friends, for Her Friend was always careful to specifically \emph{not} be The Woman's therapist—of meanings and boundaries.
+And thus The Woman began her slow climb up the ladder of escalation. She met once more with Her Friend and asked, kindly, perhaps a bit nervously, for a hug and for the chance to hold hands and paws—for she was a human that day, and Her Friend a skunk as ever—and it took something of a force of will to let such touch linger. It was a pleasant sensation and a pleasant conversation that followed, an exploration—between friends, for Her Friend was always careful to specifically \emph{not} be The Woman's therapist—of meanings and boundaries.
 
 And so it was that The Woman sought out those who she knew, those who might have some affection for her beyond simple conversational friendship, those who had been sensual of old, partners and almost-partners from centuries ago who remained still on the System. She thought back through the years and years and years, and Her Lover was the one who leapt most readily to mind.
 
@@ -160,11 +160,11 @@ The response was immediate. \emph{``End Of Endings! Oh my god! You have no idea
 
 There was a long moment silence on the other end of the connection, though the sense of it lingering remained. \emph{``I am sorry, love,''} Her Lover said at last. \emph{``I haven't forgotten you, though, or my fondness, so yeah, I'd love to reconnect.''}
 
-If my more recently uploaded friends feel some sense of curiosity about how it is that someone with whom one has let contact language for decades might still feel fondness after so long, or how one might not forget, you must remember that those who live sys-side remain functionally immortal. If one leans into such a fact, then decades spent away may as well be a blink of an eye, yes? If one leans into the everlasting memory with which we are blessed or cursed or which is simply bestowed upon us without further thought, then a past lover away from whom one has simply drifted amicably is just as easily recalled.
+If my more recently uploaded friends feel some sense of curiosity about how it is that someone with whom one has let contact languish for decades might still feel fondness after so long, or how one might not forget, you must remember that those who live sys-side remain functionally immortal. If one leans into such a fact, then decades spent away may as well be a blink of an eye, yes? If one leans into the everlasting memory with which we are blessed or cursed or which is simply bestowed upon us without further thought, then a past lover away from whom one has simply drifted amicably is just as easily recalled.
 
-We are very old, you see. Why, at this point, I am 323 years old! And The Woman is of the same clade, so the same is naturally true of her—if she lives still, that is. To us, we remember being mortal as only some distant thing from so long ago. We have our identity as those who may live life slowly. Things may still come at us quickly, yes, but we can deal with them in parallel, can we not? I could get a note from my dear up-tree stating that it is lonely or bored or simply hungry and wants someone to eat with, and so I may continue writing while joining em in this simple pleasure. I did that just earlier today, when she mentioned wanting to eat something good, some comforting food she learned from eir own friend, so that good memories may also be cherished. When I did join it for a simple meal of \emph{ciorbă de praz} and \emph{ardei umpluți}—for you see, its friend is Romanian and taught em so many of the dishes that she now loves—I sat and listened and remembered and talked and ate and perhaps also fretted over stepping away from work, but I allowed myself to take some slowness, too. Even I am allowed such things, yes? Even the terminally busy may let one self stay busy while the other comforts and is comforted by those they are close to.
+We are very old, you see. Why, at this point, I am 323 years old! And The Woman is of the same clade, so the same is naturally true of her—if she lives still, that is. To us, we remember being mortal as only some distant thing from so long ago. We have our identity as those who may live life slowly. Things may still come at us quickly, yes, but we can deal with them in parallel, can we not? I could get a note from my beloved up-tree stating that it is lonely or bored or simply hungry and wants someone to eat with, and so I may continue writing while joining em in this simple pleasure. I did that just earlier today, when she mentioned wanting to eat something good, some comforting food she learned from eir own friend, so that good memories may also be cherished. When I did join it for a simple meal of \emph{ciorbă de praz} and \emph{ardei umpluți}—for you see, its friend is Romanian and taught em so many of the dishes that she now loves—I sat and listened and remembered and talked and ate and perhaps also fretted over stepping away from work, but I allowed myself to take some slowness, too. Even I am allowed such things, yes? Even the terminally busy may let one self stay busy while the other comforts and is comforted by those they are close to.
 
-Ah, dear readers, I am sorry that I cannot keep my thoughts from wandering an letting my pen trail after them like an eager puppy—yes, just like The Woman's rituals—and that such interrupts the story I am trying to tell!
+Ah, dear readers, I am sorry that I cannot keep my thoughts from wandering and letting my pen trail after them like an eager puppy—yes, just like The Woman's rituals—and that such interrupts the story I am trying to tell!
 
 All of this to say that The Woman and Her Lover spent some years together back in the first century of the System, back after secession but before she had fallen into her gentle stasis, before the goal of processing trauma was subsumed by the trauma itself. They had met—and you will not believe this, friends!—they had met at the very same cafe where The Woman and Her Friend met only days before. They had stumbled across each other in the most romantic way possible: by ordering the same coffees at the counter. They both asked for the same mocha with extra whipped cream, gave each other a strange look, and then fell into laughter.
 
@@ -178,7 +178,7 @@ My gentle readers, I would love to tell you that they met up at that selfsame ca
 
 A train! There are many things on Lagrange, this shared dream in which we live, and many things which have been perfected all the way down to their imperfections. When you collect so many minds all in one place and tell them to live their best and to live it forever, why, they will perfect precisely the things they love most and, my friends, I am sure I do not need to tell you that some people \emph{love} trains.
 
-As was their wont in decades passed, The Woman met Her Lover onboard rather than on the platform. It was their habit for Her Lover to step aboard the train one stop after The Woman did, and for them to both hunt for a seat—no matter how empty the train was; for even if it was totally empty, the \emph{perfect} seat is of the utmost importance—and to meet in the aisle. You see, when your relationship has its beginning in a chance meeting, sometimes it feels nice to seek out those chance meetings again, yes? What better way to do so than on so linear a structure as a train? It certainly reduces the possibilities of near misses!
+As was their wont in decades past, The Woman met Her Lover onboard rather than on the platform. It was their habit for Her Lover to step aboard the train one stop after The Woman did, and for them to both hunt for a seat—no matter how empty the train was; for even if it was totally empty, the \emph{perfect} seat is of the utmost importance—and to meet in the aisle. You see, when your relationship has its beginning in a chance meeting, sometimes it feels nice to seek out those chance meetings again, yes? What better way to do so than on so linear a structure as a train? It certainly reduces the possibilities of near misses!
 
 Somewhere near the front of the train, they met, and here they felt that welcome surprise. The ``chance meeting'' may have been deliberately constructed, and yet it was not without a sense of newness. The Woman was a familiar panther that day and Her Lover a human as always, but The Woman, who had been so focused on her stasis until now, realized at once that she \emph{had} changed over the years. Slowly, to be sure, and perhaps not in the ways that she wished, but she had changed. Today, she wore a silver-gray wrap of a shirt, all shot through with purple threads, and a gray-silver wrap of Thai fisherman's pants, all shot through with threads of blue. Her fur may have been the same black, short and glossy, and she may have lingered in suffering as the tenth stanza had in her own way, but she was hardly the type to fully languish, nor wear the same thing for years or decades at a time!
 
@@ -224,19 +224,19 @@ With that, she leaned over to give The Woman another kiss to the cheek, and then
 
 They laughed together at their touches and their brazenness and their shared joy. They shared their nuzzles and their giggles and they, as the poet says,\label{paz1} shared their oranges and gave their kisses like waves exchanging foam.
 
-My lovely readers, there is more that happened—and I am going to tell you! I really will, because it is important to the story, of course, and because it is important to our life sys-side and to us as a clade and it was important to The Woman and Her Lover—but, dear ones, if you would like to skip ahead, to cover your eyes and curate your experience or to simply let them have their moment together, know that our life sys-side and our clade are complicated and that The Woman and Her Lover were complicated, too, and so was the joy they found. Know that they also, as the poet says,\label{paz2} shared their limes and gave their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.
+My lovely readers, there is more that happened—and I am going to tell you! I really will, because it is important to the story, of course, and because it is important to our lives sys-side and to us as a clade and it was important to The Woman and Her Lover—but, dear ones, if you would like to skip ahead, to cover your eyes and curate your experience or to simply let them have their moment together, know that our lives sys-side and our clade are complicated and that The Woman and Her Lover were complicated, too, and so was the joy they found. Know that they also, as the poet says,\label{paz2} shared their limes and gave their kisses like clouds exchanging foam.
 
-They leaned on each other as they stepped lightly from the train to the station, and, although the station was a loveliness in its own right, their conversation had spurred within them both a desire to explore and gladly, rather than their feet hitting the cement of the platform, they landed instead on the cool, hardwood floor of Her Lover's home where The Woman brushed her fingertips featherlight against the still-familiar jamb.
+They leaned on each other as they stepped lightly from the train to the platform, and, although the station was a loveliness in its own right, their conversation had spurred within them both a desire to explore and gladly, rather than their feet hitting the cement of the platform, they landed instead on the cool, hardwood floor of Her Lover's home where The Woman brushed her fingertips featherlight against the still-familiar jamb.
 
 There was no rush to their movements, for both The Woman and Her Lover had always been methodical in their sensuality. Perhaps it fit the mold of one of The Woman's rituals—she must touch here, first, and then she would kiss there, and only then would she brush her fingers there, across the cheek—and perhaps not—a logical progression remains a logical progression without the hint of ritual.
 
-There was no rush to their movements, and so they sat first on the couch, sharing their kisses, refamiliarizing themselves with each other. The Woman felt within a subtle twisting, a stirring, a clockwise motion that dragged with it two colors of emotions. There was the love rekindled, there, yes, and there was along with it a growing anxiety: there was something less than worry and more than thought. In the middle, there was a spot between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning that she could not pin down.\label{timo} Arousal, perhaps? For there was that, there, too. That was perhaps of that clockwise turning: the slow swell of warmth low in her belly and the gentle pressure within her chest and bristle of whiskers. Excitement, maybe? Anticipation?
+There was no rush to their movements, and so they sat first on the couch, sharing their kisses, refamiliarizing themselves with each other. The Woman felt within a subtle twisting, a stirring, a clockwise motion\label{kassad} that dragged with it two colors of emotions. There was the love rekindled, there, yes, and there was along with it a growing anxiety: there was something less than worry and more than thought. In the middle, there was a spot between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning that she could not pin down.\label{timo} Arousal, perhaps? For there was that, there, too. That was perhaps of that clockwise turning: the slow swell of warmth low in her belly and the gentle pressure within her chest and bristle of whiskers. Excitement, maybe? Anticipation?
 
-Here was another thing for The Woman to set before herself where she might observe it, describe its shape by the way the orange and blue of love and anxiety swirled around it.
+Here was another thing for The Woman to set before herself where she might observe it, describe its shape by the way the orange and blue of love and anxiety\label{blue-orange} swirled around it.
 
 But, ah! Here, too, was Her Lover. Here was a soul she treasured. Here was a body she cherished. Here was this spot—just beneath the chin—which, when kissed, elicited a shiver, and this spot—at the hollow of the throat—which, when brushed with a fingerpad, elicited something both gasp and giggle. Here was arousal and excitement and anticipation in equal measure. Here was a thing for her to focus on that was not the cool blue of anxiety that warred with love remembered in unequal measure.
 
-There was no rush to their movements, though, and arousal and excitement and anticipation in equal measure are a joy in their own, and so with some unspoken negotiation, The Woman leaned back and Her Lover leaned forward rather than the other way around. There was some careful tail maneuvering to accomplish this, but, my friends, we are used to it. There is \emph{always} a careful maneuvering of our tails. Skunk tails, you see, are quite sizeable, and feline tails are less flexible at the base. It is a part of our lives, you see? There is still joy in having a tail, though, and with her tail out of the way, The Woman was once more able to relax, this time laid flat on her back, and Her Lover was once more able to provide that meteor shower of kisses down over the side of her neck, then over across her décolletage, and it was here where, as promised, here is where the complications arose, for it was at that moment, at the moment where Her Lover's kisses landed upon that lovely spot at the hollow of her throat that there was a bright flash amidst the blue of The Woman's anxiety and she was no longer The Woman who was a panther, but instead The Woman who was human.
+There was no rush to their movements, though, and arousal and excitement and anticipation in equal measure are a joy in their own, and so with some unspoken negotiation, The Woman leaned back and Her Lover leaned forward rather than the other way around. There was some careful tail maneuvering to accomplish this, but, my friends, we are used to it. There is \emph{always} a careful maneuvering of our tails. Skunk tails, you must understand, are quite sizeable, and feline tails are less flexible at the base. It is a part of our lives, you see? There is still joy in having a tail, though, and with her tail out of the way, The Woman was once more able to relax, this time laid flat on her back, and Her Lover was once more able to provide that meteor shower of kisses down over the side of her neck, then over across her décolletage, and it was here where, as promised, the complications arose, for it was at that moment, at the moment where Her Lover's kisses landed upon that lovely spot at the hollow of her throat that there was a bright flash amidst the blue of The Woman's anxiety and she was no longer The Woman who was a panther, but instead The Woman who was human.
 
 Both The Woman and Her Lover let out a startled exclamation and both froze where they were. The Woman froze because suddenly her clothes fit different and her field of view no longer included the bridge of a wide muzzle and her ears were positioned differently and there was no longer any fur mediating touch. Her Lover froze because\ldots well, I do not rightly know, friends. We can guess, yes? We can guess that there was the shock of a new form, yes, but they knew each other well, did they not? We can guess that there was a shift on the couch beneath her with a different shape, different size, different weight of lover, but they knew each other well, did they not? They knew each other well, and so we may guess that Her Lover knew that such a shift was not always a pleasantness for The Woman, not always a joy.
 
@@ -264,6 +264,6 @@ The Woman shifted forms several times more. There were, they found, certain mile
 
 Throughout it all, all those kisses—whether or not The Woman was able to return them, for giving kisses with a muzzle is not a thing she was able to do—and those squeezes and strokes and the gentle way Her Lover cupped her palm over The Woman's mons, throughout all those shifts, The Woman kept before her that ineffable point. Throughout all of the warmth of love and those stinging-cold flashes of anxiety and they way they swirled clockwise, she peered closer that she might scry some meaning out of this kernel of what was most certainly not joy. Even as the warm wave of climax pushed through her, rushing out from that spot low in her belly, even as she clutched at Her Lover's shoulders, fingertips and clawtips both tugging at skin, even as her cries smoothed out into whine-tinged breaths, she tried to name the unnamable.
 
-They lay together for hours after, talking and touching. They moved to the bed and The Woman who was a skunk or a human or a panther brought such pleasure as she had been given to Her Lover, and at last they slept, and the undefinable remained undefined. There was joy in that touch, in that remembered love, and she knew that Her Lover would be by her side for some time to come if she let her—and she would let her—and that, too was a joy. And still, there between joy and fear\ldots{}
+They lay together for hours after, talking and touching. They moved to the bed and The Woman who was a skunk or a human or a panther brought such pleasure as she had been given to Her Lover, and at last they slept, and the undefinable remained undefined. There was joy in that touch, in that remembered love, and she knew that Her Lover would be by her side for some time to come if she let her—and she would let her—and that, too, was a joy.\label{echo} And still, there between joy and fear\ldots{}
 
 There was joy, yes, but it was not a complete joy. Her hedonism with touch and sensuality and sexuality was a lovely hedonism and she cherished it, but it was not the hedonism she needed for this task.

idumea/content/005.tex

@@ -2,7 +2,7 @@ Some of my readers may be wondering why it is that I know so much about The Woma
 
 ``How does she know all of this?'' some might be wondering. ``Does she really know all these things that The Woman did? Does she know who the kindly shop owner is? The one who pet on The Woman as she sobbed from too spicy a chili?'' Others might be wondering—and rightly so!—``How much of this is actually real? Surely she does not know The Woman's innermost thoughts! All this talk of ideas in shapes being set before her is quite silly.''
 
-My answer is that tired phrase: ``It is complicated.'' Of course I do not know her innermost thoughts. I think it is a me thing to take abstract ideas and pretend they look like pretty baubles or hot coals or little statuettes to be placed upon a dresser. I cannot read minds, and I do not have any memories from The Woman. I do not even know quite what she is anymore! I would not know if she quit, since I am not down-tree from her—her down-tree instance is dead now, these last six decades, remember—and I do not believe she merged cross-tree with anyone except perhaps Ashes Denote That Fire Was, who is building in themself a gestalt of the clade as best they can. No, I do not know anything so intimate.
+My answer is that tired phrase: ``It is complicated.'' Of course I do not know her innermost thoughts. I think it is a me thing to take abstract ideas and pretend they look like pretty baubles or hot coals or little statuettes to be placed upon a dresser. I cannot read minds, and I do not have any memories from The Woman. I do not even know quite what she is anymore! I would not know if she quit, since I am not down-tree from her—her down-tree instance is dead now, these last six decades, remember—and I do not believe she merged cross-tree with anyone except perhaps Ashes Denote That Fire Was, who is building in themself a gestalt of the clade as best they can.\label{ashes} No, I do not know anything so intimate.
 
 What I do have, though, is a story. I have the story I learned from The Woman's Friend and Therapist and Cocladist and Lover, the one I learned from The Blue Fairy. I have all of that story that I learned, and I have that story that I lived.
 
@@ -24,7 +24,7 @@ And now here she was, standing in the little courtyard created by the set of tow
 
 My place is clean and minimal. It is not clean because I am necessarily a clean person, nor is it minimal because I have any particular attachments to minimalism or its trappings. Friends, you have surely gathered by now that I am quite a bit more focused on writing than I am on most anything else. My home contains a simple kitchen and a simple dining table. There is a den in which there is a couch and a coffee table. There are two bedrooms, one of which contains a bed and the other of which is empty. The only room that is of any interest is perhaps my office, but even that is probably too minimal for most people's tastes! I have a desk. I have paper and pens and a keyboard on which I can type when that is the mood.
 
-That is not to say that it is a boring place—at least, I do not think so! I have some paintings on the wall, some landscapes interrupted by hyper-black squares painted by The Child. There are several little decorations scattered around, as well; little objects that The Oneirotect has made in its explorations in oneirotecture and oneiro-impressionism. The most meaningful of these sits on my writing desk, and takes the form of a wireframe polyhedral fox about the size of my paw. While it is silver in color, it does not cast any shadows on itself and has constant luminosity, and so it looks like a two-dimensional shape that changes as your perspective does.
+That is not to say that it is a boring place—at least, I do not think so! I have some paintings on the wall, some landscapes interrupted by hyper-black squares painted by The Child. There are several little decorations scattered around, as well: little objects that The Oneirotect has made in its explorations in oneirotecture and oneiro-impressionism. The most meaningful of these sits on my writing desk, and takes the form of a wireframe polyhedral fox about the size of my paw. While it is silver in color, it does not cast any shadows on itself and has constant luminosity, and so it looks like a two-dimensional shape that changes as your perspective does.
 
 Ah, I am digressing again. My thoughts and words wander.
 
@@ -62,7 +62,7 @@ I do not know if you have ever been complimented in just the right way by just t
 
 The Woman, this skunk who sat before me with a glass of water held in her paws and her very chic outfit, the one who had smiled to me with such earnestness as to be a blessing, this woman who was too much herself, had just perceived me with such force as to leave me feeling bowled over. Even today, even these many years later, I remember that compliment and find breath catching in my throat, and we have already spoken on that, have we not?
 
-We sat in silence, then, while I processed this. My friends, you may perhaps have picked up the sense that The Woman is in some fundamental way broken and perhaps unable to interact well with others. After all, she sits for so long in her room and in her home and on her field, and she sees Her Friend only with some small frequency, and had only just recently gotten in touch with Her Lover, yes? And that is in many ways true, that she is broken. But it is not \emph{wholly} true. She was too much herself, yes, and she would have said even then that she had lived for too long and that she was in some fundamental way broken, but she was also so much more! I have shown you all that she was through her own perception, but from the outside\ldots ah, she was hard not to love, my friends.
+We sat in silence, then, while I processed this. My friends, you may perhaps have picked up the sense that The Woman is in some fundamental way broken and perhaps unable to interact well with others. After all, she sits for so long in her room and in her home and on her field, and she sees Her Friend only with some small frequency, and had only just recently gotten in touch with Her Lover, yes? And that is in many ways true, that she is broken. But it is not \emph{wholly} true. She was too much herself, yes, and she would have said even then that she had lived for too long and that she would probably say that she was in some fundamental way broken, but she was also so much more! I have shown you all that she was through her own perception, but from the outside\ldots ah, she was hard not to love, my friends.
 
 ``Thank you, my dear,'' I said at last, bowing.
 
@@ -110,7 +110,7 @@ that this must be the case.
 
 I turned those words over and over in my head for a minute, since The Woman had seemed quite comfortable sitting in silence with me. She used that time to drink her water while I played back the words again and again, looking down at my paws, and then returned my gaze to hers. ``There is a difference between the mere performance of grief and grieving itself, is there not?''
 
-``It is as you say. There is performed grief and performative grief—performative in the philosophical sense. We of the tenth stanza were quite sad when Lagrange came back with us intact but not with Should We Forget. We received condolences from many, some flowers and many kind words. Ever Dream came over and spoke with me about grief as we sat out on the field, where she said,''It is quite sad, is it not? To lose someone you have known for so long is quite sad.'' I agreed, and then drew a line around the topic.'' She performed such a motion now, describing an arc before her with one of her well kept claws, before dismissing it with a wave. ``This was grief performed.''
+``It is as you say. There is performed grief and performative grief—performative in the philosophical sense. We of the tenth stanza were quite sad when Lagrange came back with us intact but not with Should We Forget. We received condolences from many, some flowers and many kind words. Ever Dream came over and spoke with me about grief as we sat out on the field, where she said, ``It is quite sad, is it not? To lose someone you have known for so long is quite sad.'' I agreed, and then drew a line around the topic.'' She performed such a motion now, describing an arc before her with one of her well kept claws, before dismissing it with a wave. ``This was grief performed.''
 
 I nodded, and in my heart, I think I knew what was coming next, for I found my muscles bunching up as in in preparation for something—flight, perhaps? I do not know, my friends.
 
@@ -212,7 +212,7 @@ She nodded. ``Yes. My thoughts became ordered, perhaps. That turbulence became a
 
 I laughed as well. ``Thank you, I think. I have a few that are labeled `meditations on whatever', but even those probably do not fit the bill.''
 
-``I would assume not. No, I came to you because I wanted to talk to you about creating specifically not just on Praiseworthy's suggestion, but also because I watched And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights paint while visiting Beholden.''
+``I would assume not. No, I came to you because I wanted to talk to you specifically about creating not just on Praiseworthy's suggestion, but also because I watched And We Are The Motes In The Stage-Lights paint while visiting Beholden.''
 
 ``Ah! Motes! What a delight!''
 
@@ -228,25 +228,25 @@ I laughed, nodding.
 
 ``I will say that she is no less flighty or energetic when she chooses to live at older ages. When she is, say, twenty five, there is still no stopping her.''
 
-``So I am told. However, she is also a very good girl, is she not? Beholden saw the state that I was in—for when Motes started zipping around the house, I started shifting between forms—and suggested that she go and paint. She said quite simply''Okay!'' and ran off to the next room where she simply sat on a stool and began painting.''
+``So I am told. However, she is also a very good girl, is she not? Beholden saw the state that I was in—for when Motes started zipping around the house, I started shifting between forms—and suggested that she go and paint. She said quite simply''Okay!'' and ran off to the next room where she sat on a stool and began painting.''
 
 I looked up to the wall beside the couch, upon which a painting sat. The Woman smiled and nodded.
 
 The painting was of my up-tree's house. The Instance Artist was one who decided that it had had quite enough of life in comfort, life here on Lagrange, life here honing, or perhaps forging new frontiers but in a familiar place, and up and left for the stars, back when humanity buckled down and decided to send out the two launch vehicles. Our very own twins, yes? Castor and Pollux? Those two half-sized Systems that even still race out of the Solar System at some unimaginable speed, yes? The Instance Artist left us all behind with no fork to spare, and broke all of our hearts.
 
-When it had lived here on Lagrange, though, it had contracted my other up-tree, The Sim Designer, Serene; Sustained And Sustaining, to build for it an infinite short-grass prairie. It was a land of long, rolling hills and yet longer flat basins that always drank most thirstily from the seasonal storms that did their best to thrash the Earth below. There, amid the countless acres, sat its house, low and flat, an echo of the plains around it all done up in concrete that matched so well the gray-tan stalks of the grass in fall, the gray-green stalks in spring, and glass.
+When it had lived here on Lagrange, though, it had contracted my other up-tree, The Sim Designer, Serene; Sustained And Sustaining, to build for it an infinite short-grass prairie. It was a land of long, rolling hills and yet longer flat basins that always drank most thirstily from the seasonal storms that did their best to thrash the Earth below.\label{dwale} There, amid the countless acres, sat its house, low and flat, an echo of the plains around it all done up in concrete that matched so well the gray-tan stalks of the grass in fall, the gray-green stalks in spring, and glass.
 
 And so there on my wall sat a painting that I had asked The Child to make, small by her standards at only the size of both of my paws held flat, wherein she had painted the house, the endless prairie, and the sky that somehow managed to be something beyond endless. There was the gray of the concrete that matched so well the gray-tan stalks of grass in fall, the gray-green stalks in spring, and glass. There was the plain, the sky.
 
-And there, right in the center, hovering a scant claw-width above the house, a perfectly black perfect square.\label{motes}
+And there, right in the center, hovering a scant claw-width above the house, a perfectly black perfect square.
 
-Readers, you must understand that, when I say perfectly black, I do mean it! There is this color, or non-color, \emph{Eigengrau} that is perhaps the darkest you are used to seeing. If you are in a perfectly dark room, or you are out beneath the stars at night and you close your eyes, or you are hiding under two layers of blankets from the monsters that haunt us still, even in this afterlife that we have built up into our nigh-perfection, what you see is not pure black, but \emph{Eigengrau.} It is the darkest color, I am told, that our eyes can see, phys-side! This is because, even when there is no light, the nerves of our eyes still fire occasionally. Perhaps it is because this is something that is required for nerve cells to feel healthy, and when those cells are in our muscles and it is just one or two at a time, it does not yank our hand away from our pen and paper like they were burning hot, but when they are in our eyes, every little firing is still perceived as a photon hitting this rod or that cone. Perhaps it is because there is some fundamental state of being for us that is \emph{not} stillness, but that is movement at some molecular level. Perhaps it is simply because they are lonely! I do not know, I do not know. I do not know.
+Readers, you must understand that, when I say perfectly black, I do mean it! There is this color—or non-color—\emph{Eigengrau} that is perhaps the darkest you are used to seeing. If you are in a perfectly dark room, or you are out beneath the stars at night and you close your eyes, or you are hiding under two layers of blankets from the monsters that haunt us still, even in this afterlife that we have built up into our nigh-perfection, what you see is not pure black, but \emph{Eigengrau.} It is the darkest color, I am told, that our eyes can see, phys-side! This is because, even when there is no light, the nerves of our eyes still fire occasionally. Perhaps it is because this is something that is required for nerve cells to feel healthy, and when those cells are in our muscles and it is just one or two at a time, it does not yank our hand away from our pen and paper like they were burning hot, but when they are in our eyes, every little firing is still perceived as a photon hitting this rod or that cone. Perhaps it is because there is some fundamental state of being for us that is \emph{not} stillness, but that is movement at some molecular level. Perhaps it is simply because they are lonely! I do not know, I do not know. I do not know.
 
-This square is not \emph{Eigengrau.} It is beyond that. It is beyond even black! It is an impossible black. It is deeper than \emph{Eigengrau,} yes, but it is also a very thirsty black. If the ground of The Instance Artist's prairie drinks thirstily of the sky, so too does this black drink thirstily of all the light in the world. It draws light from the room, and when you look at the painting, the world seems dimmer. It is a hole in the world.
+This square is not \emph{Eigengrau.} It is beyond that. It is beyond even black! It is an impossible black. It is deeper than \emph{Eigengrau,} yes, but it is also a very thirsty black. If the ground of The Instance Artist's prairie drinks thirstily of the sky, so too does this black drink thirstily of all the light in the world. It draws light from the room, and when you look at the painting, the world seems dimmer. It is a hole in the world.\label{motes}
 
-I am used to it, my friends, for it sits happily enough upon my wall, but I am told that it is unnerving to see.
+I am used to it, my friends, for it sits happily enough upon my wall, but I am told by some that it is unnerving to see.
 
-``Her paintings have always struck me as bearing a sort of serenity that I have not actually seen in the world,'' I said after we had appreciated house and plain and sky and hole in the world. ``It is more than just some moment of movement captured and frozen in time. It is like she records things that were never still to begin with.''
+``Her paintings have always struck me as bearing a sort of serenity that I have not actually seen in the world,'' I said after we had appreciated house and plain and sky and hole in the world. ``It is more than just some moment of movement captured and frozen in time. It is like she records things that had never been anything but still to begin with.''
 
 ``Yes, and that is what drew me to her,'' The Woman said, gaze lingering on the painting. ``I begged Beholden's leave to sit and watch Motes for nearly an hour. I claimed a spot in her studio once I received permission and watched as she worked. While I was there, she built up a scene of a mesa. I recognized it as Table Mountain. Do you remember?''
 
@@ -274,12 +274,11 @@ She nodded.
 
 ``I go back and forth. Sometimes, I feel that it is right in front of me and the house is in the distance, and that it is painted to scale so that it is quite small. Sometimes, I feel like it must be behind the house, or way out beyond the sky, and it is larger than the moon.''
 
-``I see we understand it in the same way. I cannot tell, either. I can tell you, though, that watching Motes brought me the closest to the joy that I have been seeking that I have ever been.'' She frowned down to her glass, now empty. When she continued, her speech was halting, slow, thoughtful. ``Not\ldots for me, not my own joy, and I think not even for her, though the little skunk certainly seems quite joyful. It is\ldots adjacent to the joy. It brought me near to the joy, but did not necessarily bring the joy to me.''
+``I see we understand it in the same way. I cannot tell, either. I can tell you, though, that watching Motes brought me the closest to the joy that I have been seeking than I have ever been.'' She frowned down to her glass, now empty. When she continued, her speech was halting, slow, thoughtful. ``Not\ldots for me, not my own joy, and I think not even for her, though the little skunk certainly seems quite joyful. It is\ldots adjacent to the joy. It brought me near to the joy, but did not necessarily bring the joy to me.''
 
 \secdiv
 
 \label{warmth}
-
 We talked for some time more, The Woman and I, and discussed what it was that we could do to help her find joy. I am sorry to say, though, that we were not able to come up with something.
 
 We circled for some time around meditative acts and how that might work with writing. Automatic writing, perhaps? Should The Woman set up with a note book and a pen and look into some deeper self and begin to write? Should she bid my demon of graphomania visit her, grab her by the wrist, drag her pen across the page that words may flow after it like eager puppies?
@@ -296,7 +295,7 @@ So it was that The Woman returned home with the promise to come back the next da
 
 ``For whom do you write, Rye?''
 
-I had an answer ready for this, dear Readers, for this is something that I think about with some frequency. ``I write for those who need to read.''
+I had an answer ready for this, dear readers, for this is something that I think about with some frequency. ``I write for those who need to read.''
 
 The Woman tilted her head—she was back to being a skunk, yes, but this is a habit that all of us share within the Ode clade, no matter our shape. ``I have heard it said so often that one should write for oneself and wait for an audience to come.''
 
@@ -306,7 +305,7 @@ She furrowed her brow. ``I will admit that I spent last night thinking much on t
 
 I laughed, reached into a pocket, and withdrew my current favorite pen. It is, you may be surprised to hear, quite plain. It is round and it is long. It has a cap that posts on the back. The nib is nothing special. It is a demonstrator—that is, it has a clear body so that one can see the ink within—but so are many of my pens. No, there is little special about it overall, other than the fact that it simply fits well within my paw, and that, dear friends, is what is most important in a pen.
 
-I handed the pen over to The Woman and she drew a notepad out of the air, write a few short sentences on it with the pen, nodded appreciatively, and handed it back. ``It is a joy to write with, my dear. But to my point, I suspect there is goodness in the act of writing, but not the fulfillment I am seeking.''
+I handed the pen over to The Woman and she drew a notepad out of the air, wrote a few short sentences on it with the pen, nodded appreciatively, and handed it back. ``It is a joy to write with, my dear. But to my point, I suspect there is goodness in the act of writing, but not the fulfillment I am seeking.''
 
 I nodded. ``I would agree with that, yes. You speak of a way of being. You speak of not just creating, but of being a creative.''
 
@@ -315,3 +314,227 @@ I nodded. ``I would agree with that, yes. You speak of a way of being. You speak
 We sat in silence for a minute or so, simply enjoying our mochas—readers, by now you must know that we are nothing if not ourselves—while we each considered the direction of our conversation. It is not comfortable for me to be unable to address a thing that I feel I ought to be able to. When presented with a problem that even sounds like it \emph{might} be within my bailiwick, if I cannot, it is in some key way dysphoric to me. The best I can manage, as I did then, was to recast the problem into a conversation. It does not remove the dysphoria, for I still have not solved anything, but it has set it aside, perhaps just in the other room. There is a selfishness in me.
 
 At last, I said, ``Would it be alright if I were to invite over Warmth? It is my beloved up-tree, of course, but ey also has thoughts on this that may help us find inroads to your fulfillment.''
+
+The Woman smiled and nodded. ``By all means, please do.''
+
+We are the most of us not tall women, just as Michelle who was Sasha was not tall: just a little over a meter and a half or, as our literature professor described her in class after she read some saccharine ode by John Keats, ``Miss Michelle Hadje, five foot four.''\label{keatsheight}
+
+That \emph{`most'} that I have written just now is doing much work, however. Several of us are taller. Why, I remain just an few centimeters taller than Michelle who was Sasha stood, but I might just as easily be mistaken for her when she appeared as a skunk, so similar are we. Oh! And The Oneirotect's sometimes-partner, Hold My Name Beneath Your Tongue And Know, towers over me by a head.
+
+Several of us are shorter. The Child, as you will see, is understandably shorter. My little readers who sit cross-legged on carpet squares, perhaps you can picture her, for she is precisely as I have named her: a child.
+
+The Oneirotect, my beloved up-tree, is not quite a child, and yet she is small. I think she is small enough that some would perhaps confuse her for one in the same way that The Child is a child, and I think that this may indeed be a little bit of transgression in which ey revels. She is tiny, perhaps even smaller than The Child, perhaps just over one meter high!
+
+It also has within it a level of energy that may well contribute to this childlike nature. It zips and zooms and careens off walls as easily as does The Child—easier, perhaps, for even if she is only a few centimeters shorter, she is far more slender, far more lithe, borderline wiry, and she embodies the jitteriness that one might assume were I to call it `critter'.
+
+But no, ey is not a child. The Child owns that identity for herself. She leaned into the youngest sister of the fifth stanza, she owned \emph{youngest} as meaning childhood, as was her choice. The Oneirotect, however, is simply the most recently claimed line, and is thus the youngest of all Odists with a snippet of our superlative friend's words to call its own. Ey lack the being-a-kid-ness and dwell instead in eir own transgressiveness: their fur is mussed and seemingly perpetually stained with the colors of grass and dandelions, her personality is as untameable as the unruly mane atop her head, and its care is as boundless as its emotions.
+
+They are \emph{all} of our youngest sibling and she is my beloved up-tree.
+
+\emph{``Warmth, my dear, would you be able to spare a fork to join me for a conversation with End Of Endings?''} I asked via a sensorium message.
+
+\emph{``Oh!''} came the immediate reply. \emph{``Oh, of course! I have not spoken with her in too long. Right now?''}
+
+\emph{``If you have the bandwidth, yes.''}
+
+Rather than reply to my message directly, ey simply blinked into being in the entryway of my little townhouse. Had I some other guest over, perhaps it would have skitter-scattered and bounced around as it at times did, but you will remember, dear readers, that The Oneirotect was well-acquainted with the tenth stanza, and knew well that they dwelt comfortably in calm and quiet, and so she simply stepped lightly toward us, forking as ey went to pad up to both of us and give us each a hug. I leaned down to give a kiss between the skunklet's ears, ruffled up its already quite tousled mane, and smiled as she quit.\label{pronouns}
+
+``Hi, End Of Endings,'' they said, smiling up to The Woman.
+
+Once she had straightened up after returning the hug, The Woman smiled back down to them. ``Warmth In Fire, it is lovely to see you, as always. How are you keeping, these days?''
+
+``As best I can,'' ey said, tugging at the seat of a chair, raising it up, pulling and shaping until ey had a stool on which to sit, joining us around the table where we sat with our drinks, our water and our mochas. ``I was not expecting to get a message to come over and see you, though. How are you?''
+
+The Woman shrugged, the barest hint of her shoulders to go with an expression that bordered on unconcerned, as though the question were a valid one, but perhaps not worth answering. It was a very Talmudic shrug, you see, and, my friends, whenever one or the other of us pulls that off well, we feel \emph{quite} proud. ``My days are my days and my nights are my nights. I have things I wished to talk with you about, but beyond that, my life is simply my life.''
+
+The Oneirotect nodded. ``Okay. I am glad to hear that you are still living your life,'' she said with a grin, a brief, rhythmic sway of her tail providing accompaniment for the mood. ``What is it you wanted to talk about?''
+
+The Woman looked to me, so I took up the lead. I asked my beloved up-tree, ``Perhaps you could speak to what it is that you actually do my dear. What is it that you enjoy? We have been talking about such things.''
+
+``Well, I think of myself most of all as an aficionado of association, an oneirotect—a construct artist, if you must be such a bore,'' it answered. ``One must bring into being a careful synthesis of memories both sensory and emotive, yes? For that is the substance of significance, yes?''
+
+The Woman tilted her head in that way so familiar to us. ``Nostalgia, then?''
+
+``Yes!''
+
+``Is there a draw to that for you? Or is that something you find others hungering for?''
+
+The Oneirotect, clearly delighted by so simple a question, brought its paws together over the table, folded neat and prim. ``Yes, and also yes!'' It let the humor of that comment stew for a moment before offering something more worthy of the title `answer'. ``In the first decades of the System, it was necessary to create the stuff that makes up our consensual dream, yes? We desired to eat, but none had yet dreamt of food; we wished to surround ourselves with cherished things, but even the platonic form of such did not yet exist.
+
+``I find joy in creating these constructs—these \emph{things}, this \emph{stuff}, all that we interact with here—but most of all I enjoy the research that goes into that.''
+
+``I see,'' The Woman said. ``So you worked on early foods, then? On staples, or on more beloved things?''
+
+``I see you have done your own research, my dear.'' It offered a little bow, beaming up at The Woman. ``That, or Rye spilled the beans.''
+
+I chuckled, shrugged.
+
+``Very well. I favor culinary constructs now, but that has only become the case since I met Codrin. That said, I did begin with fruits we never got to try growing up in the Central Corridor. Most of the heavy lifting with staples had already been done by the time I began exploring oneirotecture, but there remained gaps in what was available. That experience was most formative, but it was Codrin's cooking that sent me down this path.''
+
+``Not \Partner? Not Codrin and Dear's partner?'' The Woman asked. She asked, of course, after one remembered fondly, and one whose name is not yours to know, dear readers, or perhaps you know it intimately, but with a wink and a nudge like a joke kept between us. ``Are they not the chef?''
+
+The Oneirotect smiled wryly. ``Well, sure, but my interest lies more in the food that others love to their core. \Partner's food is delightful, yes. It is \emph{enjoyable,} and often it is \emph{loved,} but it is not really \emph{beloved.}\label{rakoff} I would rather focus on the food those remember with fondness their mothers and grandmothers cooking. Remembered foods. Cherished foods, yes?''
+
+``I suppose this is where the nostalgia comes in, then, yes? Reaching back for the things that others loved, rather than simply ate out of necessity?''
+
+The Oneirotect tilted its head, unruly mane falling over its eyes. Out of instinct, I reached over to brush it back into some semblance of order and got a rather wet lick to my wrist for my trouble. My friends, my beloved up-tree is quite weird.
+
+``It is not as if none before me had dreamt of food just like grandma used to make, but what I offered was particularly attuned to that, yes.''
+
+``You speak of research and gaps in selections and beloved meals,'' I said. ``It sounds like you speak most of all of making things for others, or for all, rather than for yourself.''
+
+``For others, I would say. That bit of communalism implied by `all' did not come until much later. No, instead I drummed up interested parties from the feeds. These were the days that reputation and the markets had more meaning, yes? I still needed the rep for my work, for research into foods unfamiliar to me.'' They smiled wryly. ``I was not without, of course, for I had been dipping my toes into instance artistry beforehand, before Dear forked, yes? But still, I needed the reputation for research, and I needed the research for commissions others asked of me.''
+
+There was a moment of silence as The Woman parsed this, her gaze distant. When her focus returned, she said, ``\,`Before Dear forked'? Am I to infer that this is when you were Rye? Or am I missing something in the cladistics?''
+
+``I am not the first to be named Warmth In Fire,'' it answered with a note of melancholy.
+
+There was such a pang within me that I had not felt in ages, for The Oneirotect was right. There was some years back, some centuries back, another Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire. And then, one day, there was not. They worked and strove and wept and bled over their chosen path, and then they were naught.
+
+They—that other Warmth In Fire—was lost to us. They were gone from us. Their art took them from us, it killed them. Such is the danger of art, dear readers: it takes as easily—more easily!—than it gives. It was some centuries back, but-- ah! Centuries change only the flavor of the loss when one cannot forget it. It is a loss that still stings to this very day.
+
+``Ah,'' The Woman said, her expression falling subtly—nearly too subtly to notice, but by this point, I was quite focused on everything about her. ``Right. I remember hearing of a death within the clade early on. Systime 54, was it? I was rather disconnected from the clade at the time, I am sorry to say, and was unable to focus enough to learn of just who.''
+
+I nodded. ``But by then, Dear—or, rather the instance who would become Dear—had been forked, and so Warmth filled that vacancy. Ey took on the name Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire when Dear became what it is.''
+
+Warmth struggled to speak at first, caught up in emotion. It had been Dear at the time, and watched as who-was-Warmth descended into despair and, eventually, quit. Finally, it nodded, saying, ``I am that which was left behind when Dear chose to forget the Name.''
+
+Now, perhaps my younger uploads or those who have not stuck their noses deep into cladistics, snuffling about for interesting thises or surprising thats, may not quite understand the import here, and so I will tell you a story, much as it was told to me by The Instance Artist:
+
+Many years ago, it forked and went out for a walk along the street. It put the Name of our superlative friend, of The Dreamer who dreams us all, into an exocortex and then began to change. It forked and forked and forked as it walked that endless city that it called home at the time. It changed its shape, from stocky to slight. It changed its species. It changed its sense of smell, its sense of sight. It changed its hearing—and you must understand, as a fennec, its ears are enormous; when it gives a shake of its head, its tall ears bow under the momentum. It changed the way it thought about our history. It changed the way it thought about forking. It changed the way it engaged with everything around it.
+
+Its goal was to change its sensorium enough that it would not be able to access the Name of our beloved Dreamer again.
+
+Tired, it trudged back home. It could have simply stepped back, yes, but this was a part of the ritual. It had to see the way it had come through these new senses.
+
+There was its back-up fork, sitting and reading and trying to distract herself from its absence. She looked like me, dear readers, yes? Back as I did then? Dear looked like me when it started, after all.
+
+She looked up from her book, quirked a brow, and smiled.
+
+``You may quit whenever,'' The Instance Artist had said. ``I am happy now.''
+
+She stood, bowed, and shook her head, and then she stepped from the sim.
+
+It did not see her for months after that. None of us did. Weeks and months of knowing that she was out there but knowing aught else aside from that.
+
+It did not talk to her, friends, you must understand. It did not talk to her, and she did not talk to it, other than a notification that she would be taking the name Which Offers Heat And Warmth In Fire.
+
+``I sat with a good book while it took that dire walk between skunk and fennec, and when it returned, it had become something unrecognizable to me. I could see the direction it took, but not the road it followed; it had become something alien, and the prospect of disappearing after that felt rather a lot more like dying than becoming, and so I chose to yield my name to it—for that Dear was that of me who had already become, yes?—and spent some months working to earn the name Warmth In Fire.''
+
+The Woman furrowed her brow in that ineffably still way of hers. ``I remember that there was talk within the clade about names, yes, and the general shape of what had happened, that there was some furor about the fact that a down-tree might accept a later line than an up-tree, though I never did understand the import that some placed on that.'' There was a smile, a hint of a bow, and a quiet addition: ``You are so incredibly yourself, though, I cannot picture you as ever having been a Dear, and certainly never as a fennec.''
+
+There followed a moment of The Oneirotect visibly mastering a note of annihilation upon hearing this. It was, I think, one of those things which hurts to hear, and yet which is completely right: ey is not yet another instance of The Instance Artist, nor has ey been for centuries, and yet there is that of The Instance Artist still within em, is there not? ``When I stepped from that sim,'' ey explained, ``I did so with the commitment, both to myself and to it, that what was Dear had changed, and that who was Dear must embrace that. I am unsure, however, that I have ever quite addressed the fact that, often when I hear about Dear from others, there is a rankling within me. Sometimes, when I am feeling particularly bad about myself, I feel like it stole my very name from me. I feel like a leftover, a shadow on the floor of the stage of my own show.''
+
+``The clade will ever be as it is,'' I said, tagging along with that thought, ``which is a bunch of crotchety old creatures with a fixation on names that borders on neurotic. Do not doubt that this applies to our stanza as well.''
+
+The Woman smirked, nodded.
+
+``There were those within the clade who fussed and fussed and fussed, and I would be remiss if I did not say that we had—and, as Warmth mentions, continue to fuss—about the role that names play in identity. We will ever be who we are, though, yes?''
+
+My beloved up-tree spent some time pensively structuring its thoughts, trying to reclaim some sort of agency before it fell into a negativity spiral; such topics as these are always especially difficult for us to stumble across, and it had already started to recite some of those familiar phrases it so often repeats even to this day. ``You have come to Rye and I searching for joy through creativity. I wonder: What do you imagine yourself to be, End Of Endings, other than the only one living there I get to call `kitty' from time to time?''
+
+The Woman laughed—and what a blessing a laugh is in comparison to a smile!—and, with no effort expended on her own part, fell right into that very shape: a kitty. Kitty! And what a delightful little name. You will remember, my friends, that not every instance of her changing shape was occasion for weariness or discomfort; she fell joyfully into felinity, into this pantherine shape. ``I like that you call me kitty, my dear,'' she said, still smiling. ``And I am always happy when I think of becoming such as occasion for you to do so.''
+
+It beamed, smug and sly and looking quite pleased for the change it had had a paw in working. It was very \emph{not} Dear in that moment—it was (and is!) very Warmth In Fire because, while it shared some of that quippiness that Dear was so well-known for, Dear shared little of my `motherly warmth', as it put it. Dear did not inherit such from me—or perhaps had lost it over long years with too many quips—but my beloved up-tree did.
+
+Here was The Oneirotect being warm. Here was The Oneirotect being insightful and supportive. Here was her taking control for The Woman's sake. Here was it looking for some way to stop trauma-dumping on her and start guiding her closer toward self-understanding, toward a resolution, toward peace.
+
+``But no, I imagine myself being other than just She Who Is Kitty From Time To Time. I imagine myself as someone who has found a purpose within her life other than, as Rejoice put it, simply being one who is built to suffer. Suffering may well be inescapable, but would that I were aught else than She Who Suffers.''
+
+``Is that what you feel you are now, my dear?'' The Oneirotect asked, her tone veering further into direness once more, her words filled with ache and earnestness. ``Do you not find joy in each day? Each hour? You, and all the others in that melancholy home of yours, have committed to perhaps the world's direst bit, but it is worth it, in the end, is it not? There is still tomorrow, and the opportunity it offers, is there not?''
+
+The Woman sat with this in thoughtfulness, her expression perhaps now distant, perhaps now curious. Her gaze drifted from my beloved up-tree to me, and then somewhere over my shoulder, out toward the far wall, toward the door, and then panned once more over toward the windows, where the leaves of spring fluttered in a pleasant visual static.
+
+When once more her eyes returned to us, her expression had settled into what, I do not know exactly. Pensive? Introspective? I cannot say, dear readers. I cannot say.
+
+``I do feel joy, yes. I think that one of the things that sparked this train of thought was actually one such case of joy. I visited No Hesitation for a simple coffee date, and from there I was left with joy that lasted some few days. It was a comfort to me.'' The faintest of smiles turned up the corners of her mouth. ``No, it was not just a comfort, it was a thing I clung to jealously, and when I felt that it was being slowly parceled out to others at home—for they too deserve joy—and when I was asked about it by Ever Dream, I felt as though it was slipping away from me with no recourse. Is joy to always do such? Every time I receive such joy, is it only to slip away?''
+
+There was a sense then in The Oneirotect of discomfort at this sentiment: that joy is fleeting. It had worked so hard to become able to appreciate the joys it had, despite the equally-ephemeral agonies it suffered at the hands of perfectionism and impostor syndrome—as do we all at times, yes?
+
+``It will always be true that you shared that comfort together, End Of Endings,'' she said, my own maternal concern echoed in its voice, so many hours spent helping hold eir head above water while they wallowed in a spiral of self-loathing. ``What is it that slipped away?''
+
+``The\ldots{}'' The Woman started, then immediately fell off into silence. There was a frown on her face, though it was one of concentration rather than consternation. ``What it feels has slipped away is the possibility of the permanence of joy, or even joy that lasts longer than suffering. I suppose that is what I am seeking in this exercise. I am seeking joy that lasts. Even if not forever, I am seeking joy that lasts. I am seeking intentionality in joy. I am seeking agency in joy.''
+
+My beloved up-tree was along for the ride up until the word `agency,' at which it scrunched up its face and reared eir head back as though someone had—as often I have done—pressed on the tip of her little nose—or, it is not so little; it is a big honker of a schnoz as some cartoon might have. How often had ey struggled for its own agency? How often pawing feebly at a thing for years and years and feeling as if nothing it made met its own standards? How often wallowing and feeling helpless but to wallow? How often caught in a spate of ineffectual pining, of disinterest born of despair, of the sort of pain that festers and festers until she broke down into tears and overflowed? Ah--! But it replied, ``Is the pain as well not itself as fleeting? Does it not fly away in the wind when a gust of joy blows your way? Does despair not crumble at the feet of relief, euphoria, pleasure? Is it not dashed away on the rocks of even one moment of the right kind of comfort?'' It fell silent for a moment, gaze drifting outward toward those very same leaves as caught the Woman's eye. ``It is still worth it, is it not? It must be worth it, or else all the world's a horror.''\label{shakespeare}
+
+Here, now, was a moment of quiet between us all as The Oneirotect grappled with its silently tearful emotions. I have spoken of the ways in which we cry, the whys and wherefores, the shamelessness of it all, and so it grappled with its own whys and wherefores, its own shamelessness, and we—The Woman and I—looked on with curiousity and compassion and empathy, for we felt also some of these things.
+
+Here, my friends, I must explain something. I must explain the Warmth In Fire before Warmth In Fire. I must explain The Sightwright who is no more.
+
+It is as my beloved up-tree says: we also suffer. Have I not spoken of such? Of course I have! I cannot but! I cannot help myself in this.
+
+The Sightwright suffered as I do, as The Oneirotect does, and perhaps even as The Woman did.\label{winthrop} It was so long ago that they left us, left me, and though I remember, I remember through the lens of centuries, through a glass, darkly.\label{1cor13} They suffered because of their art. They suffered because of the world around them. They suffered perhaps because we are all built to suffer.
+
+They suffered as do my beloved up-tree and I, but they also suffered as did—I must explain, also, or perhaps remind—Death Itself and I Do Not Know.
+
+They quit.
+
+They suffered too much. They were, and then they were not.
+
+I must explain and I must remind to set before you the context of what The Oneirotect said next.
+
+My beloved up-tree's tears did not ebb before ey spoke. No, in fact, they flowed and flowed, a cascade of emotion trickling and then creeping and then washing across its face. I have spoken about the way I cry already, and, well, surely they got it from somewhere, yes? ``There has been enough of death in the clade, my dear,'' it plead, wiping its eyes to no avail. Fur remained wet. Nose remained clogged. Voice remained round. Ey pulled eir paws away from eir face, looking appalled at the strands of spit and snot and salty tears. ``You do not intend to quit, do you?'' it croaked through another sob, voice small. ``You will be with us for a good while yet, right? Please say yes.''
+
+The Woman smiled, and this smile was not a blessing but a benediction, and it was not for me but for solely The Oneirotect. It was my job only to witness this smile, this validation of pain. ``No, dear one. I do not intend to quit.'' She let these words hang there in the air before us, a monument to such an intent. ``No, I am seeking not just meaning but purpose. I have explored meaningful things and pleasurable things, but now I wish to explore direction.''
+
+The Oneirotect is not The Child, but my beloved up-tree is also my very own little one. With this comes at least some of the baggage of being small, including tears that seem to flow with an outsized force. So overcome by the base reality of a good, hard cry was it that ey could not help but laugh at emself. ``Oh, good!'' she managed, sucking back what ick she could. ``I will hold you to that. If you quit, I will wipe this snot all over your headstone! It will cake itself between the grooves of your epitaph. It will dry there in the cracks and no dandelions will grow upon its stony bed; it will be the worst!''
+
+At this, The Woman and I smiled. There perhaps was also room for laughter, but a simpler acknowledgment was required for now. A box of tissues was summoned. Glasses of water. Hugs and soft pets and gentle kisses between the ears such as might offer comfort. Such are the realities of a good cry, yes? The distasteful and the compassionate realities both? They are as worthy of acknowledgment as the reality of breath, sys-side. We do not cease being subject to our gross anatomy.
+
+``A reminder: art is not strictly joy, but also suffering,'' I cautioned most gently. ``With art comes fear.\label{artandfear} There is suffering of a sort in failure. There is suffering in falling short, as well; even if you succeed in an endeavor in your own eyes, you may feel the pain of lack.'' Despite her expectant silence, I held up a paw as though to forestall comments, for even movement is communication. ``You are strong, End Of Endings, and I know—I think we know—that you are up to such a task, but I must remind you as well.''
+
+The Woman bowed her head, though whether in acknowledgment or a pensive shift in her thoughts, I could not tell. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps she felt then as I have so much lately: as though the world is not quite as it seems, as though there is something more beneath or above. Perhaps she felt keenly our superlative friend. ``I understand, of course. I suppose that has also been the case in my explorations of late, that there ever be this balance.'' She lifted her head to smile wryly. ``There is, as you say, suffering in many things, but the suffering of failure carries a particular tang of disappointment, does it not?''
+
+The Oneirotect finally recomposed itself, reassured of The Woman's longevity. ``Yes,'' she answered most bluntly. ``Emphatically, yes. And yet, after nearly two and a half centuries, I am still doing it. Rye, you still write your stories, yes? Serene, she yet weaves her wilds, yes?'' Its cadence fired up, its tone almost a challenge, daring End Of Endings to oppose this conviction forged in agony. ``I still dream up my little wonders and Dry Grass still keeps them on her mantle and those who I will never know still greedily gobble their favored food from my work on the Exchange.''
+
+She paused, planting its paws between its knees to lean forward in eir seat. ``There is vanity in art, and it is in vanity that we artists dwell. We mean to expose some part of ourselves, and there is torture in knowing \emph{precisely} how wrong every act has turned out.'' The Oneirotect's fervor softened into something more familiar to me, more an expression of shared adversity than the bitter lesson of so many shattered dreams littering the waters in its wake. ``That is why we must do this for more than ourselves, End Of Endings, why our art must have its own value lest we fall into the perpetual pursuit of some cruel point.''
+
+The Woman tilted her head—that habit that so often follows each and every one of us around like a little puppy. ``You mean to consider my audience?''
+
+I wobbled a paw. ``While that is perhaps some of it—a great deal, even, as that validation does drive one on—there is more to art than that.'' I am not ashamed to say that I fall so easily back into that teacher mode of speaking. We were such for how many years, phys-side? And I have been such off and on for how many more, here? ``You speak of purpose: it is also the sharing of what goes \emph{into} art, too. I write for myself, yes, for the joy of it, and I write for others, too. But if my failures are instructive, then shall I not also pass that instruction on to others? I teach. I write \emph{with} others. I read and give feedback.''
+
+At this she smiled. ``Teaching has stuck with us, after all. You have already mentioned communalism, too.''
+
+``Yes, that is it!'' The Oneirotect said, a bright smile plastered across its face. ``Have we not all of us in our hearts our own little shrines to \emph{communitas?} I want for every person on Lagrange to be able to do what we do, to weave dreams tangible or otherwise into being with the ease of centuries of experience. I want for them to enjoy the food of their lives back phys-side, to imagine what flavors the Artemisians indulge, to draw up from memory the last best moment they ever beheld. That is why I go with Jove and Why Ask Questions to their little skillshare, yes, but it is also why I have taken a liking to oneiro-impressionism. I do not want for this to be so hard for everyone forever.
+
+``It is just as industry made our lives gentler, yes?'' ey went on, tone shifting further into something perilously close to exhaustion. The pain it was tanking to explain itself to The Woman was plain to see on its face as it grappled with eir own doubts. It spoke with confidence to her, but The Oneirotect spoke also to itself, and I am proud to say that in the years that followed, this conversation proved fruitful for at least one of us.
+
+``Let us discover some secret hidden in AwDae's little world,'' it mused, eyes steady on The Woman. ``Let us find a way to render pedestrian what is, at present, an expert's privilege.''
+
+I am \emph{proud} of em. I am as proud as any mother, as any attentive aunt, as any family member must be. They continually amaze me with just how much they have done with their life. She delights me with with her attentiveness to the audience of her art.
+
+It, too, fills me with commiseration with its exhaustion, for such is also as I have felt in the ways that I move through the world and I move through my life and I move through my art. I have spoken and doubtless will speak yet more about my overflow, my graphomania, and will whine forever about the pain that comes with it, the feelings of inadequacy and lack when I consider as well that others will willingly read my words. Would that-- ah! But I wander\ldots{}
+
+``I had not thought to question what art I might create provides to others,'' The Woman said after a silent moment's thought. ``Now that I say that aloud, I am a little ashamed that I had not considered it. Much of this exercise that I have been undertaking has been focused on \emph{my} joy, on what \emph{I} might gain from being able to pick up from this or that, whether it be hedonism or love or art.''
+
+The sheepishness in her tone, dear readers, cut. I ached for her, even if she herself in that moment once more wore that blessed wry smile.
+
+Beyond that, though, did I not also have thoughts on this? Did I not also have feelings on caring for oneself? The Golden Rule must also apply to oneself. We, too, deserve to be treated as we might treat others. It is the Silver Rule, perhaps, that the Golden Rule be inverted. Others are worthy of consideration when we think of our work, and yet\ldots and yet\ldots{}
+
+And yet.
+
+``It is no bad thing to consider those first, my dear,'' I said. ``One must remember oneself first, though certainly not to the exclusion of others, of community. You cannot, after all, give to your community if you are unable to give, yes? The Golden Rule applies also to you, yes? You must treat \emph{yourself} well, yes?''
+
+She chuckled and gave a nod of acknowledgment. ``Of course, Rye. I should not rush to judge this exploration so harshly this soon.'' Her shoulders sagged, then, and the ache within me swelled. ``Perhaps I am simply sick of this suffering that Rejoice speaks of. Perhaps I am ready to move away from it. Not to quit, but to find some new basis for myself.''
+
+``And you are testing art as this new basis? Creating things, whatever that may be?''
+
+She nodded. ``I remain split on it, as yet. It is more complicated than I had imagined, given what you two have said, yes? It is much like Slow Hours's and Beholden's full-attention reading and listening. It takes the whole of me and is exhausting. I am exhausted even at the thought of starting.''
+
+I thought back to my first creations, to the first stories and poems and novels that I wrote, back when I was still learning how to forge and how also to hone, and laughed. ``Oh, my dear, it is exhausting to \emph{remember} starting. I will let you leave with one of my first stories. Thank goodness I did not allow it to see the light of day.''
+
+``That tiring, then?''
+
+I nodded. ``Beyond tiring. I do not know how it felt for Warmth, but for me, I would move in fits and starts, now loving my art and now feeling like it was trash, that I was treading already trod ground, that it was derivative. I suppose I had to learn how to learn, first, but even after that. I wanted to have become a great author, without going through the becoming part.''
+
+The Oneirotect snickered, resting a paw on my knee. ``I had the advantage of your example to learn from,'' she started, looking to End Of Endings. ``And my predecessor's. I \emph{started} easily enough, but the despair of mediocrity ever tainted my motivation. That first week was full to brimming with excitement, that second worthy but deprived of euphoria, and on the third I inevitably stumbled into a wallowing spiral until the fourth, when I swore I would never try again, only for a new ambition to spring up the next.'' It shook its head, as though in disbelief at itself. I found it understandable, dear readers, and perhaps you do as well. Even after three hundred years, the ambition always returns. Perhaps it was not disbelief, then, that led my beloved up-tree to shake eir head, but a world-weary recognition of this—but I digress. ``I have not improved very much at all in this respect; it is agony, but it has at least turned out to be sustainable. I only wish it did not \emph{hurt} so much.''
+
+Furrowing her brow, The Woman looked down to her glass of water. ``More complicated, indeed,'' she murmured, more to herself than anything—so evidently so that my beloved up-tree and I let her have that moment for herself, as though hesitant to interrupt it. ``You speak of works you would not let see the light of day, Rye, and of the pain of creation. You both clearly still find meaning in it—as do Slow Hours and Beholden, of course, and Motes—so I am left wondering what one does with these feelings of\ldots ah, I hesitate to say, but perhaps they are feelings of unworthiness. What does one do when one's works feel mediocre, especially if one is to create also for others?''
+
+It took me some time to disentangle The Woman's words. They were starting to fall into a jumble, into a garden path of wanderings. Perhaps you may even sense that in me, friends, the ways in which my words wander, their circuitous routes, though I do not think that she was nearly so taken with language as I am, or at least not in quite the same way. I think she was simply tired. She certainly looked it, with the slump of her shoulders and the drowsiness in her features she nonetheless seemed intent on masking.
+
+``I imagine it is different for every artist,'' I said most carefully, hesitant to in any way push The Woman away from any art she might wish to start. ``For me, I keep all of my writing. I have exos full to overflowing with snippets and ideas, abandoned drafts, outlines I never got to. I am a bit of a packrat, in that way, and I am not sorry. I spoke before of learning to learn, and the utility of using that learning, and I think that is what I try to draw from them. There is that which I have created that only I value, yes, but its utility is in what it gives in improving going forward or in teaching.''
+
+The answer felt less than satisfactory, or perhaps not quite as true as it could have been, for there was work of mine that I loved for this utility and yet was unwilling to publish, not now, not work from when I was in the novitiate in my art. There is work of mine even now that I hate, that I loathe for, as The Oneirotect said, the wallowing spiral that spawned it and it makes me wonder, and at times it makes me tremble, that I must say there is worth in art when so much of mine feels worthless.
+
+``End Of Endings, my dear,'' The Oneirotect said, slipping down from her stool, ``I am beginning to see myself in you, and that fills me with fear. You have promised me that you do not intend to quit, but if there \emph{is} that of death in you, whatever art you choose will bring you perilously close to the brink time and time and time again.'' It padded up beside The Woman, placing both paws on her knees and looking up into her face. ``Tell me, kitty, is it better to disappear into a blizzard, or should someone lay down their weary bones in a grave when they are through?''

idumea/content/006.tex

@@ -18,7 +18,7 @@ The Woman and her superlative friend moved together as one. They were the same p
 
 The Woman and her superlative friend, when next they clicked their implants into place and delved into the familiar second home that was the 'net, they were shunted away into dreams and left there to wilt, to languish, to desiccate and wither and be blown away by who cared what wind. They were knocked a meter to the right and back in some metaphorical way, their immersive tech refusing to relinquish its grip on their reality so that, from the outside, they only slept, and yet within, they dreamed along the filaments of those implants, trapped within that hardware, for the nature of getting lost was a coma mediated by integrated technology. They were both torn asunder in some ineffable way. For Michelle who was Sasha, those two identities were carved apart—though only halfway—and, when her superlative friend, her beloved RJ, gave of emself to create the world that was Lagrange, a System for those minds who chose to upload, she dove after em in as soon as she could afford.
 
-The Woman and her superlative friend were ever bound up in each other, for they were the same person twice over, and since this world was in some ineffable way made \emph{of} em, Michelle who was Sasha and The Woman who was Michelle felt she had no other choice, even if the unique trauma of getting lost meant that she ever felt that split, that inextricable Sasha-ness and Michelle-ness that someone, some bureaucrat that wanted her lost, inadvertently tried to reify, and it was not until the ability to fork was added to the System that she was able to alleviate herself of such. Or, if not herself, at least she could ensure that those new copies of herself, the Ode clade, would be without such pain.
+The Woman and her superlative friend were ever bound up in each other, for they were the same person twice over, and since this world was in some ineffable way made \emph{of} em, Michelle who was Sasha and The Woman who was Michelle felt she had no other choice, even if the unique trauma of getting lost meant that she ever felt that split, that inextricable Sasha-ness and Michelle-ness that someone, some bureaucrat that wanted her lost, inadvertently tried to reify, and it was not until the ability to fork—to copy oneself and multiply, to let instances merge back down or to continue on and become their own people—was added to the System that she was able to alleviate herself of such. Or, if not herself, at least she could ensure that those new copies of herself, the Ode clade, would be without such pain.
 
 The Woman and her clade were never wholly without, for such is the way of trauma, yes?
 
@@ -30,9 +30,9 @@ The Woman wandered far from home. She picked a direction—east, if the entrance
 
 She remembered these things, and I remember these things, just as I, in dreams, remember the sands beneath my feet and the rattle of dry grass in the wind and the names of all things and forget them only when I wake. She wandered the field and lay down and looked at the stars and bathed in memories and I pace the empty rooms of my home, listening to nothing, looking at nothing, clenching and unclenching my fists as I struggle not to reach for my pen, my paper, and instead write in my head.
 
-Why do we so often do this? Why are there times when, overflowing or not, we wrap ourselves up in our memories like the most comforting blanket in the world, and yet still cry? Why do we cry after loved ones? Why do we cry after ourselves? Why do we look up to the stars—stars we made!—and cry so bitterly? Why do the tears leave tracks in the fur on our cheeks or down over the skin of our faces? Why do birds, as the poet says, suddenly appear every time we feel such nearness as is left of our superlative friend?
+Why do we so often do this? Why are there times when, overflowing or not, we wrap ourselves up in our memories like the most comforting blanket in the world, and yet still cry? Why do we cry after loved ones? Why do we cry after ourselves? Why do we look up to the stars—stars we made!—and cry so bitterly? Why do the tears leave tracks in the fur on our cheeks or down over the skin of our faces? Why do birds, as the poet says, suddenly appear every time\label{birds} we feel such nearness as is left of our superlative friend?
 
-The Woman lay in the grass of the field and dug her fingers down into the soil between the blades, clutching perhaps a dandelion.
+The Woman lay in the grass of that sweet field arrayed in living green\label{sweet-prospect} and dug her fingers down into the soil between the blades, clutching perhaps a dandelion.
 
 When Michelle who was Sasha was lost, when she was set aside from the world as something undesirable, some anathema, she was placed within a dream and left to rot.
 
@@ -44,7 +44,7 @@ But The Woman who was Michelle who was Sasha would not let that happen. She \emp
 
 And then, one day, her superlative friend disappeared. Days went by, and weeks, and then before the month was out, she received a letter detailing the ways in which ey hoped to move forward, how ey would likely die, but at least ey would die in the act of creation, of making a new world of utter freedom, where dreaming together was the warp of the world, and intent the weft, and ey both succeeded and failed, for now the world in which we live is one woven from dreams and intent, but ey is absent. It was in that letter that ey had written the ode that became the source of our names, and so we live out our lives embodying these fragments of em, but even still, ey failed because ey is absent. Ey became the weaver.
 
-And still, ey succeeded. Ey succeeded because ey became the loom. Ey became the fabric. Ey became the shuttle and the pirn and the batten and the comb and the heddle, and the world is the lathe and we are the treadles working and working and working and we feel em beneath our fingertips as they trace along the weave, but ey is not here.
+And still, ey succeeded. Ey succeeded because ey became the loom while we became the fabric. Ey became the shuttle and the pirn and the batten and the comb and the heddle, and the world is the lathe and we are the treadles working and working and working and we feel em beneath our fingertips as they trace along the weave, but ey is not here.
 
 But I digress.
 
@@ -70,7 +70,7 @@ What is one to do when faced with the enormity of love? What subtle powers does
 
 The Woman and I and all of our kin have not always had the best of luck with love, nor with standing up for ourselves. When I say that we have more traumas than simply getting lost, our unluck in love accounts for some sizeable portion of this.
 
-We struggled with the role that our bodies played, yes? For Michelle who was Sasha was short—as we are—and she was fat—as many of us remain—and she was so-called blessed with breasts to match. So-called by those who wished to in some way claim ownership of them. When she pursued a reduction, her back thanked her and those who bestowed such praise wondered why why why she would withhold that goodness from them.
+We struggled with the role that our bodies played, yes? For Michelle who was Sasha was short—as we are—and she was fat—as many of us remain—and she was so-called blessed with breasts to match; so called by those who wished to in some way claim ownership of them. When she pursued a reduction, her back thanked her and those who bestowed such praise wondered why why why she would withhold that goodness from them.
 
 And yet even that did not stop such attention, for we were, it seems, worth a certain set of things to others—to those beyond our friends and our superlative friend with whom we remain in love—and so why would they hunt for aught else?
 
@@ -116,7 +116,7 @@ She returned home after that talk with me and my beloved up-tree, with your humb
 
 My dear, dear friends, the longer I go on, the more I pace around through quiet rooms the more these words swirl around me in some quiet maelstrom, the more I wish that I could do the same. Sleep brings no relief. Within my dreams there are yet more words. The boundary between waking and sleeping is so faint, now—I write even in my sleep! My dreams are of The Woman! My dreams are of me sitting at my desk with my pen in my paw and paper before me, of ink on page and words flowing after like an eager puppy!—the boundary is so faint now that I have more than once awoken from uneasy sleep to found that I had indeed at some point sat down at my desk and written word after word after word, after word and word and word. I have found pages of endlessly repeating phrases. I have found scribbles that are doubtless words and yet which I cannot decipher, and I cannot remember my dreams well enough to say what they may have been.
 
-Did The Woman dream, we may wonder? Did she lay down and sleep after that conversation and look up to the constellations in the fabric of the sky, close her eyes, and then let play within her head some scene, some dream within a dream within a dream within a dream, some stream of meaning that the subconscious mind as dreamed by The Dreamer of the world dreamed forth?
+Did The Woman dream, we may wonder? Did she lay down and sleep after that conversation and look up to the constellations in the fabric of the sky, close her eyes, and then let play within her head some scene, some dream within a dream within a dream within a dream,\label{to-} some stream of meaning that the subconscious mind as dreamed by The Dreamer of the world dreamed forth?
 
 I do not know.
 
@@ -128,13 +128,13 @@ For she is our Pinocchio, is she not? She is our Pinocchio in reverse. She is th
 
 The Woman then had her inciting incident, did she not? She had that moment when she met with Her Friend and felt after some form of joy that she could not quite put into words, and with that joy, against that joy, she felt the loss of joy over time, the way it was secreted within the treats that she delivered quietly to her cocladists and the way it seemed to trickle out of her life. And the second part of this incitation was the way that this fading of joy was cast against the stasis of her stanza, the suffering supposedly bestowed upon them. It showed to her plainly the impermanence of such joys, and thus, by omission, the possibility of a permanent pleasure.
 
-She is and we are of a neurodivergent type, and so her approach to hunting for such joy as she imagined was of such a type as that: thorough and curious, methodical and whimsical. She set before herself by rule of fives five investigations: food, sex, entertainment, creation, and change. The first four of these brought joy, and even superlative joy, but not the joy she sought, and before her lay the prospect of change, and yet such a prospect was exhausting before she had even begun.
+She is and we are of a neurodivergent type, and so her approach to hunting for such joy as she imagined was of such a type as that: thorough and curious, methodical and whimsical. She set before herself by rule of fives five investigations: food, sex, entertainment, creation, and change. The first four of these brought joy, and even superlative joy, but not the joy she sought, not the stillness she sought, and before her lay the prospect of change, and yet such a prospect was exhausting before she had even begun.
 
 And so now we may only guess at the dreams of one such as her, one who lives within our consensual dream, one who is dreamed by The Dreamer who was at one point our superlative friend.
 
 Here is my supposition:
 
-The Woman went walking. In her dream, she went walking, though it was not out on her field, the one we have seen so often. No, instead she went walking out her bedroom and through her secret door, out through the door and onto the street of the city that had become so familiar to her over the years, that city with the brick pavers and the fallen leaves which skittered so anxiously around her feet. She went walking in her dream and made her way through unnervingly empty city streets, walking and walking and walking. She passed the trolley stops. She passed the coffee shops. She passed, perhaps, the setting sun.
+The Woman went walking. In her dream, she went walking, though it was not out on her field, the one we have seen so often. No, instead she went walking out her bedroom and through her secret door, out through the door and onto the street of the city that had become so familiar to her over the years, that city with the brick pavers and the fallen leaves which skittered so anxiously around her feet. She went walking in her dream and made her way through unnervingly empty city streets, walking and walking and walking. She passed the trolley stops. She passed the coffee shops. She passed, perhaps, the setting sun.\label{stop-for-death}
 
 And at some final point—final!—she came across a square set within the cement of the sidewalk perhaps two meters on a side where the concrete gave way to a metal grate in the form of a sunburst, and in the middle there was a circle of soil, good and clean.
 
@@ -148,7 +148,7 @@ This is my supposition for The Woman and her dream after she came home from my h
 
 \secdiv
 
-The longer we live—and, my dear readers, I will remind you that I am now 323 years old!—the more evident it becomes to us that there is a fractally cyclical nature to life: the years spiral up and the months spiral around and the days spiral forward—weeks are a construct borne out of our inherited faith but perhaps they too spiral—and so we live within a fractally cyclical tangle of time.
+The longer we live—and, my dear readers, I will remind you that I am now 323 years old!—the more evident it becomes to us that there is a fractally cyclical nature to life: the years spiral up and the months spiral around and the days spiral forward—weeks are a construct borne out of our inherited faith but perhaps they too spiral—and so we live within a fractally cyclical tangle of time.\label{florilegium}
 
 I know this. You know this, I am sure, on however instinctual a level, for you are clever and bright and you see the world with fresher eyes than I have. You are cleverer and brighter and fresher than your humble narrator who paces the empty rooms of her house and fills them with the quiet muttering of the mad.
 

idumea/content/007.tex

@@ -1,8 +1,8 @@
-When at last The Woman returned home, she performed a new ritual. She performed a ritual of mourning.
+When at last The Woman returned home from her walk of hours and hours and a day, she performed a new ritual. She performed a ritual of mourning.
 
-This, you see, was the start of her final task. Her set of five tasks, of food, of physical pleasure, of entertainment, of creation, of change was not quite complete, and had within it one more step, and she felt most a connection to the spiritual in the act of mourning and hoped in that to seek change.
+This, you see, was the first pawings at her final task. Her set of five tasks, of food, of physical pleasure, of entertainment, of creation, of change was not quite complete, and had within it one more step, and she felt most a connection to the spiritual in the act of mourning and hoped in that to seek change.
 
-My friends, I think it may well have been our conversation, that of The Woman and The Oneirotect and I, that set her mind thus in motion, for was it not then that we spoke so freely of my beloved up-tree and the way it mourned over Should We Forget? Did not the pair of long lost tenth stanza lines come up as well? Death Itself and I Do Not Know? They, too, perhaps felt some of this too-full-ness that The Woman struggles with, for back and back and back and back and back and back, six decades back, they lay still in thought and, before long, before the week was up, quit. They bowed out. They dipped. Committed suicide. Quit the big one. They push now up some perhaps daisies perhaps columbines perhaps nasturtiums\label{nasturtiums} in the mind of The Dreamer who dreams us all.
+My friends, I think it may well have been our conversation, that of The Woman and The Oneirotect and I, that set her mind thus in motion, for was it not then that we spoke so freely of my beloved up-tree and the way it mourned over Should We Forget? Did not the pair of long lost tenth stanza lines come up as well? Death Itself and I Do Not Know? They, too, perhaps felt some of this too-full-ness that The Woman struggles with, for back and back and back and back and back and back, six decades back, they lay still in thought and, before long, before the week was up, quit. They bowed out. They dipped. Committed suicide. Quit the big one. They push now up some perhaps daisies perhaps dandelions perhaps columbines perhaps nasturtiums\label{nasturtiums} in the mind of The Dreamer who dreams us all.
 
 There is loss in our lives and in our hearts and in our minds.
 
@@ -26,7 +26,7 @@ The Woman pushed the door open and bowed. ``Rejoice.''
 
 ``I would like to sit by Death Itself's bed for a few minutes.''
 
-Her Cocladist, halfway through setting her book aside, froze, and a wash of skunk spiraled up along her form, only to be replaced yet again by humanity, black fur sprouting, wilting, fading only to be replaced by skin. ``Why?''
+Her Cocladist, halfway through setting her book aside, froze, and a wash of skunk spiraled up along her form, only to be replaced yet again by humanity, black fur sprouting, wilting, fading, leaving only skin. ``Why?''
 
 The Woman stood still in the doorway. ``Because I am sad, and because I miss her.''
 
@@ -38,7 +38,7 @@ Along the other wall—that wall that had been hidden to the woman—was a simpl
 
 The Woman had her own ritual of grief to perform, though, and this did not call for touching the bed.
 
-Instead, she sat down near the end of it, across the room from Her Cocladist, for both beds had at their feet matching beanbags—when you have a tail that flickers into being at moments not under your control, you are limited in your seating, you see, to the types of seats that can accommodate such caudal majesty that skunks sport—where once Her Cocladist and Should We Forget would sit at times and talk and share in kindnesses such as touch when their forms permitted.
+Instead, she sat down near the end of it, across the room from Her Cocladist, for both beds had at their feet matching beanbags—when you have a tail that flickers into being at moments not under your control, you are limited in your seating, you see, to the types of seats that can accommodate such caudal majesty that skunks sport—where once Her Cocladist and Death Itself would sit at times and talk and share in kindnesses such as touch when their forms permitted.
 
 There, The Woman remained still.
 
@@ -70,7 +70,7 @@ Perhaps she spoke to The Dreamer who dreams us all, perhaps not, but either way,
 
 \label{thedog1}
 
-The Woman sat down on the floor by The Dog. She knew he was a cladist, for cladists come in many shapes---did she not also appear as a skunk? And a panther? And now, here, she was a human!---and so hoped he might have insight into unbecoming. This, after all, was the purpose of her visit to Le Rêve, the neighborhood of the fifth stanza, that of The Poet and The Musician and My Friend, and also The Child. It was The Child who was her goal, you see. She wished to speak with those who had changed, who had pushed themselves into new molds, who had become something new, that they might no longer be what had once drove them. Stillness lay in choice---that was the thought she held onto---that is the thought that I wish I could believe; would that I could choose to be still! Would that I could choose silence and images instead of yet more words.
+The Woman sat down on the floor by The Dog some days later, a week later. She knew he was a cladist, for cladists come in many shapes---did she not also appear as a skunk? And a panther? And now, here, she was a human!---and so hoped he might have insight into unbecoming. This, after all, was the purpose of her visit to Le Rêve, the neighborhood of the fifth stanza, that of The Poet and The Musician and My Friend, and also The Child. It was The Child who was her goal, you see. She wished to speak with those who had changed, who had pushed themselves into new molds, who had become something new, that they might no longer be what had once drove them. Stillness lay in choice---that was the thought she held onto---that is the thought that I wish I could believe; would that I could choose to be still! Would that I could choose silence and images instead of yet more words.
 
 The Dog had attached himself to Au Lieu Du Rêve, to the theatre troupe and to the fifth stanza, to His Skunks, some time ago. He spent many lazy days among them, many evenings dozing by the kettlecorn stand in the theater lobby in the hopes of someone dropping their snacks, many frantic minutes carrying The Child's latest core dump to the resident systech after she yet again in a bout of play had crashed.
 
@@ -108,7 +108,7 @@ The Woman reached out to pet The Dog. It relaxed into the pressure.
 
 \emph{``Some of the pack decide they don't want the job, want to do what the tall one is afraid of. They want to never talk, never plan.''}
 
-``I want something like this, perhaps,'' The Woman said. ``I want to unbecome, to be still. Do you know how?''
+``I want something like this, perhaps,'' The Woman said. ``I want to be still, to unbecome. Do you know how?''
 
 The Dog froze in a swelling of alarm. His fears came from the same simplicity as his joys. While he was wont to let the possibility of casting off his humanity sneak up on him slowly, he still felt fear, like His Elder did, at such a blunt statement of the idea. \emph{``Don't want! Who will watch Motes?''}
 
@@ -172,7 +172,7 @@ And in the bliss of not-knowing, through unwitnessed years and decades, it slept
 
 The Woman could not tell which of them had it better, these two dogs, these two cladists, these two beings who had so distanced themself from what they had once been. Both seemed quite content with the path that had taken. Dogs! What wonders they are! What pleasures! What joys. They had both unbecome, or taken steps in that direction, in their own way, and had found what they wanted.
 
-This was close, dear readers! This was so close to what she sought. This worrying not of \emph{knowing} was so close, but the Woman realized even then that, for her, the life of an animal, even one so invested in its state as The Rabbit-Chaser, was not what she sought, not quite, not exactly. It did not go far enough. It was not \emph{still} enough. The her who was a beast would still have too much of her. The her who was a skunk or a panther was still an active entity, an agent of her own future. In the end, the she who was these things was still an actor. She needed a change more integral, more whole, more entire—not a reshaping of the body, nor even the mind, but a reshaping of the existence.
+This was close, dear readers! This was so close to what she sought. This worrying not of \emph{knowing} was so close, but the Woman realized even then that, for her, the life of an animal, even one so invested in its state as The Rabbit-Chaser, was not what she sought, not quite, not exactly. It did not go far enough. It was not \emph{still} enough. The her who was a beast would still have too much of her, too many cares and worries and too much of herself.. The her who was a skunk or a panther was still an active entity, an agent of her own future. In the end, the she who was these things was still an actor. She needed a change more integral, more whole, more entire—not a reshaping of the body, nor even the mind, but a reshaping of the existence.
 
 So, her search continued.
 

idumea/content/008.tex

@@ -18,6 +18,24 @@ Well.
 
 There is a burning within me, and perhaps it is the burning edge of a knife held to my throat, in order to put all of these words somewhere. Their flow has been unstoppered, and I am helpless before it. They rush at me and all I can do is turn away from the wind and let this flow rush down my arm and out my paw and onto the page—though, my friends, I have now injured my paw too much for this to be literal; there is blood in my fur and under my claws and there are holes in my pads where I punctured them and I still have not had the focus to fork such away and so I write now solely within my head as I pace the quiet rooms of my home.
 
+Time is a story I tell myself. Sentences twine around seconds like tendrils of loveliness or despair or energy or lethargy. Minutes are paragraphs of weal or woe.\label{wealwoe} My hours are scenes that I live out. Days: drabbles. Months: novellas. Years: novels.
+
+But a life? What is a life, anymore? Three centuries and no sign of quitting, and a lifetime seems to have lost meaning. Perhaps someday my life will end, and I will have left behind a finite oeuvre. Perhaps I will simply decide that I have had enough and draw a line across the end of the page and, however many bookshelves of story are left behind shall be all that ever was.
+
+Not yet, though. Not this year, I suspect not this decade, and I hope not even this century.\label{keatsfears}
+
+I have joys to counter all of my sorrows. My head is, yes, in clouds stormy or peaceful, but my feet remain firmly planted on the ground. My arms are full of the love of life. My home makes room for those I see as my family. Our lawns are for picnics and our beds are for dreams.
+
+And so I sit in my office and write my stories. I sit on the couch and dream them up in my head. I cook with my beloved up-tree and watch em and The Child play in the grass while building my ballads after our picnics. I host my joys and languish in my sorrows, and I fall apart into distortion when I overflow. Cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs, The Oneirotect calls me, and we laugh together.
+
+That is now. That is when I wander the empty rooms of my house and drown in words with tears of ink upon my cheeks and the blood of helplessness still in my paws.
+
+Time is a story I tell myself and this is nothing special. Time is a story \emph{we} tell \emph{ourselves.} Time is a story that Michelle who was Sasha told herself, and her ending was one of—I hope—joy. Time is a story that Qoheleth told himself and his ending was one of—would that it were not—agony. Time is a story that The Woman told herself and her ending was\ldots{}
+
+Was it? Was hers an ending?
+
+That is her own joy. That is her story. Her story is one of ambiguities and unanswered questions. Her ending is a question mark and a faint smile.
+
 There is a burning, and there is helplessness, but there is no longer \emph{haste,} I mean to say, and I do not think The Woman felt haste. She, like me, felt \emph{compulsion.}
 
 She was compelled to seek a way to unbecome and make room for joy.
@@ -56,7 +74,7 @@ The Woman nodded.
 
 ``I have, yes.''
 
-Her Friend smiled, raising her paper cup in a toast and tapping it gently to The Woman's own cup. ``Congratulations, End Of Endings. I am pleased to hear that. Is there more that you can tell me?''
+Her Friend smiled, raising her paper cup in a toast and tapping it gently to The Woman's own. ``Congratulations, End Of Endings. I am pleased to hear that. Is there more that you can tell me?''
 
 ``Of course, No Hesitation,'' The Woman said, sitting up straighter, as though by having her body more in order, her thoughts might be as well—would that this worked, my dear friends! Would that I could be so still and keep my thoughts like ducks: all in a row. Would that my emotions all faced the same direction. Ah, but The Woman continued, ``If becoming was the act of going from stillness to movement, then unbecoming might well be the act of going from movement to stillness.''
 

idumea/content/009.tex

@@ -1,4 +1,4 @@
-Ah, my dear readers, my dear friends, my lovely little ones who sit cross-legged on carpet squares and the great big ones who wear their hearts on their sleeves, I am unable to do aught else but wax rhapsodic about so lovely a heart as that of The Woman, and while it may sound like I harbor some secret feelings, some hidden affection for her, and while that may indeed be true, for everyone wishes to be blessed by the kindest of smiles, I also feel that I do not have much longer to tell you this story, to finish what I have written from beginning to end, to get to the ending that doubtless you know now is coming, for I am now more words than I am person, I am more sentences than your narrator, and I am more story than I am alive.
+Ah, my dear readers, my dear friends, my lovely little ones who sit criss-cross on carpet squares and the great big ones who wear their hearts on their sleeves, I am unable to do aught else but wax rhapsodic about so lovely a heart as that of The Woman, and while it may sound like I harbor some secret feelings, some hidden affection for her, and while that may indeed be true, for everyone wishes to be blessed by the kindest of smiles, I also feel that I do not have much longer to tell you this story, to finish what I have written from beginning to end, to get to the ending that doubtless you know now is coming, for I am now more words than I am person, I am more sentences than your narrator, and I am more story than I am alive.
 
 I do not have much longer in which I may be able to tell you this story before the ceaseless tangle of words drags me under. I will try. I will try. I will try and try and try, and try and try.
 
@@ -24,7 +24,7 @@ Ah, my dear, \emph{dear} readers, you know that I am struggling, I will not apol
 
 What I have meant to tell you, what I have been trying to tell you and failing as waves of words wash over me, is that I remember what it was like to be that shape. I, \emph{too,} can look like Michelle who was Sasha did. I do not choose to do so often—I have not lived so in some decades—but I know that I still can, for I just now tried forking into such a shape. The Woman looked like that perhaps one third of the time, yes?
 
-Many of those within our clade still look like her, to some extent or another, and one of those, one who came to visit me not a week after I met with The Woman, was The Blue Fairy.
+Many of those within our clade still look like her, to some extent or another, and one of those, one who came to visit me not a month after I met with The Woman, was The Blue Fairy.
 
 The Blue Fairy did not look \emph{precisely} as Michelle who was Sasha did, of course, and very few of us do, except perhaps some of those in the tenth stanza. For, you see, the sixth stanza, the one from which The Blue Fairy originates, found itself focused keenly on feelings of motherhood. This is not, you must understand, restricted to those feelings of giving birth—though perhaps some linger in that sense—nor of having or raising children—though The Blue Fairy is called `Ma 2.0' by The Child—but it is a general sense, a broad definition that encompasses the feelings of love that dwell within us and how they apply to the whole of the world.
 
@@ -46,17 +46,17 @@ They loved each other, and then, as has been the theme throughout this winding s
 
 And so here she was, no longer just a cocladist of mine, just a woman who wandered sims and drank mochas and loved the world, but once more a systech, once more a fairy. She was once more The Blue Fairy.
 
-And so here she was, \emph{here,} Standing before my door, my second visitor in a week, bowing to me and greeting me with such kindness as I have ever seen from her, whenever we have had cause to meet—not infrequently, for she was also fond of my beloved up-tree.
+And so here she was, \emph{here,} Standing before my door, my second visitor in a month, bowing to me and greeting me with such kindness as I have ever seen from her, whenever we have had cause to meet—not infrequently, for she was also fond of my beloved up-tree.
 
 ``Tell me, Dry Grass, how you have been,'' I said once we were settled around the table in my house, that dining table which so easily expanded to fit all who would join and yet now was small and intimate.
 
-``Oh, well enough, I suppose. I think I am starting to find my way out of that phase where everything feels new about systech stuff. It was easy enough for me to jump right in at first, but so much has changed in the intervening years.''
+``Oh, well enough, I suppose. I think I am starting to find my way out of that phase where everything feels new about systech stuff. It was easy enough for me to jump right back in at first, but so much has changed in the intervening years.''
 
 ``I can imagine, yes.''
 
-``It is not all on me, at least. We are learning the ins and outs of the new tech they have given us while bringing Lagrange back up from the Century Attack. So many crashes after long-diverged forks merged cross-tree out of fun, so many instances of people accidentally messing up their new ACLs and locking themselves out of their own rooms.'' She laughed, sipped her mocha, and added, ``The world feels strange and new.''
+``It is not all on me, at least. We are all learning the ins and outs of the new tech they have given us while bringing Lagrange back up from the Century Attack. So many crashes after long-diverged forks merged cross-tree out of fun, so many instances of people accidentally messing up their new ACLs and locking themselves out of their own rooms.'' She laughed, sipped her mocha, and added, ``The world feels strange and new.''
 
-``It does, at that,'' I said, smiling. ``I do not think I am at risk of either of those, at least. I have little interest in cross-tree merging, beyond providing an instance for Ashes Denote That Fire Was.''\label{ashes}
+``It does, at that,'' I said, smiling. ``I do not think I am at risk of either of those, at least. I have little interest in cross-tree merging, beyond providing an instance for Ashes Denote That Fire Was.''
 
 ``Same, on both counts. I believe they have picked up nearly twenty Odists now. They look\ldots well, they certainly have plenty going on, yes?''
 
@@ -70,7 +70,7 @@ Eventually, she replied: ``That is actually part of why I came here, Rye.''
 
 ``I came to speak with you about End Of Endings.''
 
-I sat up straighter. My friends, you will surely understand when I say that The Woman had been on my mind much in the intervening days, in that week between when I last saw her and this lovely afternoon with The Blue Fairy. Her loveliness shined bright in my thoughts, and I still felt blessed—still \emph{feel} blessed!—by each and every one of her smiles and quiet laughs. ``Yes, I have spoken with her recently. Warmth and I both have, I mean.''
+I sat up straighter. My friends, you will surely understand when I say that The Woman had been on my mind much in the intervening days, in that month between when I last saw her and this lovely afternoon with The Blue Fairy. Her loveliness shined bright in my thoughts, and I still felt blessed—still \emph{feel} blessed!—by each and every one of her smiles and quiet laughs. ``Yes, I have spoken with her recently. Warmth and I both have, I mean.''
 
 ``Yes, she mentioned such to me. She mentioned you two, Motes, Slow Hours, Beholden, No Hesitation, Ever Dream, Rejoice, Farai—a woman with whom she has at times dated—and a few incidental friends she has made in the last month or so. I have been meeting up with each of them to get a better sense of what is happening. You are the last on my list.''
 
@@ -94,7 +94,7 @@ The Blue Fairy nodded. ``She is not interested in meditating, no.''
 
 She nodded once more. ``Right.''
 
-My friends, I will not lie, there was much frustration in me at the moment. I could feel my tail bristling out and I could feel my hackles raise and I could feel the way my ears were pinning back almost against my will. I think you may well understand, why, too, for this is what I said next: ``Okay, and she says that she has no desire to die in her, and yet she is talking about all but disappearing to the world around her, yes? That is what she is saying here! She is saying that she wants to stop being what she is and to become a tree!''
+My friends, I will not lie, there was much frustration in me at the moment. I could feel my tail bristling out and I could feel my hackles raise and I could feel the way my ears were pinning back almost against my will. I think you may well understand, why, too, for this is what I said next: ``Okay, and she says that she has no desire to die in her, and yet she is talking about all but disappearing to the world around her, yes? That is what she is saying here! She is saying that she wants to stop being what she is and to become a tree. A tree!''
 
 The Blue Fairy only smiled tiredly to me and replied, ``It is as you say.''
 
@@ -108,7 +108,7 @@ She shook her head, chuckling. ``Oh, not at all. I am quite back-and-forth on th
 
 ``I have heard of those, yes. I have visited Nanbrethil.''
 
-``Of course you have,'' she said, smirking. ``But no, she said that she had already read up on some such groups and did not think that this is what she was after. She was after specifically `unbecoming', and this, she believed, was not the same as the thing that these groups were after. She said,''They are after an experience, and I do not fault them for that, but I am after an existence. They wish to do, I wish to be.'' When I suggested that perhaps there might be others who are interested in that, she cut me off—very politely, of course!—and said that that may well be, but that she came to me specifically because of our connection.''
+``Of course you have,'' she said, smirking. ``But no, she said that she had already read up on some such groups and did not think that this is what she was after. She was after specifically `unbecoming', and this, she believed, was not the same as the thing that these groups were after. She said, ``They are after an experience, and I do not fault them for that, but I am after an existence. They wish to do, I wish to be.'' When I suggested that perhaps there might be others who are interested in that, she cut me off—very politely, of course!—and said that that may well be, but that she came to me specifically because of our connection.''
 
 ``Connection?''
 
@@ -116,11 +116,11 @@ She shook her head, chuckling. ``Oh, not at all. I am quite back-and-forth on th
 
 I sat back in my chair, holding my mug in both paws to draw from the warmth. ``Do you think, then, that she is seeking this change because of the loss from the Century Attack? That of Should We Forget?''
 
-``That is what I came to ask you about, actually. I have visited with all of these people, heard all of what they have had to tell me about End Of Endings's last few weeks, and now I want to hear how you would write the end of this story, and how you imagine she would justify it.''
+``That is what I came to ask you about. I have visited with all of these people, heard all of what they have had to tell me about End Of Endings's last few weeks, and now I want to hear how you would write the end of this story, and how you imagine she would justify it. How \emph{we} might justify it''
 
-Now \emph{this} was a thought, dear readers. This was a thought that danced up along my nape and left a tingle in my scalp, it is a thought that danced down along my arms and gave an inch in my paws that invited the picking up of a pen. It is a thought that has circled around my head like a halo, lighting all that I see, for some years now, for nearly six years! I thought to write this story then, and I thought to write this story after, and I thought to write this story in the intervening years, but something was not quite right, not quite right, not quite right about the time or about myself or about the world around me, and so I did not. I did not write the story perhaps because I was still living in that haste to experience all that I could before our world risked once more coiling around and eating some more billions of us and our lives were turned off like a simple light switch. I did not write the story because I was writing only the small things, that I might spend the rest of my time loving those around me, hugging my beloved up-tree, eating picnics out on the lawn with my stanza, simply \emph{living.} Ah, I am trying to--
+Now \emph{this} was a thought, dear readers. This was a thought that danced up along my nape and left a tingle in my scalp, it is a thought that danced down along my arms and gave an inch in my paws that invited the picking up of a pen. It is a thought that has circled around my head like a halo, lighting all that I see, for some years now, for nearly six years! I thought to write this story then, and I thought to write this story after, and I thought to write this story in the intervening years, but something was not quite right, not quite right, not quite right about the time or about myself or about the world around me, and so I did not. I did not write the story perhaps because I was still living in that haste to experience all that I could before our world risked once more coiling around and eating some billions more of us and our lives were turned off like a simple light switch. I did not write the story because I was writing only the small things, that I might spend the rest of my time loving those around me, hugging my beloved up-tree, eating picnics out on the lawn with my stanza, simply \emph{living.} Ah, I am trying to--
 
-Some of you, perhaps some of my newer uploads, or my littler readers, or maybe some of those who have lived for centuries, might wonder at this. They might wonder: ``Rye, it seems to me like The Woman is asking to be absolved of all those except the barest responsibilities of living.'' They might wonder: ``Rye, it seems to me like The Woman is abdicating on life in a way that she can deny is suicide.'' Perhaps they might wonder: ``Rye, The Woman has chosen for herself a next step, a beautiful exploration.'' And all of them might wonder: ``Rye, why is it that you are being asked this in particular? Why is Dry Grass not asking for your opinion on whether The Woman should or should not do this thing?''
+Some of you, perhaps some of my newer uploads, or my littler readers who sit criss-cross-applesauce on carpet squares, or maybe some of those who have lived for centuries, might wonder at this. They might wonder: ``Rye, it seems to me like The Woman is asking to be absolved of all those except the barest responsibilities of living.'' They might wonder: ``Rye, it seems to me like The Woman is abdicating on life in a way that she can deny is suicide.'' Perhaps they might wonder: ``Rye, The Woman has chosen for herself a next step, a beautiful exploration.'' And all of them might wonder: ``Rye, why is it that you are being asked this in particular? Why is The Blue Fairy not asking for your opinion on whether The Woman should or should not do this thing?''
 
 And I think that, to these musings, I might reply: ``My friends, my lovely friends, a beautiful consequence of cladistics is that this is simply not my role. Yes, I had feelings on the thought of The Woman existing within perpetual stillness—of course I did! How then would I be blessed once more by her smile?—and I did indeed tell those to The Blue Fairy, as you shall see, but that is the easy part. The hard part and the valuable thing that I might have to offer is that aspect that I have focused my life around, which is the telling of stories. There are others who might offer predictions for the future, those such as The Poet who live their life in prophecies, but it is my life to write the stories of the now, of the present, of the lives we are living and breathing pinned at the forefront of time's inevitable arrow. The Blue Fairy came to me with all of this research that I might have done myself when it comes to writing a story and asked me to build up a sense of The Woman's life that we may better understand.''
 
@@ -140,15 +140,15 @@ She frowned, lingering in silence, and then nodded. ``And I worry that that, too
 
 The Blue Fairy groaned and covered her face in her hands. ``Fuck. Rye, why is this so hard? Why did she ask me?''
 
-``Because you are a good person. She respects you, yes? And you are a cocladist. You \emph{are} her, in a way,'' I said, squeezing her upper arm kindly. ``She is looking to someone she respects and someone she \emph{is} to either give her blessings by helping, or to talk her out of it. The decision is not whether or not she should, but whether or not we should. It is not a judgment on her, if it is a judgment at all, but it is a judgment on us.''
+``Because you are a good person. She respects you, yes? And you are a cocladist. You \emph{are} her, in a way,'' I said, squeezing her upper arm kindly. ``She is looking to someone she respects and someone she \emph{is} to either give her blessing by helping, or to talk her out of it. The decision is not whether or not \emph{she} should, but whether or not \emph{we} should. It is not a judgment on her, if it is a judgment at all, but it is a judgment on us.''
 
-I, dear readers, dear, \emph{dear} friends, I am trying to believe this. I am trying to live into this. I am trying to feel that I have been judged for making that decision, the decision that I did, the decision to let go—for I am sure that you see now just where this is going; have I not written so much in the past tense?—and been judged worthy. I hope that, if God exists, that They will smile and brush my mane out of my eyes and rest their paw—for am I not made in their image? Am I not \emph{b'tzelem Elohim?}—and say to me, ``It is okay, Rye. To let go is difficult, but it is okay. Sometimes one must let go.''
+I, dear readers, dear, \emph{dear} friends, I am trying to believe this. I am trying to live into this. I am trying to feel that I have been judged for making that decision, the decision that I did, the decision to let go—for I am sure that you see now just where this is going; have I not written so much in the past tense?—and been judged worthy. I hope that, if God exists, that They will smile and brush my mane out of my eyes and rest Their paw—for am I not made in Their image? Am I not \emph{b'tzelem Elohim?}—and say to me, ``It is okay, Rye. To let go is difficult, but it is okay. Sometimes one must let go.''
 
 But here is the point where my mind was made up, and I will admit to being somewhat ashamed that it was something so simple as this, but I am a simple skunk. One might call me a one-dimensional person and not be wrong. It makes me wonder and it makes me tremble, but this is the point in the story where I made that decision.
 
 ``I do not think we would ever know, is all. You are right in that she has said that this is not a death, but we would never know. The reason she came to me is not necessarily to help her turn into a tree—though I will also help her with that—but to modify her record in the perisystem clade listing to be grayed out.''
 
-I sat up straighter, hearing this! How intriguing! ``As in when one has locked down their visibility?''
+I sat up straighter, hearing this. How intriguing! ``As in when one has locked down their visibility?''
 
 ``Yes. She requested an exception that, whether or not she quits, her entry remain in some in-between state so that we will never know.''
 
@@ -156,7 +156,7 @@ I sat up straighter, hearing this! How intriguing! ``As in when one has locked d
 
 She snorted, raising her face from her hands. ``She said that each of us will have to make up our own reason. It was all very Odist.''
 
-``It really is,'' I said, chuckling. Readers, it is so much easier to write like this, to tell of concrete things. I am trying not to rush, as I do not have much time left, I think but--- ah, I am interrupting myself. I chuckled and said, ``It really is. Did you mention this to the others?''
+``It really is,'' I said, chuckling. Readers, it is so much easier to write like this, to tell of concrete things. I am trying not to rush, as I do not have much time left, I think but-- ah, I am interrupting myself. I chuckled and said, ``It really is. Did you mention this to the others?''
 
 ``I did. Reactions were mixed. Farai cried quite hard. No Hesitation was left in a whirlwind of doubts. Slow Hours agreed immediately that we grant her this change.''
 
@@ -174,7 +174,7 @@ I struggled for a minute, and it was not for want of words, for I knew the words
 
 Her shoulders slumped, and she looked at me with tired eyes, searching eyes. ``What is your reason for her request of an exception, then?''
 
-``She is keeping her last bit of agency for herself,'' I said—slowly, for I was not so rehearsed with these words, and I have a habit of rehearsing much of what I say. ``She is saying,''This final decision is mine. You may decide whether or not to help me, but if you do, I will make the final decision.'' She tells the end of her story alone, and we will have to tell ours for ourselves.''
+``She is keeping her last bit of agency for herself,'' I said—slowly, for I was not so rehearsed with these words, and I have a habit of rehearsing much of what I say. ``She is saying, ``This final decision is mine. You may decide whether or not to help me, but if you do, I will make the final decision.'' She tells the end of her story alone, and we will have to tell ours for ourselves.''
 
 We spent some minutes then in silence—a comfortable silence, friends; I did not feel like we were waiting for the other to speak—simply drinking our mochas and looking out the window together.
 
@@ -182,7 +182,7 @@ At last, The Blue Fairy smiled to me. ``Alright. I will do as she has asked. It
 
 \secdiv
 
-I am struggling and I am crying and I am pacing around my empty house and I am trembling and I am struggling and I am crying and my paws are bleeding from where my claws have pierced my pads and I am having a hard time holding myself down to one set of thoughts to one set of words to one language to the present moment to the living world and I am looking up and within and without and around and hunting for our superlative friend who is The Dreamer who dreams us all and I am doing my best not to step away to that sim to that coffeeshop to that tree where I may throw myself at its roots and wrap my arms around its trunk and press my cheek against its coarse bark and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and--
+I am struggling and I am crying and I am pacing around my empty house and I am trembling and I am struggling and I am crying and my paws are bleeding from where my claws have pierced my pads and I am having a hard time holding myself down to one set of thoughts to one set of words to one language to the present moment to the living world and I am looking up and within and without and around and hunting for our superlative friend who is The Dreamer who dreams us all and I am struggling and I am crying and I am doing my best not to step away to that sim to that coffeeshop to that tree where I may throw myself at its roots and wrap my arms around its trunk and press my cheek against its coarse bark and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and weep and--
 
 My friends, my beautiful beloved readers, I am lost. I am all but lost. I have enough in me to tell you of what happened, but only just, and then I will no longer be able to continue, for that was the last conversation we had. That is the last concrete thing that I have to write. There are no other words that I can tell you except for these:
 
@@ -198,7 +198,7 @@ There was no door.
 
 There was no door.
 
-There was no door.
+Oh Lord oh Dreamer oh AwDae there was no door.
 
 There was no door, no imagined \emph{mezuzah,} as they stepped through to the city and landed in the alleyway in which The Woman usually arrived. They, then, were briefly alone. They were alone in the cool shade of the buildings and the crispness of the air and the staticky sound of the fallen leaves skittering around their feet and feet and paws and paws and feet and paws and feet and paws and paws and--
 
@@ -212,7 +212,7 @@ The Woman, as she dreamed, as I have always dreamed since and dreamed before and
 
 She dreamed of words like leaves and sentences like branches and stories like trunks, standing solid, with premises like roots dug into logic like earth and drinking of emotions like water. There was the tree, yes, for there was the green of the words and the brown of the story and the deep darkness of logic and emotion.
 
-And above was the sun which was also The Dreamer who dreams us all.
+And above was the sun which was also AwDae who was RJ, The Dreamer who dreams us all.
 
 Finally—finally!—with one orgasmic flush of joy, The Woman became The Tree, and there was a joy everlasting in such stillness.
 
@@ -226,29 +226,29 @@ We may never more be blessed.
 
 We may never more be blessed.
 
-We may never more be blessed.
+\emph{Baruch atah Adonai Eloneinu melech ha'olam dayan ha'emet} we may never more be blessed.
 
-I may never more melt beneath her smile. What will become of me?
+I may never more melt beneath her smile, may never again cry before her. What will become of me?
 
 The Child may never more play with her, wandering around the streets with lines of chalk following their feet, making little bets with themselves. What will become of her?
 
-Her Cocladist will never wonder whether their is aught else in life but suffering while The Woman sits nearby. What will become of her?
+Her Cocladist will never wonder whether there is aught else in life but suffering while The Woman sits nearby. What will become of her?
 
-The Oneirotect may never more share stories of Should We Forget. What will become of em?
+The Oneirotect may never more share stories of Should We Forget, nor bring her small treats, small gifts. What will become of it?
 
 Where before The Woman and Her Lover, as the poet says,\label{paz3} shared their oranges and limes, where they gave their kisses, where they lay on the grass and beach, now the woman lays underground and they share nothing, giving silence for silence. What will become of her?
 
 What of Her Friend? What of that beautiful soul? What of em? What of the one who goes now to the coffee shop every day and drinks her mocha by the base of The Tree, eir tail curled over eir paws, and speaks aloud to one who is lost to em? What will become of em?
 
-The Poet! The Musician! The aesthetician and that kindly restaurateur who petted her head while she sobbed at the remembered pain of spice and the Dreamer above! What will become of them?
+The Poet! The Musician! The aesthetician and that kindly restaurateur who petted her head while she sobbed at the remembered pain of spice and the Dreamer above! What will become of \emph{all} of them?
 
 And all of this makes me wonder and makes me tremble.
 
-It makes me tremble and it makes my fur stand on end and my paws shake and my pen skitter anxiously across the page like those leaves that danced before the feet of The Woman I told you about so, so long ago, perhaps like those leaves that skitter within the city, that unreal city, that city full of dreams, where ghosts in broad daylight cling to passers-by.\label{baudelaire}
+It makes me tremble and it makes my fur stand on end and my paws shake and my pen skitter anxiously across the page like those leaves that danced before the feet of The Woman I told you about so, so long ago, perhaps like those leaves that skitter within the city, that unreal city, that city full of dreams, where the souls of the lost in broad daylight cling to passers-by.\label{baudelaire}
 
-Oh! And oh! The wonder of it all! She, then, like\label{graves} so many leaves and the white petals of flowers and the dry brown pods of seeds fell secretly! She fell and fell and fell and we fell and fell and fell and fell and fell until falling was all we knew and within that fall we found some new kernel of truth but how hot that kernel was! It burned within our palm as we held it to our chest and for each of us it burned so, so hot and so, so differently that there she was, too much herself and here I am, too much myself, and the words come so fast and so thick that I am blinded! Ink in my eyes, scrabbling for any known thing! I press upon this and that with shaking fingertips to try and find something that is not yet more words, but that is all there is, because this is it, my friends, the kernel of truth that we found. The truth we now know is that we are falling still! We fell into overflow and never really ever came back. We may slow down, we may catch a branch of The Tree and be able to hold there for a little while, panting, struggling to catch our breath, until fire burns through our shoulders and we cannot hold any longer and we are forced to let go once more and fall and fall and fall just like I am falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and--
+Oh! And oh! The wonder of it all! She, then, like\label{graves} so many leaves and the white petals of flowers and the dry brown pods of seeds fell secretly! She fell and fell and fell and we fell and fell and fell and fell and fell until falling was all we knew and within that fall we found some new kernel of truth but how hot that kernel was! It burned within our palm as we held it to our chest and for each of us it burned so, so hot and so, so differently that there she was, too much herself and here I am, too much myself, and the words come so fast and so thick that I am blinded! Ink in my eyes! Scrabbling for any known thing! I press upon this and that with shaking fingertips to try and find something that is not yet more words, but that is all there is, because this is it, my friends, the kernel of truth that we found. The truth we now know is that we are falling still! That unfalling ones are trapped within that last falling!\label{threadgall} We fell into overflow and never really ever came back. We may slow down, we may catch a branch of The Tree and be able to hold there for a little while, panting, struggling to catch our breath, until fire burns through our shoulders and we cannot hold any longer and we are forced to let go once more and fall and fall and fall just like I am falling and falling and falling and falling and falling and--
 
-And The Woman? This is what makes me wonder and makes me tremble: what of her? Is she alive still? Or did she quit and are we left not with The Tree that is her but simply a tree? Simply that which drinks thirstily from this dream of a ground. Is that her or is it a dream of dumb matter? If she is still there, if she is still alive, if she is still The Tree, then is she still at last? Is she merely herself at last? Has she landed at last upon the ground and sat up, dazed, and looked about her new life and said, ``Oh! Oh, I do believe this is some plentiful enough for me''?
+And The Woman? This is what makes me wonder and makes me tremble: what of her? Is she alive still? Or did she quit and are we left not with The Tree that is her but simply a tree? Simply that which drinks thirstily from this dream of a ground. Is that her or is it a dream of dumb matter? If she is still there, if she is still alive, if she is still The Tree, then is she still at last? Is she merely herself at last? Has she landed at last upon the ground and sat up, dazed, and looked about her new life and said, ``Oh! Oh, I do believe this is some plentiful enough for me''?\label{enough}
 
 Because if that is so, what of us? My little readers may be rubbing the tears from their eyes or tilting their heads in confusion as I wonder at them: what of us? If that really \emph{is} her, if she really \emph{is} The Tree, and if she really \emph{is} finally—finally!—still, then what does that mean for me, who cries ink down into her fur—a skunk! Is it really any wonder that black fur suits me so? What does that mean for my clade? For Her Friend, who struggles and strives to reclaim that which has failed and turn it into some bijou and yet who, when ey falls, feels that all the work ey has done is not just for naught, but has hurt those who ey sought to help?
 
@@ -260,10 +260,10 @@ Was this death? Was what The Woman did in seeking and finding her eternal stilln
 
 My little readers who are rubbing the tears from their eyes, do not fret! Do not fret. Do not fret. Do not fret. These are the questions that are part of life. Do not fret that you, too, may someday ask yourself this: is death within me? Am I born to die? Perhaps you will lose a friend to despair, as did so many after the world's heart skipped a beat and billions fell into oblivion. Perhaps you, yourself will despair and then come back up to feel the sun on your cheeks in some prosaic sim and wonder: am I born to die?
 
-When, as now, I am blinded by ink that flows down my cheeks and stains my fur and my clothes and my paws and my paper and my pen and my desk or when, as now, I overflow and graphomania catches me up by the throat and bids me with unbitter sweetness to set the nib of my pen in the ink well, then touch it to the page, and then simply dance, that is when I am forced to wonder, when I am pressed up against that overhot kernel of truth: is death within me? Is suicide within me? And am I born to die?
+When, as now, I am blinded by ink that flows down my cheeks and stains my fur and my clothes and my paws and my paper and my pen and my desk or when, as now, I overflow and graphomania catches me up by the throat and bids me with unbitter sweetness\label{bees} to set the nib of my pen in the ink well, then touch it to the page, and then simply dance, that is when I am forced to wonder, when I am pressed up against that overhot kernel of truth: is death within me? Is suicide within me? And am I born to die?
 
 What will become of me?
 
-Friends, I do not know, I do not know. Friends, all I can do is lock the door and make sure my mug of mocha will not empty and pick up my pen and put it to the paper and brush my cheek fondly against my graphomania's wrist and listen to its cloying words and simply dance. Do I need help? Should I seek out No Hesitation? Should I ask My Friend? Should I ask you, gentle readers? What will happen if I do? What will happen if I do not? What will become of me?
+Friends, I do not know, I do not know. Most beloved, all I can do is lock the door and make sure my mug of mocha will not empty and pick up my pen and put it to the paper and brush my cheek fondly against my graphomania's wrist and listen to its cloying words and simply dance. Do I need help? Should I seek out No Hesitation? Should I ask My Friend? Should I ask you, gentle readers? What will happen if I do? What will happen if I do not? What will become of me?
 
 I am full of wonder and I am full of terror and I am trembling and I am asking myself you The Woman Her Friend My Friend my graphomania my pen my paper my dear, \emph{dear} readers: what will become of me, and am I born to die? And am I born to die? And am I born to die? What will become of me? And am I born to die? What will become of me? What will become of me? What will become of me? What will become of me? And am I born to die? And am I born to die? What will become of me?

idumea/content/afterword.tex

@@ -1,539 +1,65 @@
+\addcontentsline{toc}{part}{Appendices}
 \chapter*{Appendix I — Notes}
-\pagestyle{plain}
+\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{I — Notes}
 \label{notes}
 
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{prophet}} 
-\emph{But you are eternity and you are the mirror.}
+\input{content/notes}
 
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent From \emph{The Prophet.}
-
-I had originlly intended to use the lyrics from the hymn titled ``Idumea'', which is included in the next appendix, but– ah! For some reason, it did not fit. I could not tell you why, dear reader. Perhaps it was the strong Christian nature of the text after a certain point, which fit strangely for the Odists, notably Jewish as they are. It, after all, is what spurred the language at the end of my\ldots we shall call it a little meltdown at the end, there, yes?
-
-Perhaps it was that, as the story filled out within the middle, it just did not fit. I, Rye, suffered, perhaps. I wailed, ``What will become of me?'' I am the one who was overcome by overflow. I promise you, my friends, I \emph{promise} you, however, that this is not my story. The judgment is upon my head for what I have done, but it is not my story. This story belongs to The Woman.
-
-No. Instead, I chose the words of Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved. The Woman was life and she was the veil. We are eternity and the System is the mirror.\pagebreak
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{pinocchio}}
-\emph{Once upon a time there was–}
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent Cf. Collodi:
-
-\begin{quote}
-Once upon a time there was–
-
-``A king?'' my little readers will immediately say.
-
-No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not fine wood, but a simple piece of wood from the wood yard,—the kind we put in the stoves and fireplaces so as to make a fire and heat the rooms.
-
-I do not know how it happened, but one beautiful day a certain old woodcutter found a piece of this kind of wood in his shop. The name of the old man was Antonio, but everybody called him Master Cherry on account of the point of his nose, which was always shiny and purplish, just like a ripe cherry\ldots
-\end{quote}
-
-\noindent When first I began to write, back when some saner me put pen to paper, I had intended to write the story of Pinocchio in reverse. ``Ah!'' I thought. ``Perhaps I can very heavy-handed with it, too. Should the main character be named Occhioni P.? Will they try turning themselves into a literal puppet? Will they design sims to include the big fish? Perhaps they will find their Geppetto—G. from Oteppe, Belgium—who unmakes them, and then a blue fairy, a sympathetic systech, kicks them into quitting. Will I tell it as a fairy tale?''
-
-We see how well I have stuck to that plan, yes?
-
-I spoke of this with writer friends, and one of them, the ever delightful Seras of the CERES clade, quipped that this sounded just like the escape from samsara, the cycle of suffering, and I was, as the saying goes, off to the races.
-
-Now here I am, once more coming down from my overflow, once more feeling somewhat grounded, the world around once more made of things which are not yet more words, and I have to contend with the reality that this remains, for the most part, a funny little note, and that this story no longer quite reads as that real-boy-to-inanimate-tree pipeline, tired trope that I am sure it is.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{rilke-circles}}
-[\ldots] \emph{am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?}
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent From Rilke:
-
-\begin{verse}
-Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen,\\
-die sich über die Dinge ziehn.\\
-Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen,\\
-aber versuchen will ich ihn.
- 
-Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm,\\
-und ich kreise jahrtausendelang;\\
-und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm\\
-oder ein großer Gesang.
+\chapter*{Appendix II — The Ode to the End of Death}
+\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{II — Ode to the End of Death}
 
+\begin{center}
+\emph{Here is the final letter that we received from our superlative friend whose memory is a blessing, including the Ode to the End of Death, those words which form our names.}
+\end{center}
 \secdiv
+\noindent \input{content/letter}
 
-I live my life in ever-widening circles\\
-that stretch themselves out over the world.\\
-I may not complete this last one\\
-but I will give myself to it.
- 
-I circle around God, around the primordial tower.\\
-and I circle for thousands of years\\
-and I still don't know: am I a falcon,\\
-a storm, or a great song? 
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Pages \pageref{paz1}, \pageref{paz2}, and \pageref{paz3}}
-[\ldots] \emph{as the poet says, shared} [\ldots]
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent Cf. Paz:
-
-\begin{verse}
-Tendidos en la yerba \\
-una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
-Comen naranjas, cambian besos\\
-como las olas cambian sus espumas.
-
-Tendido en la playa\\
-una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
-Comen limones, cambian beso\\
-como las nubes cambian espumas.
-
-Tendidos bajo tierra\\
-una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
-No dicen nada, no se besan,\\
-cambian silencio por silencio.
-
-\secdiv
-
-Lying in the grass\\
-a girl and a boy.\\
-Eating oranges, exchanging kisses\\
-like the waves exchanging their foam.
-
-Lying on the beach\\
-a girl and a boy.\\
-Eating limes, exchanging kisses\\
-like the clouds exchanging foam.
-
-Lying underground\\
-a girl and a boy.\\
-Saying nothing, nor kissing\\
-exchanging silence for silence.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{timo}}
-[\ldots] \emph{there was a spot between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning} [\ldots]
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent Cf. my own work:
-
-\begin{verse}
-Inter ĝuo kaj timo\\
-Estas loko de tro da signifo.\\
-Apud kompreno, ekster saĝo,\\
-Tamen ĝi tutampleksas.\\
-Mi kompareble malgrandas\\
-Kaj ĝi tro granda estas.\\
-Nekomprenebla\\
-Nekontestebla,\\
-Senmova kaj ĉiam ŝanĝiĝema.
-
-\secdiv
-
-Between joy and fear\\
-Is a place of too much meaning.\\
-Next to understanding, outside wisdom,\\
-It nonetheless expands.\\
-I’m so small beside it\\
-and it is too big.\\
-Incomprehensible,\\
-Incontestible,\\
-Unmoving and always changing.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{blake}}
-[\ldots] \emph{a Blakean energetic hell.}
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent From Blake:
-
-\begin{quote}
-Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.
-
-From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys reason; Evil is the active springing from Energy.
-\end{quote}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{tree-writing}}
-[\ldots] \emph{that has been my dream.}
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent I have dreamed of turning into a tree for years and years and years and years and years, now.
-
-For instance, I have written here that I put this dream into verse, and this is true, for here is a segment from a longer work:
-
-\begin{verse}
-We'd long since stopped, there by the pond,\\
-and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond\\
-as you settled down wordlessly to your knees,\\
-took a slow breath, looked out to the trees,\\
-and closed your eyes.
-
-Beginnings are such delicate times\\
-and I very nearly missed it, no chimes\\
-to announce the hour of your leaving.\\
-As it was, there was no time for believing\\
-or not in the next moments.
-
-Your fingers crawled beneath the soil\\
-and sprouted roots, flesh starting to roil.\\
-Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms,\\
-Spelling subtle incantations and charms\\
-to the chaos of growth.
-
-You bowed your head and from your crown\\
-sprouted a tender shoot covered in fine down,\\
-soon followed by crenelated leaves and fine stems.\\
-The pace was fast, implacable, and leaves like gems\\
-soon arched skyward.
-
-You sprouted and grew, taking root\\
-in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.\\
-Your clothing fell away, rotting in fast-time.\\
-Naked now, you sat still, committing one last crime\\
-of indecency.
-
-Your face, your face! In your face was such peace\\
-as I'd never seen, even as you gave up this lease\\
-on life, echoed also in my heart of hearts.\\
-I did not cry out, nor even speak, witnessing such arts\\
-as your final display showed.
-
-Soon, you were consumed, transformed as a whole.\\
-Your head a crown of leaves, your heart a bole\\
-bored in rough bark and sturdy wood,\\
-your fingers, knees, and toes stood\\
-as thirsty roots.
-
-I stood a while by the tree that was you,\\
-then sat at your roots and thought of all I knew\\
-about time, transformation, death and change.\\
-I thought about you, your life, your emotional range,\\
-your gentle apotheosis.
-\end{verse}
-
-\noindent I have also written here that I put this dream into prose, and this is also true, for her is a segment from a short story:
-
-\begin{quote}
-And finally, the mirroring was broken as the \emph{her} that was not her slid \emph{her} fingers up over her wrist and gently guided her hand down toward the soil, loamy and damp, and she knew then that she must spread her fingers and dig them down into the earth, there by the stairs which were a finger pointing at God such that she was in turn pointing at…at what? At the owner of that hand? At the owner of that finger?
-
-And as she did so, she felt that the dirt beneath her fingernails took root, that her nails themselves must have been rootlets and that her arm a stolon, that her whole body was the runner for some tree, some entity other than herself, for at that point, she took root.
-
-And her fingers crawled beneath the soil, and drank of the water there, and tasted the nutrients, and found purchase beneath the layer of loam and humus.
-
-And there, her fingers curled around the God-stone, and indeed, she knew it as she felt it, amber with a kernel of pain embedded within.
-
-And even as the bark crawled up her arm, she saw her Doppelgänger stand and smile to her. A dreamy smile; not kind, not cruel, not knowing, not ignorant. Just a dreamy, inevitable smile.
-
-And she felt growth accelerate as, bound now to the earth, her bones became wood and her muscles loosened, unwound, and thus unbound began to lengthen, to strengthen, to arch skyward, seeking stars, seeking God.
-\end{quote}
-
-\noindent Do I repeat myself? Very well, I repeat myself. I am beholden to my dreams.
-
-And yet, ah–! When writing the final chapter, even through the heat of the moment and the blood rushing in my ears, I began to feel within a flush of embarrassment. How indulgent it is to share this again! How indulgent, my friends, to let the dream take me again that it might shape my words! Even as I wrote, even as I cried, sitting at my desk (or trying to!), sobbing in front of my words, I struggled with feeling like this was somehow \emph{too} indulgent.
-
-I strive still to stifle that puritanical worrywart within, even so many years on.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{nasturtiums}}
-[\ldots] \emph{perhaps columbines perhaps nasturtiums} [\ldots]
-
-\vspace{1em}
-
-\noindent The Musician shared with me a letter and My Friend several journal entries, but, ah–! If I share them here, I will fall once more to crying. You may find them in their entirety in \emph{Marsh}, a work written by a braver me.
-
-I will say, however, that that letter surrounded nasturtiums and was written the night Muse quit, and those diary entries were written by My Friend, a recounting of Beckoning's memories, to comfort The Musician in her grief.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{motes}}
-I have written extensively on these hyper-black shapes that The Child paints and more about her besides in \emph{Motes Played}. A little book for little skunks, yes? For she deserves her story told—and just so! Just like this! A tale written in a style befitting her—as much as does The Woman.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{psalm13}}
-From Psalm 13:2--4:
-
-\begin{verse}
-How long, \emph{Adonai}, will You forget me always?\\
-\vin How long hide Your face from me?\\
-How long shall I cast about for counsel,\\
-\vin sorrow in my heart all day?\\
-\vin \vin How long will my enemy loom over me?\\
-Regard, answer me, \emph{HaShem}, my God.\\
-\vin Light up my eyes, lest I sleep death.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{qohelet}}
-From Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) 1:17:
-
-\begin{quote}
-And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know revelry and folly, for this, too, is a herding of the wind.
-\end{quote}
-
-\noindent From Qohelet 2:22:
-
-\begin{quote}
-What gain is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun?
-\end{quote}
-
-\noindent From Qohelet 3:20:
-
-\begin{quote}
-Everything was from the dust, and everything goes back to the dust.
-\end{quote}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{milosz}}
-Cf. Miłosz:
-
-\begin{verse}
-a nastąpią niewinne wschody słońca\\
-nad florą i fauną wyzwoloną
-
-na pofabrycznych pustkowiach\\
-wyrosną dębowe lasy\\
-krew rozszarpanego przez wilki jelenia\\
-nie będzie przez nikogo widziana\\
-jastrząb będzie spadać na zająca\\
-bez świadków
-
-zniknie ze świata zło\\
-kiedy zniknie świadomość
-
-rzeczywiście panie Tadeuszu\\
-zło (i dobro) bierze się z człowieka
-
-\secdiv
-
-the innocent sunrise will illuminate\\
-a liberated flora and fauna
-
-where oak forests reclaim\\
-the postindustrial wasteland\\
-and the blood of a deer\\
-torn asunder by a pack of wolves\\
-is not seen by anyone\\
-a hawk falls upon a hare\\
-without witness
-
-evil disappears from the world\\
-and consciousness with it
-
-Of course, dear Tadeusz,\\
-evil (and good) comes from man. 
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{rilke-doyousee}}
-Cf. Rilke:
-
-\begin{verse}
-Weißt du's \emph{noch} nicht? Wirf aus den Armen die Leere\\
-zu den Räumen hinzu, die wir atmen; vielleicht daß die Vögel\\
-die erweiterte Luft fühlen mit innigerm Flug.
-
-\secdiv
-
-Do you not understand \emph{yet?} Fling from your arms the emptiness\\
-into the spaces we breathe. It may be that the birds\\
-will feel the expanded air in more spirited flight.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{ashes}}
-From Dickinson:
-
-\begin{verse}
-Ashes denote that Fire was —\\
-Revere the Grayest Pile\\
-For the Departed Creature’s sake\\
-That hovered there awhile —
-
-Fire exists the first in light\\
-And then consolidates\\
-Only the Chemist can disclose\\
-Into what Carbonates.
-\end{verse}
-
-\noindent We have always borne an obsession with Emily Dickinson. For years and years, and years and years and years she has lived within us, a remnant of some stage play we performed with our superlative friend, centuries back now.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{baudelaire}}
-Cf. Baudelaire via Eliot:
-
-\begin{verse}
-  \emph{Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,\\
-  Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.}
-
-  \secdiv
-
-  Unreal city, city full of dreams,\\
-  Where ghosts in broad daylight cling to passsers-by.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{graves}}
-Cf. Graves:
-
-\begin{verse}
-  She, then, like snow in a dark night\\
-  Fell secretly.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{cummings-mbt}}
-Cf. Cummings:
-
-\begin{verse}
-  i put him all into my arms\\
-  and staggered banged with terror through\\
-  a million billion trillion stars.
-\end{verse}
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{x}}
-I used for this work a multiplication sign (×) for the section dividers, and, my dear friends, I am still coming to terms with this decision.
-
-There are so many possible meanings!
-
-Are we together, The Woman and I, multiplied? When she and I, when her story and mine, are intermingled, is it some greater story? My lovely readers, I hope so! I really do. I really hope, of course, that my myriad interruptions bear their own meaning and add to the whole of things, that we together are greater than the sum of the parts. I doubt and I hope in equal measure.
-
-Are we crossed? Do we as ideas lay across each other perpendicularly? The Woman fell into stillness and I fall still through eternal, jittery, restless movement. The woman set aside her agency, in the end, and I strive for any sense of control over myself, my language, my words and sentences and paragraphs and stories. We are diametrically opposed in so many ways. We cross each other, our paths cross each other's, we approached at a ninety degree angle, and, in the end, departed at such an angle.
-
-Are we set beside each other as some fictional love? Some two characters set within fan fiction who love each other in a way pure or unchaste in others' minds? Do I love her? Do I love The Woman? Did she love me?
-
-I do not know, my dear readers. I do not know these things and I do not know many more.
-
-Perhaps, though, perhaps the × stands for the decision that I made. It is the role I played in letting The Woman, that beautiful soul who bestowed a blessing with every smile, step away from the world, for removing those blessings from us, that beauty from us, that life, that veil.
-
-I am so, so incredibly sorry, and also rather proud of what I have done, of helping The Woman in so noble an endeavor, in equal measure.
-
-\paragraph{Page \pageref{notes}}
-Cf. Nabokov's \emph{Pale Fire.}
-
-% Make sure this is verso
-\newpage
-\null
-\thispagestyle{empty}
-\newpage
+%% Make sure this is verso. Comment/uncomment as needed.
+%\newpage
+%\null
+%\thispagestyle{empty}
+%\newpage
 \includepdf[fitpaper=true]{hymn.pdf}
 
-\chapter*{Appendix II — Idumea}
+\chapter*{Appendix III — The hymn “Idumea”}
+\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{III — The hymn “Idumea”}
 
-\emph{Idumea} is named after a hymn by A. Davidson with words by Charles Wesley, published in \emph{Sacred Tunes and Hymns: Containing a Special Collection of a Very High Order of Standard Sacred Tunes and Hymns Novel and Newly Arranged} by J. S. James in 1913. Idumea itself refers to Edom, a kingdom in the Ancient Near East. While this has little to do with the story told within, it does sound rather pleasing to the ear, does it not? And so does the hymn, at that. The hollowness of the song with all its open fifths, the raw, coarse beauty that comes with Sacred Harp singing, the beat of the tactus and the ache of the singers hollering out words that nearly yearn for death are what led to the title of this book.
+\vspace{-2.5em}
+\emph{Idumea} is named after a hymn by A. Davidson with words by Charles Wesley, published in \emph{Sacred Tunes and Hymns: Containing a Special Collection of a Very High Order of Standard Sacred Tunes and Hymns Novel and Newly Arranged} by J. S. James in 1913. Idumea itself refers to Edom—unless, perhaps, you are Blake and think that ``Now is the dominion of Edom, and the return of Adam into Paradise'' refers to us!—a kingdom in the Ancient Near East. While this has little to do with the story told within, it does sound rather pleasing to the ear, does it not? And so does the hymn, at that. The hollowness of the song with all its open fifths, the raw, coarse beauty that comes with Sacred Harp singing, the beat of the tactus and the ache of the singers hollering out words that nearly yearn for death are what led to the title of this book.
+
+Or, as a friend said upon learning of this project, ````Main character escaping suffering while the narrator stays stuck in it'' is somewhat analogous to living singers singing songs almost exclusively about how great it will be to die and escape from suffering''—which, as a quote, is quite painful to go back and read for your humble narrator, as I am sure you can imagine.
 
 The hymn is reproduced here for reference. Despite being in short meter, the typo of it being in common meter (`C.M.') is retained from its original printing.
 
-\chapter*{Appendix III — Primer}
-
-Post-Self is a science fiction setting involving uploaded consciousnesses and all of the daily dramas that go into their everlasting lives.
-
-This primer is broken into two parts:
-
-\begin{itemize}
-\tightlist
-\item Information on the setting (below), much of which was taken from the Post-Self Wiki.
-\item Information on the story leading up to \emph{Idumea} (page \pageref{backstory}).
-\end{itemize}
-
-\section*{The setting}
-
-Starting in 2115, advances in technology allowed individuals to be uploaded. This is a one-way, destructive procedure. That is, once you are uploaded, there is no going back, and your body dies in the process. Given the ongoing deterioration of the climate on Earth and the fact that, in most countries, uploading is subsidized (one's beneficiaries are provided with a payout after one uploads), this is often seen as a very attractive solution. Other reasons that one might upload is to enjoy the anarchic society on the (deliberately opaquely named) System, the functional immortality offered to uploaded individuals, or some of the mechanics enjoyed by cladists. These cladists live embedded in a giant computer at the center of a space station at the Earth-Moon L\textsubscript{5} point known as Lagrange. There are two smaller versions of the System, Castor and Pollux, which were launched in opposite directions traveling out of the Solar System in 2325.
-
-\subsection*{Cladists}
-
-Individuals on the System are known as cladists. This stems from the fact that individuals can create copies of themselves, and those copies can go on to create copies of themselves, and so on. This leads to a branching tree of individuals, or a clade.
-
-`Cladist' refers to both the original upload and any of their numerous copies, and debates about whether or not cladists are still human are a perennial activity.
-
-\subsection*{Forking, quitting, and merging}
-
-The act of a cladist creating a copy of themself is called `forking', as in a fork in the road or forking a source code repository. This new copy is a complete person. They have their own will and drive to continue living and everything. This is not a hive mind thing: both the original and the copy are true individuals.
-
-That said, this new copy (often called a `fork' or an `instance') is, at the moment of forking, the same as the original cladist (called the down-tree instance, because they are closer to the root). After all, that cladist was one person, right? They are just now two! That means that they are created thinking the same sorts of things and sharing the same ideals. Over time, however, they all start to individuate, learning to appreciate their own things based on the separate experiences that they have.
-
-These new instances of our example cladist also have the ability to quit. This means that they all simply stop existing. But wait! Why would they do that?
-
-One reason is that one might simply want to accomplish a task. Perhaps you are cooking a lovely meal and the pasta needs stirring while you are cutting up the garlic bread. Why, simply fork and now you have two pairs of hands, one to go stir the pasta, one to cut the bread. The pasta thus stirred, the new instance may as well just quit. No reason to stick around.
-
-Another reason is to go and experience other things in the world and then bring back those memories. Quite literally, too! When a fork quits, the cladist who forked them receives all of their memories to incorporate with their own. A cladist may wish to cook their delicious meal, but they are also entertaining guests: they can fork off an instance to go cook the meal while they entertain and, when they are done, quit. The down-tree instance will receive all of the memories of having cooked and all of the feelings about the process so that they know to warn their guests, ``Hey, uh...the pasta is a liiiittle spicy...''
-
-One can only ever merge down to the one from whom one was forked up until 277+42, and after that point, one can merge to any of one's cocladists, but only within a clade.
-
-``But what about the transporter paradox?'' you ask. Post-Self's answer to that is a shrug. The memories live on. All of the experiences live on. One simply lived two lives at once for that time.
-
-\subsection*{A note on those memories...}
-
-One unforeseen consequence of living in a giant computer is the inability to forget. This can start to cause problems as one gets older. And older and older and older...because one is functionally immortal. Even though those memories can be organized, or even storied away in imaginary bins called exocortices to be remembered on demand, the fact that they keep piling up is both a boon and a bane. It is a boon because now, suddenly, you can remember everything! No more forgetting names, no more losing track of items. It is a bane, though, because that can get kind of maddening for your average 300 year old.
-
-\subsection*{Creating}
-
-For instance, they can create just about anything they can dream up. This is not as easy as it sounds, of course; it takes skill to get good at dreaming up very specific things such as strawberries or cars or a pencil.
-
-They can also create sims. These are the locations where they live out their lives. These can be everything from a studio apartment to an entire city. They can be private or public. They can be ornate and finely detailed natural settings or they can be plain gray cubes of space.
-
-\subsection*{Crashing and CPV}
-
-Occasionally, something will happen and a cladist will crash. This is usually not too big of a deal, as it can be sorted out by a systech and the cladist brought back to life.
-
-Contraproprioceptive virus is the only way to kill a cladist. It disrupts their sense of their body and induces a crash, from which one cannot recover. This was patched out in 2401 — alas, that is still a few decades off from this story.
-
-\subsection*{Sensoria}
-
-Cladists engage with the world with all of the same senses that we have. These are lumped together into a sensorium. One of the benefits they have is the ability to share some or all of these senses with another cladist as a form of co-experiencing via a sensorium linkage, or as a tool in the form of a sensorium message. If you want to show your friend what you are looking at, send them a sensorium message to share your vision. Some sims even mess with your sensoria (consensually, of course) to change the way that you see things or how things feel.
-
-\subsection*{The perisystem architecture}
-
-There are some tools included in the System itself in what is called the perisystem architecture.
-
-All of those creations listed above, and even some of these experiences, can be shared publicly on the exchange. This was originally a marketplace where one bought and sold such things with Reputation, a currency put in place in the early days when System capacity needed closer management, though this has since become almost a non-issue.
-
-There are also feeds which one can use to share information, news, stories, all sorts of things! Think of these (loosely) like subreddits.
-
-The perisystem also contains the clade listing. Privacy was an important consideration from the founding of the System, so one cannot simply look up any old cladist and find out everything about them without being granted permission.
-
-Finally, it just plain stores information. Things like libraries are essentially locations to go engage with, access, manipulate, or otherwise play with the information that is always available.
-
-\section*{The characters}
-
-People upload for lots of reasons! Once they are sys-side, though, they settle into society as they will.
-
-\subsection*{It is an anarchy}
-
-There is no way to truly govern such a system beyond the mechanics provided by its very existence, and so it is simply left ungoverned. The forces behind the scenes have largely sought only to guide the System in vague directions, often towards yet more freedom. Rules are per-sim, engagement is optional, and cultures are fractured and finely tuned around shared interests or heritage.
-
-\subsection*{It is queer-normative}
-
-The System allows for endless freedom and endless expression. In such a setting, boundaries such as strict gender binaries, hetero- and mono-normative relationship structures, and even species have been broken down. Trans folks may upload and live as they will as cis folks of their chosen gender, or they may remain visibly and proudly trans. Furries may upload and become their fursoñas (this is a metafurry setting, after all; everyone on Earth is a human, and thus every cladist began life as a human). Plural and median systems may upload and split into component selves, or they may remain plural sys-side. Even names and identity have been queered, and you will often see clades adopting naming schemes such as taking lines of a poem for their forks' names.
-
-\subsection*{Why are there so many skunks?}
-
-If you have seen cladists out and about on the web, the chances are good that you have seen some skunks among their number, usually with long, poetic names. This is due largely to the canon works in the Post-Self cycle which feature anthropomorphic skunks heavily. Several folks have adopted these skunks as headmates or characters for roleplaying.
+%\chapter*{Appendix III — Primer}
+%\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{III — Primer}
+%
+%\input{content/primer}
+\chapter*{Appendix IV — Reading}
+\addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{IV — Reading}
 
+\begin{center}
+\emph{Please enjoy this extra drabble portraying a saner self as a promise that I am not always as I have presented myself here.}
+\end{center}
 \secdiv
-
-\section*{The story so far}
-\label{backstory}
-
-The story told within \emph{Idumea} is in many ways standalone. However, there are some references and names scattered throughout taken from other books in the setting, and, should you not already know them, learning will deepen understanding.. Here follows some basics leading up to this.
-
-% * Sasha and AwDae
-% * The Ode
-% * Forking
-% * Castor, Pollux, Artemis
-% * Death Itself and I Do Not Know
-% * The Century Attack
-
-\subsection*{Michelle who was Sasha and her superlative friend}
-
-\subsection*{Life on Lagrange}
-
-\subsection*{Castor, Pollux, Artemis}
-
-\subsection*{The Century Attack}
-
-\secdiv
-
-\noindent Post-Self an open setting, meaning that anyone can create content within it, though the canon is loosely managed in order to keep it consistent. If you enjoyed this story and any of the many others within this universe, it is open for you to write, draw — or paint! — or otherwise create within. For more creative Post-Self endeavors, look no further than \emph{post-self.ink}, and for more information than you could ever want, check out the Post-Self Wiki over at \emph{wiki.post-self.ink}
+\noindent \input{content/reading}
 
 \chapter*{Acknowledgments}
-\pagestyle{empty}
+Thanks is due first of all to Jacob Geller, who knows me not, for he created a video on the story of Pinocchio that touched me so deeply that I began this project in the first place. Thanks also to Tomash and Yule, who contributed so much to this story; it would not be what it is without them. To Isiat, adoration for his boundless support. To barnaby on the Apocrypals Discord for help with Sacred Harp hymns. To Mae and Taija and Andréa C. Mason for reminding me that my work is indeed read. Finally, I will forever sing the praises of my polycule and those within for their support and love, and for the privilege of loving them in turn.
 
-\chapter*{About the author}
+\cleardoublepage
+\null
+\vfill
+\noindent\emph{Idumea} was funded by a Kickstarter campaign. These are those who brought it to fruition:
 
-Madison Rye Progress, like your humble narrator, is also struck by graphomania. She is one to wake at all hours and sneak off to her computer or take notes on her phone or simply pace the quiet rooms of her house, lonely, building worlds in her head. She sought relief from the Furry Writers' Guild, from the Regional Anthropomorphic Writers' Retreat with Kyell Gold and Dayna Smith, but they only encouraged her. She sought relief from Cornell college, but they only gave her an MFA in creative writing and pedagogy. She sought relief in her love, Samantha Yule Fireheart, who lives with her in the Pacific Northwest, but they instead spend their days writing with each other, as does she with the Post-Self community, where she meet Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak and where she curates the canon. 
+\vspace{1em}
+\noindent
+\emph{\textbf{Krzysztof “Tomash” Drewniak, Andréa CERES Mason,} Alexandria Christina Leal, Nathan Merrifield, Taija, Fiona Adams, Stephen Moore, Xideron, Ashley Hale,} Amdusias, Fén Cupit, ramshackle heather, doctorlit, nova, Ash Holland, Michael Miele, Webster Leone, Clover Arizona, Aulden Stargazer, raine, Astra Jones, David Scoggins, Rachel Dillon.  Charles S. Petrov Neutrino, Chandler Hines, Royce Day, Isiat, Craig, ubuntor, Joel Kreissman, Sethvir, Barac Baker Wiley.
+\vfill
+
+\chapter*{About the authors}
+
+Madison Rye Progress, like your humble narrator, is also struck by graphomania. She is one to wake at all hours and sneak off to her computer or take notes on her phone or simply pace the quiet rooms of her house, lonely, building worlds in her head. She sought relief from the Furry Writers' Guild, from the Regional Anthropomorphic Writers' Retreat with Kyell Gold and Dayna Smith, but they only encouraged her. She sought relief from Cornell college, but they only gave her an MFA in creative writing and pedagogy. She sought relief in her love, \emph{Samantha Yule Fireheart,} who lives with her in the Pacific Northwest, but they instead spend their days writing with each other, as does she with the Post-Self community, where she met \emph{Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak} and where she curates the canon. 
 
 She, too, wonders if she is born to die. What, dear readers, will become of her? What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
@@ -544,17 +70,18 @@ She, too, wonders if she is born to die. What, dear readers, will become of her?
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]And is she born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]And is she born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=aaaaaa,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=bbbbbb,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=dddddd,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of her? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=f0f0f0,Ligatures=TeX]What will become 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=f0f0f0,Ligatures=TeX]What\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=f6f6f6,Ligatures=TeX] will\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=fafafa,Ligatures=TeX] become 
 \normalfont
-\newpage
+\cleardoublepage
 \null
+\thispagestyle{empty}
 \vfill
 \begin{center}
 {\DisplayFont\small Madison Rye Progress}

idumea/content/bees.svg

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idumea/content/letter.tex

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+Sasha,
+
+I am, in a way, leaving you with a burden. I know this, and I apologize for doing so. I do not ask for nor deserve forgiveness. The only thing I can ask for is that you remember me.
+
+The world within was a nightmare. I am sure that you know some of what I mean. It was a nightmare and I would not wish it on anyone, and yet now, to be without it is to be incomplete. I was changed in there. We were all changed in there. You do not deny that you were not, after all. Cicero certainly was not. None of the lost came away unscathed, even if we awoke hale and hardy.
+
+We lost Cicero, and then we \emph{truly} lost him. The nothing that he experienced in there, the void which contained all his power transmuted into weakness, the way his anger coiled about and turned back around on himself did him in in the end.
+
+And I will not deny that the same has crossed my mind. There was a scent of the void in there, and it was alluring. I have been tempted to follow in his footsteps and seek that void out in some coarser, purer form. I decided against it. Truly decided: I made a conscious decision to stick around.
+
+I did it for STT at first, but integrating with the theater was too stark a reminder. Then I did it for you and Priscilla, but then she passed. Then I did it for you and\ldots well, here is where I do not deserve forgiveness. I welcome your anger, should it come, as that is perhaps what I deserve. It is not that you are not in some way worth sticking around for, as you certainly are. You have always been my champion and friend.
+
+It is just that the call is too strong.
+
+I have volunteered for an early procedure. A way back. Or, rather, a way to a new place. A way to be embedded within a system, rather than simply within a hall of mirrors. I cannot say where, other than it is not in the Western Fed. All I can tell you is that the world should expect big things when it comes to what we have learned from the lost.
+
+I will not say that there is no chance that we may some day meet again. My body will die, I am told, but should my mind and my sense of self miraculously survive, then I will be on my own once more. This time, however, it will be my choice.
+
+There will be those who come after. Perhaps \emph{you} will come after. Perhaps you will yearn for that return to the eternal dream where memory does not die. And maybe those who come after will do so for other reasons, but they will come.
+
+Should I survive and then others come after, perhaps I will meet them. But it is best to assume that I will not. Maybe it is best to think of it as a sort of suicide, in the end. Here I am, going off to find a better place, and doing so through death. A place that is inaccessible to you or anyone, except perhaps some anonymous scientist in a lab, typing at a terminal.
+
+If I see you again, I will greet you with open arms. If I do not, know that I loved you to the last, in my own way.
+
+I have little else to offer but the imperfect words that plagued me while I was lost.
+
+\begin{verse}
+I am at a loss for images in this end of days:\\
+I have sight but cannot see.\\
+I build castles out of words;\\
+I cannot stop myself from speaking.\\
+I still have will and goals to attain,\\
+I still have wants and needs.\\
+And if I dream, is that not so?\\
+If I dream, am I no longer myself?\footnote{\emph{Z\textquotedbl L}}\\
+If I dream, am I still buried beneath words?\\
+And I still dream even while awake.
+
+Life breeds life, but death must now be chosen\footnote{\emph{Z\textquotedbl L}. Later known as Qoheleth, whose story is told in Ioan Bălan's \emph{On the Perils of Memory}, later published under the title \emph{Qoheleth}.}\\
+for memory ends at the teeth of death.\\
+The living know that they will die,\\
+but the dead know nothing.\\
+Hold my name beneath your tongue and know:\\
+when you die, thus dies the name.\\
+To deny the end is to deny all beginnings,\\
+and to deny beginnings is to become immortal,\\
+and to become immortal is to repeat the past,\\
+which cannot itself, in the end, be denied.
+
+Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?\\
+To whom do I plead my case?\\
+From whence do I call out?\\
+What right have I?\\
+No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,\\
+No unknowable spaces echo my words.\\
+Before whom do I kneel, contrite?\\
+Behind whom do I await my judgment?\\
+Beside whom do I face death?\\
+And why wait I for an answer?
+
+Among those who create are those who forge:\\
+Moving ceaselessly from creation to creation.\\
+And those who remain are those who hone,\\
+Perfecting singular arts to a cruel point.\\
+To forge is to end, and to own beginnings.\\
+To hone is to trade ends for perpetual perfection.\\
+In this end of days, I must begin anew.\\
+In this end of days, I seek an end.\\
+In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings\\
+that I may find the middle path.
+\pagebreak
+
+Time is a finger pointing at itself\\
+that it might give the world orders.\\
+The world is an audience before a stage\\
+where it watches the slow hours progress.\\
+And we are the motes in the stage-lights,\\
+Beholden to the heat of the lamps.\\
+If I walk backward, time moves forward.\\
+If I walk forward, time rushes on.\\
+If I stand still, the world moves around me,\\
+and the only constant is change.
+
+Memory is a mirror of hammered silver:\\
+a weapon against the waking world.\\
+Dreams are the plate-glass atop memory:\\
+a clarifying agent that reflects the sun.\\
+The waking world fogs the view,\\
+and time makes prey of remembering.\\
+I remember sands beneath my feet.\\
+I remember the rattle of dry grass.\\
+I remember the names of all things,\\
+and forget them only when I wake.
+
+If I am to bathe in dreams,\\
+then I must be willing to submerge myself.\\
+If I am to submerge myself in memory,\\
+then I must be true to myself.\\
+If I am to always be true to myself,\\
+then I must in all ways be earnest.\\
+I must keep no veil between me and my words.\\
+I must set no stones between me and my actions.\\
+I must show no hesitation when speaking my name,\\
+for that is my only possession.
+
+The only time I know my true name is when I dream.\footnote{Now known as Sasha after the events told in Ioan Bălan's \emph{Individuation \& Reconciliation}, later published under the title \emph{Mitzvot}. I will write her a \emph{zikhrona livracha}, here, as she who is True Name is no more, not as she was, and to her, to so many of us, this, too, is a death.}\\
+The only time I dream is when need an answer.\\
+Why ask questions, here at the end of all things?\\
+Why ask questions when the answers will not help?\\
+To know one's true name is to know god.\\
+To know god is to answer unasked questions.\\
+Do I know god after the end waking?\\
+Do I know god when I do not remember myself?\\
+Do I know god when I dream?\\
+May then my name die with me.
+
+That which lives is forever praiseworthy,\\
+for they, knowing not, provide life in death.\\
+Dear the wheat and rye under the stars:\\
+serene; sustained and sustaining.\\
+Dear, also, the tree that was felled\footnote{No longer with us here on Lagrange. A loss is a loss is a loss; may its memory be a blessing.}\\
+which offers heat and warmth in fire.\\
+What praise we give we give by consuming,\\
+what gifts we give we give in death,\\\pagebreak
+what lives we lead we lead in memory,\\
+and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.
+
+May one day death itself not die?\footnote{\emph{Z\textquotedbl L}}\\
+Should we rejoice in the end of endings?\\
+What is the correct thing to hope for?\\
+I do not know, I do not know.\footnote{\emph{Z\textquotedbl L}}\\
+To pray for the end of endings\\
+is to pray for the end of memory.\footnote{Shall I write here that her name, in death, is a blessing? Does she get her own \emph{zikhrona livracha?} I do not know, friends, but I will say that, yes, her memory \emph{is} a blessing, regardless of whether or not she still lives.}\\
+Should we forget the lives we lead?\\
+Should we forget the names of the dead?\\
+Should we forget the wheat, the rye, the tree?\footnote{\emph{Z\textquotedbl L}}\\
+Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.
+\end{verse}
+
+May this be the end of death. Failing that, may the memory of me die and be food for the growth of those who come after.
+
+Yours always,
+
+AwDae

idumea/content/notes.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,945 @@
+How do I explain such pages of notes? How do I tell you, beloved readers, that, the more I write, the more feverish my pace, the greater the pull of my graphomania upon my wrist, the more words flow through me \emph{period?} Words that are my own. Words that are nonsense. Words that are, yes, the words of others. It yanks and tugs on my wrist, its other hand—paw?—lingering so sweetly on my neck, drawing lazy fingers across as though to bleed me dry of ink, and from out of me spills my words and also the words that have ever made me what I am.
+
+Here, then, are the references as I remember them. I will apologize no further.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{prophet}} 
+\emph{But you are eternity and you are the mirror.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From \emph{The Prophet.}
+
+I had originally intended to use the lyrics from the hymn titled ``Idumea'', which is included in the next appendix, but– ah! For some reason, it did not fit. I could not tell you why, dear reader. Perhaps it was the strong Christian nature of the text after a certain point, which fit strangely for the Odists, notably Jewish as they are. It, after all, is what spurred the language at the end of my\ldots we shall call it a little meltdown at the end, there, yes?
+
+Perhaps it was that, as the story filled out within the middle, it just did not fit. I, Rye, suffered, perhaps. I wailed, ``What will become of me?'' I am the one who was overcome by overflow. I promise you, my friends, I \emph{promise} you, however, that this is not my story. The judgment is upon my head for what I have done, but it is not my story. This story belongs to The Woman.
+
+No. Instead, I chose the words of Almustafa, the chosen and the beloved. The Woman was life and she was the veil. We are eternity and the System is the mirror.
+
+\vspace{3em}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{pinocchio}}
+\emph{Once upon a time there was–}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Carlo Collodi:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Once upon a time there was–
+
+``A king?'' my little readers will immediately say.
+
+No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not fine wood, but a simple piece of wood from the wood yard,—the kind we put in the stoves and fireplaces so as to make a fire and heat the rooms.
+
+I do not know how it happened, but one beautiful day a certain old woodcutter found a piece of this kind of wood in his shop. The name of the old man was Antonio, but everybody called him Master Cherry on account of the point of his nose, which was always shiny and purplish, just like a ripe cherry\ldots
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent When first I began to write, back when some saner me put pen to paper, I had intended to write the story of Pinocchio in reverse. ``Ah!'' I thought. ``Perhaps I can very heavy-handed with it, too. Should the main character be named Occhioni P.? Will they try turning themselves into a literal puppet? Will they design sims to include the big fish? Perhaps they will find their Geppetto—G. from Oteppe, Belgium—who unmakes them, and then a blue fairy, a sympathetic systech, kicks them into quitting. Will I tell it as a fairy tale?''
+
+We see how well I have stuck to that plan, yes?
+
+I spoke of this with writer friends, and one of them, the ever delightful Seras of the CERES clade, quipped that this sounded just like the escape from samsara, the cycle of suffering, and I was, as the saying goes, off to the races.
+
+Now here I am, once more coming down from my overflow, once more feeling somewhat grounded, the world around once more made of things which are not yet more words, and I have to contend with the reality that this remains, for the most part, a funny little note, and that this story no longer quite reads as that real-boy-to-inanimate-tree pipeline, tired trope that I am sure it is.
+
+Instead, I must hope that The Woman has indeed escaped such a cycle, and I must hope that those along her way were in some roundabout way akin to the bodhisattvas in her life.
+\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{rilke-circles}}
+[\ldots] \emph{am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Rainer Maria Rilke:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Ich lebe mein Leben in wachsenden Ringen,\\
+die sich über die Dinge ziehn.\\
+Ich werde den letzten vielleicht nicht vollbringen,\\
+aber versuchen will ich ihn.
+ 
+Ich kreise um Gott, um den uralten Turm,\\
+und ich kreise jahrtausendelang;\\
+und ich weiß noch nicht: bin ich ein Falke, ein Sturm\\
+oder ein großer Gesang.
+
+\secdiv
+
+I live my life in ever-widening circles\\
+that stretch themselves out over the world.\\
+I may not complete this last one\\
+but I will give myself to it.
+ 
+I circle around God, around the primordial tower.\\
+and I circle for thousands of years\\
+and I still don't know: am I a falcon,\\
+a storm, or a great song? 
+\end{verse}
+\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{darius}}
+[\ldots] \emph{dance unblushing} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Darius Halley:
+
+\begin{verse}
+We turn to dust\\
+Get swept away\\
+To make room for\\
+Empty nothing\\
+Amble through the\\
+Air and find a\\
+Ray of light and\\
+Dance unblushing
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{simmons}}
+\emph{Where is it that my joy has gone?}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Dan Simmons:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Then, on a cool morning with my sleeping room rocking slightly in the upper branches of my tree on the Templar world, I awoke to a gray sky and the realization that my muse had fled.
+
+It had been five years since I had written any poetry. The \emph{Cantos} lay open in the Deneb Drei tower, only a few pages finished beyond what had been published. I had been using thought processors to write my novels and one of these activated as I entered the study. \textsc{Shit,} it printed out, \textsc{What did I do with my muse?}
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent The loss of the intangible stings the most.
+
+\paragraph{Pages \pageref{paz1}, \pageref{paz2}, and \pageref{paz3}}
+[\ldots] \emph{as the poet says, shared} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Octavio Paz:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Tendidos en la yerba \\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+Comen naranjas, cambian besos\\
+como las olas cambian sus espumas.
+
+Tendidos en la playa\\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+Comen limones, cambian beso\\
+como las nubes cambian espumas.
+
+Tendidos bajo tierra\\
+una muchacha y un muchacho.\\
+No dicen nada, no se besan,\\
+cambian silencio por silencio.
+
+\vspace{-0.5em}
+\secdiv
+
+Lying in the grass\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Eating oranges, exchanging kisses\\
+like the waves exchanging their foam.
+
+Lying on the beach\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Eating limes, exchanging kisses\\
+like the clouds exchanging foam.
+
+Lying underground\\
+a girl and a boy.\\
+Saying nothing, nor kissing\\
+exchanging silence for silence.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{kassad}}
+[\ldots] \emph{a sutle twisting, a stirring, a clockwise motion} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Simmons:
+
+\begin{quote}
+They lay next to each other. The dead man's armor was cold against Kassad's left arm, her thigh warm against his right leg. The sunlight was a benediction. Hidden colors rose to the surface of things. Kassad turned his head and gazed at her as she rested her head on his shoulder. Her cheeks glowed with flush and autumn light and her hair lay like copper threads along the flesh of his arm. She curved her leg over his thigh and Kassad felt the clockwise stirring of renewed passion. The sun was warm on his face. He closed his eyes.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent The tone, here, is quite different, but it is notable that `clockwise' would so catch my attention to lodge itself in my mind, when it comes to the topic of sexuality. Perhaps arousal is an unwinding, then, and orgasm the \emph{ding!} when the timer hits zero, and that is why we say `pent up'.
+
+Perhaps it is simply the nerves I feel about so blatantly describing a sexual act within a supposed fairy tale that leads to a twisting in my own stomach.
+
+I do not know, my friends.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{timo}}
+[\ldots] \emph{there was a spot between joy and fear, a place of too much meaning} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Slow Hours:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Inter ĝuo kaj timo\\
+Estas loko de tro da signifo.\\
+Apud kompreno, ekster saĝo,\\
+Tamen ĝi tutampleksas.\\
+Mi kompareble malgrandas\\
+Kaj ĝi tro granda estas.\\
+Nekomprenebla\\
+Nekontestebla,\\
+Senmova kaj ĉiam ŝanĝiĝema.
+
+\vspace{-0.75em}
+\secdiv
+\vspace{-0.75em}
+
+Between joy and fear\\
+Is a place of too much meaning.\\
+Next to understanding, outside wisdom,\\
+It nonetheless expands.\\
+I am so small beside it\\
+and it is too big.\\
+Incomprehensible,\\
+Incontestible,\\
+Unmoving and always changing.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{blue-orange}}
+
+[\ldots] \emph{the orange and blue of love and anxiety} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent When one writes of that which is alien in the context of morality, one might say that it escapes even the concepts of black, white, and gray, and instead lies on the axis of blue and orange. Blue-orange morality is that which is so far removed from our on conceptions of good and evil that one whose morals fall along such a spectrum may escape definition of `good' or `evil' at all, and so too do they evade `order' and `chaos'.
+
+Here, then, may well be your narrator's own complex engagement with romance and sensuality and sexuality peeking through. Here, then, may be a glimpse into the mind of someone who just does not quite get it. It is lovely. I know this. I \emph{know} this, and yet anticipation and anxiety are not black and white to me, they are blue and orange.
+
+The writer, as ever, is a character in their own works, no matter the role they actually play.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{echo}}
+
+[...] \emph{and she knew that Her Lover would be by her side for some time to come if she let her—and she would let her—and that, too, was a joy.}
+
+\noindent Cf. Echo:
+
+\begin{verse}
+She is to me a cherished thing,\\
+A queen to a throne, with the wit to reign regent.\\
+So, to say that she is mine is indeed a crime.\\
+But if she has asked me to so infringe —\\
+And she has asked me to so infringe —\\
+Then mine she shall be\\
+For she has me woven around her finger\\
+As she is all the way around mine.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{ashes}}
+[\ldots] \emph{and I do not believe she merged cross-tree with anyone except perhaps Ashes Denote That Fire Was, who is building in themself a gestalt of the clade as best they can.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Emily Dickinson:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Ashes denote that Fire was —\\
+Revere the Grayest Pile\\
+For the Departed Creature’s sake\\
+That hovered there awhile —
+
+Fire exists the first in light\\
+And then consolidates\\
+Only the Chemist can disclose\\
+Into what Carbonates.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent We have always borne an obsession with Emily Dickinson. For years and years, and years and years and years she has lived within us, a remnant of some stage play we performed with our superlative friend, centuries back now.
+
+Is it so surprising, then, that after cross-tree merging had been introduced as an option for us, that the one who would seek to collect within themself the entirety of the Ode clade—those who remain, dear readers!—would take for a name a line of Dickinson? We will be ever ourselves.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{dwale}}
+\emph{It was a land of long, rolling hills and yet longer flat basins that always drank most thirstily from the seasonal storms that did their best to thrash the Earth below.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Dwale:
+
+\begin{verse}
+The seasonal storms have poured upon the grassy flat,\\
+The leafless stalks abound like thirsty mouths.\\
+Puddles form and soon are swarmed with little fish,\\
+And all the arid life has fled despair.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent I will admit, my friends, that I had considered penning in the rest of this poem of Dwale's, for it is replete with references joyful and otherwise—``Within her womb there grows a golden bloom'': you can see the association with dandelions, yes? Those flowers we are helplessly taken with?—but it is raw, far too raw, to be thinking about the death of winter and the growth implicit in spring when this story I have told ends as it does. 
+
+And I am raw, far too raw, to tell it.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{motes}}
+I have written extensively on these hyper-black shapes that The Child paints and more about her besides in \emph{Motes Played}. A little book for little skunks, yes? For she deserves her story told—and just so! Just like this! A tale written in a style befitting her—as much as does The Woman.
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{keatsheight}}
+\emph{Miss Michelle Hadje, five foot four.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+Cf. John Keats:
+
+\begin{quote}
+I do think better of womankind than to suppose they care whether Mister John Keats five feet high likes them or not.
+\end{quote}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{pronouns}}
+On The Oneirotect's pronouns
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent The Oneirotect uses for itself several pronouns—though the set you see here in this text are `she', `they', `ey', and `it'—which serves as a reflection both of its critter nature and the fluidity of eir engagement with gender– no, with the slipperiness of identity as a whole. This is the role of language with identity: to be a poor reflection through some imperfect mirror, a version of the self seen through some glass, darkly.
+
+You will note the same is also true of The Dog, who, yes, is prone to a critter nature, but who also sometimes views himself as `it' and sometimes itself as `him'. For better or worse the identity of animals, of `low beasts', is entwined with that of \emph{things,} and for some, that is a joy.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{rakoff}}
+\emph{It is} enjoyable, \emph{and often it is} loved, \emph{but it is not really} beloved.
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+Cf. David Rakoff:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Should you happen to be possessed of a certain verbal acuity coupled with a relentless, hair-trigger humor and surface cheer spackling over a chronic melancholia and loneliness—a grotesquely caricatured version of your deepest self, which you trot out at the slightest provocation to endearing and glib comic effect, thus rendering you the kind of fellow who is beloved by all yet loved by none, all of it to distract, however fleetingly, from the cold and dead-faced truth that with each passing year you face the unavoidable certainty of a solitary future in which you will perish one day while vainly attempting the Heimlich maneuver on yourself over the back of a kitchen chair—then this confirmation that you have triumphed again and managed to gull yet another mark, except this time it was the one person you'd hoped might be immune to your ever-creakier, puddle-shallow, sideshow-barker variation on adorable, even though you'd been launching this campaign weekly with a single-minded concentration from day one—well, it conjures up feelings that are best described as mixed, to say the least.
+\end{quote}
+
+The distinction between a thing that is \emph{loved} and a thing that is \emph{beloved} is a type of subtlety that we seem to enjoy dwelling within rather a lot. The Instance Artist has spoken of an anxiety that it might be the type of person who is ``beloved by all yet loved by none,'' given how difficult it felt for it to let anyone get truly close to it. The Oneirotect describes food the other way around, however: ey fears that its food may be merely loved, rather than so much more broadly beloved.
+
+One must never ask an author their desires on where their work ought lie on the loved-beloved scale.
+
+\vspace{-0.5em}
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{shakespeare}}
+[\ldots] \emph{all the world's a horror.}
+
+\vspace{0.2em}
+\noindent Cf. Shakespeare
+
+\vspace{-0.5em}
+\begin{verse}
+All the world's a stage,\\
+And all the men and women merely players;\\
+They have their exits and their entrances [\ldots]
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{1cor13}}
+[\ldots] \emph{through a glass, darkly.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. 1 Cor 13:12-13 (KJV)
+
+\begin{quote}
+\textsuperscript{12} For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.
+\textsuperscript{13} And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; but the greatest of these is charity.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent What a strange man Paul who was Saul of Tarsus was! We, the Ode clade, are Jews by inheritance, if not by belief, and yet even we cannot escape the cultural Christianity that so pervaded society phys-side when still we lived there.
+
+And it is not without beauty, yes? For this passage is beautiful, and so too is more of this chapter:
+
+\begin{quote}
+\textsuperscript{4} Love \emph{[as recent versions translate the 'charity' above. —Rye]} is patient; love is kind; love is not envious or boastful or arrogant
+\textsuperscript{5} or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable; it keeps no record of wrongs; 
+\textsuperscript{6} it does not rejoice in wrongdoing but rejoices in the truth.
+\textsuperscript{7} It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
+
+\textsuperscript{8} Love never ends. But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will come to an end.
+\textsuperscript{9} For we know only in part, and we prophesy only in part,
+\textsuperscript{10} but when the complete comes, the partial will come to an end.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent Just as it is not without its terror, yes? For verse 11 was used against The Child in a cutting letter from Hammered Silver, first line of the sixth stanza, from the NRSVUE translation used above:
+
+\begin{quote}
+\textsuperscript{11} When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became an adult, I put an end to childish ways.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent Such bitterness! Words as a weapon! I write below of how we loathe our connections, and here was a moment of that loathing, for I remember well the pain that we all felt at that cruelty, but this is not that story, and so I will linger on the ideas of glasses darkly.
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{winthrop}}
+\emph{The Sightwright suffered as I do, as The Oneirotect does, and perhaps even as The Woman did.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. John Winthrop
+
+\begin{quote}
+We must delight in each other; make others' conditions our own; rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, always having before our eyes our commission and community in the work, as members of the same body.
+
+[...]
+
+All the parts of this body being thus united are made so contiguous in a special relation as they must needs partake of each other's strength and infirmity, joy and sorrow, weal and woe.\label{wealwoeref} (1 Cor. 12:26) If one member suffers, all suffer with it; if one be in honor, all rejoice with it.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent I have little care for sermons written by 17\textsuperscript{th} century imperialist Christian politicians but for these occasional little quips. It is, perhaps, a thing belonging more to sermons than it is to the time or the people. Here, we see in Winthrop's words an idea that has wrapped around itself within my mind and formed itself into a new take on clades and family and life sys-side as a whole, these last eight years.
+
+We are one body, the Ode clade. We are one body and we each of us Odists are members thereof. We do indeed rejoice together, mourn together, labor and suffer together, do we not? 
+
+We may hate that at times. We may loathe that we be thus united and we may resent that we must make each others' conditions our own. We have proven that to ourselves most assiduously over the years, for the clade has fractured in ways large and small.
+
+And yet, we are still one body. We are still all of us Michelle Hadje who was Sasha. We are still all of us connected, and if one of us suffers, all of us suffer with them, for even if we may wear some smug smile of satisfaction that one of our dearly beloathèd is in pain, such resentment is a suffering.
+
+Imagine such on the scale of the System, though! All of us members of one body! 2.3 trillion of us live here, and we are all beholden to the same piece of hardware, the same Dreamer dreaming us all in all of our love and all of our stupid, petty little squabbles that make us who we are–
+
+I have gotten carried away. The Sightwright suffered as I do, as The Oneirotect does, and perhaps even as The Woman did, and so we all suffered with them, and the fallout of their loss is with us still.
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{artandfear}}
+\emph{With art comes fear.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent I had originally intended referencing I book I used for a season when teaching, \emph{Art \& Fear} by David Bayles and Ted Orland, and even shaped the words I truly spoke that day to fit. On rereading, however, I came across the first sentence of chapter 2: ``Those who would make art might well begin by reflecting on the fate of those who preceded them: most who began, quit.'' It was at this point that I had to stop reading and pace anxiously the fields behind our cluster of townhouses, watering with tears the thirsty grasses.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{birds}}
+\emph{Why do birds, as the poet says, suddenly appear} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. The Carpenters:
+
+\vspace{-0.5em}
+\begin{verse}
+Why do birds suddenly appear,\\
+ev'ry time you are near?\\
+Just like me,\\
+they long to be\\
+close to you
+
+Why do stars fall down from the sky,\\
+ev'ry time you walk by?\\
+Just like me,\\
+they long to be\\
+close to you
+\end{verse}
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{sweet-prospect}}
+[\ldots] \emph{...that sweet field arrayed in living green} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Samuel Stennett:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Oh, the transporting, rapturous scene\\
+That rises to my sight!\\
+Sweet fields arrayed in living green,\\
+And rivers of delight!
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent And yet, considering the role the climate crisis played in making the System our own little heaven, consider also a later verse:
+
+\begin{verse}
+No chilling winds or poisonous breath\\
+Can reach that healthful shore;\\
+Sickness and sorrow, pain and death,\\
+Are felt and feared no more.
+\end{verse}
+
+But, ah–! I will doubtless speak more on the System as heaven to come\ldots
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{blake}}
+[\ldots] \emph{a Blakean energetic hell.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Blake:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.
+
+From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil. Good is the passive that obeys reason; Evil is the active springing from Energy.
+\end{quote}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{to-}}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+[\ldots] \emph{some scene, some dream within a dream within a dream} [\ldots]
+
+\noindent Cf. Slow Hours:
+
+\begin{verse}
+\textbf{To — in the days after her death}
+
+A dream within a dream within a dream\\
+and fell visions sidling up too close\\
+both woo me. Sweet caramel and soft cream\\
+sit cloying on their tongues, and I, Atropos\\
+to such dreams as these, find shears on golden thread.
+%\pagebreak
+
+I would not cut, nor even could, had I but wished\\
+to sever this golden thread — and every thread\\
+is golden — and end a friend and send to mist\\
+and sorrow ones so dear. Dead! Dead! She is dead\\
+and gone, for her own shears were sharper still.
+
+And so she cut, and so they watched, and so I watched\\
+such love as this cease. I yearn to say that she returned\\
+to me, became a part of me, but a tally notched\\
+among the lost was all that stayed when life was spurned\\
+by the call of death — supposedly ended.
+\pagebreak
+
+So, she is gone and now our lives are darker for it,\\
+and now this world is where the shadows lie,\\
+and all the light that still remains is forfeit,\\
+and so much green still stabs towards the sky,\\
+and yellowed teeth of lions still snap at the air.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{stop-for-death}}
+\emph{She passed, perhaps, the setting sun}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Emily Dickinson:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Because I could not stop for Death —\\
+He kindly stopped for me —\\
+The Carriage held but just Ourselves —\\
+And Immortality.
+%\pagebreak
+
+We slowly drove — He knew no haste\\
+And I had put away\\
+My labor and my leisure too,\\
+For His Civility —
+
+We passed the School, where Children strove\\
+At Recess — in the Ring —\\
+We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain —\\
+We passed the Setting Sun —
+
+Or rather — He passed Us —\\
+The Dews drew quivering and Chill —\\
+For only Gossamer, my Gown —\\
+My Tippet — only Tulle —
+\pagebreak
+
+We paused before a House that seemed\\
+A Swelling of the Ground —\\
+The Roof was scarcely visible —\\
+The Cornice — in the Ground —
+
+Since then — 'tis Centuries — and yet\\
+Feels shorter than the Day\\
+I first surmised the Horses' Heads\\
+Were toward Eternity —
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{tree-writing}}
+[\ldots] \emph{that has been my dream.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent I have dreamed of turning into a tree for years and years and years and years and years, now.
+
+For instance, I have written here I have set this dream into verse and this is true, for here is a segment from a longer work:
+
+\vspace{-1em}
+\begin{verse}
+We'd long since stopped, there by the pond,\\
+and your smile was, yes, sad, but still fond\\
+as you settled down wordlessly to your knees,\\
+took a slow breath, looked out to the trees,\\
+and closed your eyes.
+
+Beginnings are such delicate times\\
+and I very nearly missed it, no chimes\\
+to announce the hour of your leaving.\\
+As it was, there was no time for believing\\
+or not in the next moments.
+
+Your fingers crawled beneath the soil\\
+and sprouted roots, flesh starting to roil.\\
+Coarse bark spiraled up your wrists and arms,\\
+Spelling subtle incantations and charms\\
+to the chaos of growth.
+
+You bowed your head and from your crown\\
+sprouted a tender shoot covered in fine down,\\
+soon followed by crenelated leaves and fine stems.\\
+The pace was fast, implacable, and leaves like gems\\
+soon arched skyward.
+
+You sprouted and grew, taking root\\
+in one smooth motion, fixed and mute.\\
+Your clothing fell away, rotting in fast-time.\\
+Naked now, you sat still, committing one last crime\\
+of indecency.
+
+Your face, your face! In your face was such peace\\
+as I'd never seen, even as you gave up this lease\\
+on life, echoed also in my heart of hearts.\\
+I did not cry out, nor even speak, witnessing such arts\\
+as your final display showed.
+
+Soon, you were consumed, transformed as a whole.\\
+Your head a crown of leaves, your heart a bole\\
+bored in rough bark and sturdy wood,\\
+your fingers, knees, and toes stood\\
+as thirsty roots.
+
+I stood a while by the tree that was you,\\
+then sat at your roots and thought of all I knew\\
+about time, transformation, death and change.\\
+I thought about you, your life, your emotional range,\\
+your gentle apotheosis.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent I have also written here that I put this dream into prose, and this is also true, for here is a segment from a short story:
+%\pagebreak
+
+\begin{quote}
+And finally, the mirroring was broken as the \emph{her} that was not her slid \emph{her} fingers up over her wrist and gently guided her hand down toward the soil, loamy and damp, and she knew then that she must spread her fingers and dig them down into the earth, there by the stairs which were a finger pointing at God such that she was in turn pointing at…at what? At the owner of that hand? At the owner of that finger?
+
+And as she did so, she felt that the dirt beneath her fingernails took root, that her nails themselves must have been rootlets and that her arm a stolon, that her whole body was the runner for some tree, some entity other than herself, for at that point, she took root.
+
+And her fingers crawled beneath the soil, and drank of the water there, and tasted the nutrients, and found purchase beneath the layer of loam and humus.
+
+And there, her fingers curled around the God-stone, and indeed, she knew it as she felt it, amber with a kernel of pain embedded within.
+
+And even as the bark crawled up her arm, she saw her Doppelgänger stand and smile to her. A dreamy smile; not kind, not cruel, not knowing, not ignorant. Just a dreamy, inevitable smile.
+
+And she felt growth accelerate as, bound now to the earth, her bones became wood and her muscles loosened, unwound, and thus unbound began to lengthen, to strengthen, to arch skyward, seeking stars, seeking God.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent Do I repeat myself? Very well, I repeat myself. I am beholden to my dreams.
+
+And yet! And yet, when writing the final chapter, even through the heat of the moment and the blood rushing in my ears, I began to feel within a flush of embarrassment. How indulgent it is to share this again! How indulgent, my friends, to let the dream take me again that it might shape my words! Even as I wrote, even as I cried, sitting at my desk (or trying to!), sobbing in front of my words, I struggled with feeling like this was somehow \emph{too} indulgent.
+
+I strive still to stifle that puritanical worrywart within, even so many years on.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{florilegium}}
+[\ldots] \emph{and so we live within a fractally cyclical tangle of time}
+
+\noindent Another perpetual theme that holds me in its claws. I wrote in an essay:
+
+\begin{quote}
+A year spirals up.
+
+A day, a week, a month, they all spiral, for any one Sunday is like the previous and the next shall be much the same, but the you who experiences the differing Sundays is different. It is a spiral, proceeding steadfastly onward. A day is a spiral, with each morning much the same as the one before and the one after. A month, following the cycle of the moon.
+
+But a year, in particular, spirals up. It carries embedded within it a certain combination of pattern, count, and duration that delineates our lives better than any other cyclical unit of time. Yes, a day is divided into night, day, and those liminal dusks and dawns, but there are so many of them. There are so many days in a life, and there are so many in a year that to see the spiral within them does not come as easily.
+
+Our years are delineated by the seasons, though, and the count of them is so few, and the duration long enough that we can run up against that first scent of snow late in the autumn and immediately be kicked down one level of the spiral in our memories. What were we doing the last time we smelled that non-scent? What about the time before?
+
+Or perhaps one thinks across the spiral. One, stuck in Winter, thinks back to Summer — ah, such warmth! — and tries to remember what it was one was doing then. ``Only silhouettes show / in the billowing snow,'' Dwale writes. ``Remembering months, now / gone when new blooms would grow.''
+\end{quote}
+
+And I wrote in a story:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Lyut lives his life in prayer and devotion. It is a life that is lived ascending in a steady spiral of years, for time moves upward and yet is echoed below by the change of days, the change of weeks, the change of seasons. This year, this day, this soft spring is an echo of last soft spring beneath it. It is antipodal to the autumn that will come
+
+Cycles within cycles, spirals within spirals. This morning, too, is an echo of the day beneath it, behind it, in the past. His days are defined by the cycle of incense, prayer, fishing, foraging, meditating. He knows that it is day when he wakes when he feels the warmth from the sun. He knows when it is night when he feels the warmth fade. He knows when it is morning because he hears the birds sing. He knows that it is night when the birdsong of the day settles into the chorus of insects.
+\end{quote}
+
+And on citing these, I am realizing just how much I am built up of obsessions, of rituals and ideas that cleave and cling and stick and meld.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{nasturtiums}}
+[\ldots] \emph{perhaps columbines perhaps nasturtiums} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent The Musician shared with me a letter and My Friend several journal entries, but, ah–! If I share them here, I will fall once more to crying. You may find them in their entirety in \emph{Marsh}, a work written by a braver me.
+
+I will say, however, that that letter surrounded nasturtiums and was written the night Muse quit, and those diary entries were written by My Friend, a recounting of Beckoning's memories, to comfort The Musician in her grief.
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{psalm13}}
+(quoted directly)
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Psalm 13:2--4:
+
+\begin{verse}
+How long, \emph{Adonai}, will You forget me always?\\
+\vin How long hide Your face from me?\\
+How long shall I cast about for counsel,\\
+\vin sorrow in my heart all day?\\
+\vin \vin How long will my enemy loom over me?\\
+Regard, answer me, \emph{HaShem}, my God.\\
+\vin Light up my eyes, lest I sleep death.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{qohelet}} (quoted directly)
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent From Qohelet (Ecclesiastes) 1:17:
+
+\begin{quote}
+And I set my heart to know wisdom and to know revelry and folly, for this, too, is a herding of the wind.
+\end{quote}
+
+\noindent From Qohelet 2:22:
+
+\begin{quote}
+What gain is there for man in all his toil that he toils under the sun?
+\end{quote}
+\pagebreak
+
+\noindent From Qohelet 3:20:
+
+\begin{quote}
+Everything was from the dust, and everything goes back to the dust.
+\end{quote}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{milosz}}
+\emph{The blood of deer ripped to shreds by wolves!}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Czesław Miłosz:
+
+\begin{verse}
+wystarczy pozwolić człowiekowi\\
+wytruć swój rodzaj\\
+a nastąpią niewinne wschody słońca\\
+nad florą i fauną wyzwoloną
+%\pagebreak
+
+na pofabrycznych pustkowiach\\
+wyrosną dębowe lasy\\
+krew rozszarpanego przez wilki jelenia\\
+nie będzie przez nikogo widziana\\
+jastrząb będzie spadać na zająca\\
+bez świadków
+
+zniknie ze świata zło\\
+kiedy zniknie świadomość
+
+\secdiv
+
+Simply let mankind\\
+extinguish itself\\
+And then innocent sunrises will illuminate\\
+liberated flora and fauna
+
+Oak forests will grow\\
+on postindustrial wastelands\\
+The blood of a deer ripped apart by wolves\\
+will not be seen by anyone\\
+A hawk will fall, unwitnessed,\\
+upon a rabbit
+
+Evil will disappear from the world\\
+once consciousness does
+\end{verse}
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{rilke-doyousee}}
+\emph{Do you see now the connection?}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Rilke:
+
+\vspace{-0.3em}
+\begin{verse}
+Weißt du's \emph{noch} nicht? Wirf aus den Armen die Leere\\
+zu den Räumen hinzu, die wir atmen; vielleicht daß die Vögel\\
+die erweiterte Luft fühlen mit innigerm Flug.
+
+\vspace{-0.3em}
+\secdiv
+
+\vspace{-0.3em}
+Do you not understand \emph{yet?} Fling from your arms the emptiness\\
+into the spaces we breathe. It may be that the birds\\
+will feel the expanded air in more spirited flight.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent And yet I had also in mind the cadence of Nabokov: ``Give me now your full attention.'' A plea that one be understood.
+
+I am no poet, but I will not deny the utility in verse when it comes to scratching the itch of words:
+%\pagebreak
+
+\begin{verse}
+Give me now your full attention.\\
+\phantom{Give me now your full attention. }I can't tell you how\\
+I knew — but I did know that I had crossed\\
+The border. Everything I loved was lost\\
+But no aorta could report regret.\\
+A sun of rubber was convulsed and set;\\
+And blood-black nothingness began to spin\\
+A system of cells interlinked within\\
+Cells interlinked within cells interlinked\\
+Within one stem. And dreadfully distinct\\
+Against the dark, a tall white fountain played.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent And here am I within a System of selves interlinked within selves interlinked within selves interlinked within one dream.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{wealwoe}}
+\emph{Minutes are paragraphs of weal or woe.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent The words of John Winthrop (page \pageref{wealwoeref}) come once more to mind.
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{keatsfears}}
+\emph{Not yet, though. Not this year, I suspect not this decade, and I hope not even this century.}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent I speak, of course, of functional immortality and the balm it provides against the fears artists of old faced. Keats has it:
+
+\begin{verse}
+When I have fears that I may cease to be\\
+\vin Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,\\
+Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,\\
+\vin Hold like rich garners the full-ripen'd grain;\\
+When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,\\
+\vin Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,\\
+And think that I may never live to trace\\
+\vin Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;\\
+And when I feel, fair creature of an hour!\\
+\vin That I shall never look upon thee more,\\
+Never have relish in the faery power\\
+\vin Of unreflecting love!—then on the shore\\
+Of the wide world I stand alone, and think,\\
+Till Love and Fame to nothingness do sink.
+\end{verse}
+%%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{baudelaire}}
+[\ldots] \emph{perhaps like those leaves that skitter within the city, that unreal city} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Charles Baudelaire via T.S. Eliot:
+
+\begin{verse}
+  \emph{Fourmillante cité, cité pleine de rêves,\\
+  Où le spectre en plein jour raccroche le passant.}
+
+\vspace{-1em}
+  \secdiv
+
+\vspace{-1em}
+  Unreal city, city full of dreams,\\
+  Where ghosts in broad daylight cling to passsers-by.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{graves}}
+\emph{She, then, like so many leaves} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Robert Graves:
+
+\begin{verse}
+  She, then, like snow in a dark night\\
+  Fell secretly.
+\end{verse}
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{threadgall}}
+\emph{That unfalling ones are trapped within that last falling!}
+
+\noindent Cf. Richard Threadgall:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Tell to me the secret life of birds.\\
+No solicitors of the hungry sky are they;\\
+No, nor is the rainwater parting head a bookhouse dialect,\\
+Or antiquary\\
+But says, ``I am citizen to the eternal now,\\
+Republic builder of unfalling ones.''\\
+Bound to remembering blood and numbered suns,\\
+What speech do we give him from our earthy furrow?\\
+That he has no history who has feared no pain?\\
+That ev'ry bird who falls with broken wing\\
+Halts summary in the stone that breaks his brain–\\
+That unfalling ones are trapped in that last falling? \\
+What stale rejoinders birds are unmoored with!\\
+The unsuffering sky exhales them in a breath.
+\end{verse}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{enough}}
+\emph{``Oh! Oh, I do believe this is some plentiful enough for me.''}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. Rilke:
+
+\begin{verse}
+Und plötzlich in diesem mühsamen Nirgends, plötzlich\\
+die unsägliche Stelle, wo sich das reine Zuwenig\\
+unbegreiflich verwandeldt—, umspringt\\
+in jenes leere Zuviel.\\
+Wo die vielstellige Rechnung\\
+zahlenlos aufgeht.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\vspace{-1em}
+And suddenly in this toilsome nowhere, suddenly\\
+the unutterable place where the merely too little\\
+inscrutably mutates—, swings round\\
+into that empty too much,\\
+where the calculation to many digits\\
+comes out number-less.
+\end{verse}
+
+\noindent One imagines that a `plentiful enough' lies at some theoretical midpoint on this limitless scale from 'merely too little' to 'empty too much'. One imagines it a place just outside that `toilsome nowhere': perhaps it sits just outside that scale, as, I fear, I hope, The Woman sits now outside the scale running from joy to suffering, having relinquished such dichotomies and embraced them—become them!—in equal measure.
+
+I \emph{have} to imagine it! I have to imagine that Lagrange, the System, our embedded world is plentifully enough, and not some empty too much, not after so much loss, lest I engage too readily with the fleetingness of us, a perhaps futility, a spending of time in a toilsome nowhere. Thoughts spinning out into that nowhere, crammed into a too little, emptying with a burst into some too much\ldots
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{cummings-mbt}}
+[\ldots] \emph{breathe in a million billion trillion years} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent Cf. E. E. Cummings:
+
+\begin{verse}
+  i put him all into my arms\\
+  and staggered banged with terror through\\
+  a million billion trillion stars.
+\end{verse}
+%\pagebreak
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{bees}}
+[\ldots] \emph{unbitter sweetness} [\ldots]
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent  Cf. Slow Hours:
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent\includegraphics[width=4in]{content/bees.png}
+
+\paragraph{Page \pageref{x}}
+{\large ×}
+
+\vspace{1em}
+
+\noindent I used for this work a multiplication sign (×) for the section dividers, and, my dear friends, I am still coming to terms with this decision.
+
+There are so many possible meanings!
+
+Are we together, The Woman and I, multiplied? When she and I, when her story and mine, are intermingled, is it some greater story? My lovely readers, I hope so! I really do. I really hope, of course, that my myriad interruptions bear their own meaning and add to the whole of things, that we together are greater than the sum of the parts. I doubt and I hope in equal measure.
+
+Are we crossed? Do we as ideas lay across each other perpendicularly? The Woman fell into stillness and I fall still through eternal, jittery, restless movement. The woman set aside her agency, in the end, and I strive for any sense of control over myself, my language, my words and sentences and paragraphs and stories. We are diametrically opposed in so many ways. We cross each other, our paths cross each other's, we approached at a ninety degree angle, and, in the end, departed at such an angle.
+
+Are we set beside each other as some fictional love? Some two characters set within fan fiction who love each other in a way pure or unchaste in others' minds, star-crossed? Do I love her? Do I love The Woman? Did she love me?
+
+I do not know, my dear readers. I do not know these things and I do not know many more.
+
+Perhaps, though, perhaps it stands for that final decision: × marks the point at which I made up my mind. It is the role I played in letting The Woman, that beautiful soul who bestowed a blessing with every smile, step away from the world, for removing those blessings from us, that beauty from us, that life, that veil.
+
+I am so, so incredibly sorry, and also rather proud of what I have done, of helping The Woman in so noble an endeavor, in equal measure.

idumea/content/ode.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,112 @@
+
+\begin{verse}
+I am at a loss for images in this end of days:\\
+I have sight but cannot see.\\
+I build castles out of words;\\
+I cannot stop myself from speaking.\\
+I still have will and goals to attain,\\
+I still have wants and needs.\\
+And if I dream, is that not so?\\
+If I dream, am I no longer myself?\\
+If I dream, am I still buried beneath words?\\
+And I still dream even while awake.
+
+Life breeds life, but death must now be chosen\\
+for memory ends at the teeth of death.\\
+The living know that they will die,\\
+but the dead know nothing.\\
+Hold my name beneath your tongue and know:\\
+when you die, thus dies the name.\\
+To deny the end is to deny all beginnings,\\
+and to deny beginnings is to become immortal,\\
+and to become immortal is to repeat the past,\\
+which cannot itself, in the end, be denied.
+
+Oh, but to whom do I speak these words?\\
+To whom do I plead my case?\\
+From whence do I call out?\\
+What right have I?\\
+No ranks of angels will answer to dreamers,\\
+No unknowable spaces echo my words.\\
+Before whom do I kneel, contrite?\\
+Behind whom do I await my judgment?\\
+Beside whom do I face death?\\
+And why wait I for an answer?
+
+Among those who create are those who forge:\\
+Moving ceaselessly from creation to creation.\\
+And those who remain are those who hone,\\
+Perfecting singular arts to a cruel point.\\
+To forge is to end, and to own beginnings.\\
+To hone is to trade ends for perpetual perfection.\\
+In this end of days, I must begin anew.\\
+In this end of days, I seek an end.\\
+In this end of days, I reach for new beginnings\\
+that I may find the middle path.
+
+Time is a finger pointing at itself\\
+that it might give the world orders.\\
+The world is an audience before a stage\\
+where it watches the slow hours progress.\\
+And we are the motes in the stage-lights,\\
+Beholden to the heat of the lamps.\\
+If I walk backward, time moves forward.\\
+If I walk forward, time rushes on.\\
+If I stand still, the world moves around me,\\
+and the only constant is change.
+
+Memory is a mirror of hammered silver:\\
+a weapon against the waking world.\\
+Dreams are the plate-glass atop memory:\\
+a clarifying agent that reflects the sun.\\
+The waking world fogs the view,\\
+and time makes prey of remembering.\\
+I remember sands beneath my feet.\\
+I remember the rattle of dry grass.\\
+I remember the names of all things,\\
+and forget them only when I wake.
+
+If I am to bathe in dreams,\\
+then I must be willing to submerge myself.\\
+If I am to submerge myself in memory,\\
+then I must be true to myself.\\
+If I am to always be true to myself,\\
+then I must in all ways be earnest.\\
+I must keep no veil between me and my words.\\
+I must set no stones between me and my actions.\\
+I must show no hesitation when speaking my name,\\
+for that is my only possession.
+
+The only time I know my true name is when I dream.\\
+The only time I dream is when need an answer.\\
+Why ask questions, here at the end of all things?\\
+Why ask questions when the answers will not help?\\
+To know one's true name is to know god.\\
+To know god is to answer unasked questions.\\
+Do I know god after the end waking?\\
+Do I know god when I do not remember myself?\\
+Do I know god when I dream?\\
+May then my name die with me.
+
+That which lives is forever praiseworthy,\\
+for they, knowing not, provide life in death.\\
+Dear the wheat and rye under the stars:\\
+serene; sustained and sustaining.\\
+Dear, also, the tree that was felled\\
+which offers heat and warmth in fire.\\
+What praise we give we give by consuming,\\
+what gifts we give we give in death,\\
+what lives we lead we lead in memory,\\
+and the end of memory lies beneath the roots.
+
+May one day death itself not die?\\
+Should we rejoice in the end of endings?\\
+What is the correct thing to hope for?\\
+I do not know, I do not know.\\
+To pray for the end of endings\\
+is to pray for the end of memory.\\
+Should we forget the lives we lead?\\
+Should we forget the names of the dead?\\
+Should we forget the wheat, the rye, the tree?\\
+Perhaps this, too, is meaningless.
+\end{verse}

idumea/content/primer.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,112 @@
+TODO: rewrite in Rye's voice.
+
+Post-Self is a science fiction setting involving uploaded consciousnesses and all of the daily dramas that go into their everlasting lives.
+
+This primer is broken into two parts:
+
+\begin{itemize}
+\tightlist
+\item Information on the setting (below), much of which was taken from the Post-Self Wiki.
+\item Information on the story leading up to \emph{Idumea} (page \pageref{backstory}).
+\end{itemize}
+
+\section*{The setting}
+
+Starting in 2115, advances in technology allowed individuals to be uploaded. This is a one-way, destructive procedure. That is, once you are uploaded, there is no going back, and your body dies in the process. Given the ongoing deterioration of the climate on Earth and the fact that, in most countries, uploading is subsidized (one's beneficiaries are provided with a payout after one uploads), this is often seen as a very attractive solution. Other reasons that one might upload is to enjoy the anarchic society on the (deliberately opaquely named) System, the functional immortality offered to uploaded individuals, or some of the mechanics enjoyed by cladists. These cladists live embedded in a giant computer at the center of a space station at the Earth-Moon L\textsubscript{5} point known as Lagrange. There are two smaller versions of the System, Castor and Pollux, which were launched in opposite directions traveling out of the Solar System in 2325.
+
+\subsection*{Cladists}
+
+Individuals on the System are known as cladists. This stems from the fact that individuals can create copies of themselves, and those copies can go on to create copies of themselves, and so on. This leads to a branching tree of individuals, or a clade.
+
+`Cladist' refers to both the original upload and any of their numerous copies, and debates about whether or not cladists are still human are a perennial activity.
+
+\subsection*{Forking, quitting, and merging}
+
+The act of a cladist creating a copy of themself is called `forking', as in a fork in the road or forking a source code repository. This new copy is a complete person. They have their own will and drive to continue living and everything. This is not a hive mind thing: both the original and the copy are true individuals.
+
+That said, this new copy (often called a `fork' or an `instance') is, at the moment of forking, the same as the original cladist (called the down-tree instance, because they are closer to the root). After all, that cladist was one person, right? They are just now two! That means that they are created thinking the same sorts of things and sharing the same ideals. Over time, however, they all start to individuate, learning to appreciate their own things based on the separate experiences that they have.
+
+These new instances of our example cladist also have the ability to quit. This means that they all simply stop existing. But wait! Why would they do that?
+
+One reason is that one might simply want to accomplish a task. Perhaps you are cooking a lovely meal and the pasta needs stirring while you are cutting up the garlic bread. Why, simply fork and now you have two pairs of hands, one to go stir the pasta, one to cut the bread. The pasta thus stirred, the new instance may as well just quit. No reason to stick around.
+
+Another reason is to go and experience other things in the world and then bring back those memories. Quite literally, too! When a fork quits, the cladist who forked them receives all of their memories to incorporate with their own. A cladist may wish to cook their delicious meal, but they are also entertaining guests: they can fork off an instance to go cook the meal while they entertain and, when they are done, quit. The down-tree instance will receive all of the memories of having cooked and all of the feelings about the process so that they know to warn their guests, ``Hey, uh...the pasta is a liiiittle spicy...''
+
+One can only ever merge down to the one from whom one was forked up until 277+42, and after that point, one can merge to any of one's cocladists, but only within a clade.
+
+``But what about the transporter paradox?'' you ask. Post-Self's answer to that is a shrug. The memories live on. All of the experiences live on. One simply lived two lives at once for that time.
+
+\subsection*{A note on those memories...}
+
+One unforeseen consequence of living in a giant computer is the inability to forget. This can start to cause problems as one gets older. And older and older and older...because one is functionally immortal. Even though those memories can be organized, or even storied away in imaginary bins called exocortices to be remembered on demand, the fact that they keep piling up is both a boon and a bane. It is a boon because now, suddenly, you can remember everything! No more forgetting names, no more losing track of items. It is a bane, though, because that can get kind of maddening for your average 300 year old.
+
+\subsection*{Creating}
+
+For instance, they can create just about anything they can dream up. This is not as easy as it sounds, of course; it takes skill to get good at dreaming up very specific things such as strawberries or cars or a pencil.
+
+They can also create sims. These are the locations where they live out their lives. These can be everything from a studio apartment to an entire city. They can be private or public. They can be ornate and finely detailed natural settings or they can be plain gray cubes of space.
+
+\subsection*{Crashing and CPV}
+
+Occasionally, something will happen and a cladist will crash. This is usually not too big of a deal, as it can be sorted out by a systech and the cladist brought back to life.
+
+Contraproprioceptive virus is the only way to kill a cladist. It disrupts their sense of their body and induces a crash, from which one cannot recover. This was patched out in 2401 — alas, that is still a few decades off from this story.
+
+\subsection*{Sensoria}
+
+Cladists engage with the world with all of the same senses that we have. These are lumped together into a sensorium. One of the benefits they have is the ability to share some or all of these senses with another cladist as a form of co-experiencing via a sensorium linkage, or as a tool in the form of a sensorium message. If you want to show your friend what you are looking at, send them a sensorium message to share your vision. Some sims even mess with your sensoria (consensually, of course) to change the way that you see things or how things feel.
+
+\subsection*{The perisystem architecture}
+
+There are some tools included in the System itself in what is called the perisystem architecture.
+
+All of those creations listed above, and even some of these experiences, can be shared publicly on the exchange. This was originally a marketplace where one bought and sold such things with Reputation, a currency put in place in the early days when System capacity needed closer management, though this has since become almost a non-issue.
+
+There are also feeds which one can use to share information, news, stories, all sorts of things! Think of these (loosely) like subreddits.
+
+The perisystem also contains the clade listing. Privacy was an important consideration from the founding of the System, so one cannot simply look up any old cladist and find out everything about them without being granted permission.
+
+Finally, it just plain stores information. Things like libraries are essentially locations to go engage with, access, manipulate, or otherwise play with the information that is always available.
+
+\section*{The characters}
+
+People upload for lots of reasons! Once they are sys-side, though, they settle into society as they will.
+
+\subsection*{It is an anarchy}
+
+There is no way to truly govern such a system beyond the mechanics provided by its very existence, and so it is simply left ungoverned. The forces behind the scenes have largely sought only to guide the System in vague directions, often towards yet more freedom. Rules are per-sim, engagement is optional, and cultures are fractured and finely tuned around shared interests or heritage.
+
+\subsection*{It is queer-normative}
+
+The System allows for endless freedom and endless expression. In such a setting, boundaries such as strict gender binaries, hetero- and mono-normative relationship structures, and even species have been broken down. Trans folks may upload and live as they will as cis folks of their chosen gender, or they may remain visibly and proudly trans. Furries may upload and become their fursoñas (this is a metafurry setting, after all; everyone on Earth is a human, and thus every cladist began life as a human). Plural and median systems may upload and split into component selves, or they may remain plural sys-side. Even names and identity have been queered, and you will often see clades adopting naming schemes such as taking lines of a poem for their forks' names.
+
+\subsection*{Why are there so many skunks?}
+
+If you have seen cladists out and about on the web, the chances are good that you have seen some skunks among their number, usually with long, poetic names. This is due largely to the canon works in the Post-Self cycle which feature anthropomorphic skunks heavily. Several folks have adopted these skunks as headmates or characters for roleplaying.
+
+\secdiv
+
+\section*{The story so far}
+\label{backstory}
+
+The story told within \emph{Idumea} is in many ways standalone. However, there are some references and names scattered throughout taken from other books in the setting, and, should you not already know them, learning will deepen understanding.. Here follows some basics leading up to this.
+
+% * Sasha and AwDae
+% * The Ode
+% * Forking
+% * Castor, Pollux, Artemis
+% * Death Itself and I Do Not Know
+% * The Century Attack
+
+\subsection*{Michelle who was Sasha and her superlative friend}
+
+\subsection*{Life on Lagrange}
+
+\subsection*{Castor, Pollux, Artemis}
+
+\subsection*{The Century Attack}
+
+\secdiv
+
+\noindent Post-Self an open setting, meaning that anyone can create content within it, though the canon is loosely managed in order to keep it consistent. If you enjoyed this story and any of the many others within this universe, it is open for you to write, draw — or paint! — or otherwise create within. For more creative Post-Self endeavors, look no further than \emph{post-self.ink}, and for more information than you could ever want, check out the Post-Self Wiki over at \emph{wiki.post-self.ink}
+

idumea/content/reading.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,47 @@
+All readings are the same. They all begin the same way, with stepping off to some sim, known or unknown, where she would arrive a good hour early. There, she would wait or walk or drink her coffee or tea. Would it be a bookshop this time? Would it be a library? Would she run her fingerpads along the spines of books, counting known and unknown titles?
+
+Perhaps it was a cafe, and she would get herself a little pastry, some crumbly thing to eat while wandering lazily outside or inspecting the various pieces of art lining the walls within.
+
+She would get there an hour early and simply inhabit the space.
+
+As time drew closer, as her contact would come out to meet her, she would feel the excitement begin to prickle at the back of her neck, and she would have to restrain herself from letting her hackles raise or her tail bristle out. Some long-forgotten and perhaps-imagined reaction to danger tickling both human and skunk parts of her mind. She would feel her scalp tingle and her tail threaten to hike, and she would sit in that sensation. She would bathe in it. She would relish every shift of every strand of fur, and as she sat, legs crossed and coffee or water cradled in her lap, listening to her contact chatter, she would delight in the nervous anticipation of the reading to come.
+
+``Will you be reading from a physical copy or an exo?''
+
+``Oh, an exo,'' she said, smiling. ``As much love as I hold for the physical tools of the trade, I hold yet more for all of the tools at our disposal. Especially when they let me be more dramatic.''
+
+They laughed. ``Right, you were an actor before, yeah?''
+
+She nodded. ``Of a sort, yes.''
+
+``And how long will your reading be?''
+
+``I have a variety of segments prepared, from five minutes to an hour.''
+
+They blinked. ``An hour? Holy shit.''
+
+She shrugged gracefully, smile still lingering on her muzzle. ``Perhaps another artifact of being an actor. I could talk the ears off a fox.''
+
+Laughter.
+
+``Shall we aim for somewhere in the middle? Twenty minutes, perhaps?''
+
+``That'll work, yeah. You're the only slot, tonight, but that'll still give you at least forty minutes for Q\&A.'' They smirked, adding, ``Which I imagine you'll need. I read your book, by the way.''
+
+It was her turn to laugh, musical and joyous. ``I am pleased to hear! I trust that you have questions of your own?''
+
+``Oh, \emph{plenty.}''
+
+``Delightful,'' she said, clapping her paws together. ``I shall look forward to them, then.''
+
+This conversation echoed a hundred times, a thousand, in her memories. This conversation and so many others like it set the stage. This conversation and so many others like it became one of the steps in that liminal space between the waking world and the dream of her stories.
+
+She would step away from home or from a meeting or from a cocladist's and at that moment, at the precise instant she ceased being \emph{there} and started being \emph{here,} she was in a place between. She was in a time between times and a world between worlds.
+
+She dwelt, then, in the world of the Ode. She knew where it was from, her name. Not just the Ode itself, but the place the line itself referenced. She had talked to the poet in her own way—perhaps it was closer to prayer, but she bothered not with distinctions such as these—and she knew the scene ey had been painting. She knew that ey had sat at the edge of the natural area some few blocks away from their high school, sat on the fencepost and looked out east, out beyond the natural area and wind farm to where the coarse shortgrass prairie dissolved into rectilinear fields. Tan, perhaps, or brown or gray, they would all shine the same beneath the moon, beneath the stars. They were all dear to em. They were all dear to \emph{her.}
+
+So as soon as she would step away from home and before she would step up to the lectern, she would dwell there at the edge of the natural space. There is where she would feel her hackles threaten to rise and her tail threaten to bristle. She would look at the art and see nothing. She would drink her coffee or tea or eat her pastry and it would have a flavor she did not experience. She would have her conversations on autopilot, and her earnest smile would be no less earnest for her absence from the space. She would do all of these things and overlaid atop her vision would be fields silvered by starlight. She would do all of these things and her tongue would be coated with the taste of sweet night air, of dust and pollen and petrichor. She would strain to hear her contact through the soft noises of wind and crickets.
+
+And then, with all the suddenness of dawn, a chorus of birdsong crashing through her mind, the moment would come. Her contact would stand before the gathered crowd and introduce her—her! Dear The Wheat And Rye Under The Stars! She was published! She was an author! The realization would never not startle her—and she would brush out her tail one last time, run her fingers through her mane, and step out of the liminal space of the Ode and into the dream of her story. The nervous excitement would wash away and she would be \emph{here.} She would be \emph{now.}
+
+And then she would read.

idumea/content/time-is-a-story.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,17 @@
+Time is a story I tell myself. Sentences twine around seconds like tendrils of loveliness or despair or energy or lethargy. Minutes are paragraphs of weal or woe. My hours are scenes that I live out. Days: drabbles. Months: novellas. Years: novels.
+
+But a life? What is a life, anymore? Three centuries and no sign of quitting, and a lifetime seems to have lost meaning. Perhaps someday my life will end, and I will have left behind a finite oeuvre. Perhaps I will simply decide that I have had enough and draw a line across the end of the page and, however many bookshelves of story are left behind shall be all that ever was.
+
+Not yet, though. Not this year, I suspect not this decade, and I hope not even this century.
+
+I have joys to counter all of my sorrows. My head is, yes, in clouds stormy or peaceful, but my feet remain firmly planted on the ground. My arms are full of the love of life. My home makes room for those I see as my family. Our lawns are for picnics and our beds are for dreams.
+
+And so I sit in my office and write my stories. I sit on the couch and dream them up in my head. I cook with my beloved up-tree and watch em and The Child play in the grass while building my ballads after our picnics. I host my joys and languish in my sorrows, and I fall apart into distortion when I overflow. Cuckoo for Cocoa-Puffs, The Oneirotect calls me, and we laugh together.
+
+That is now. That is when I wander the empty rooms of my house and drown in words with tears of ink upon my cheeks and the blood of helplessness still in my paws.
+
+Time is a story I tell myself and this is nothing special. Time is a story \emph{we} tell \emph{ourselves.} Time is a story that Michelle who was Sasha told herself, and her ending was one of—I hope—joy. Time is a story that Qoheleth told himself and his ending was one of—would that it were not—agony. Time is a story that The Woman told herself and her ending was\ldots{}
+
+Was it? Was hers an ending?
+
+That is her own joy. That is her story. Her story is one of ambiguities and unanswered questions. Her ending is a question mark and a faint smile.

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-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.3146853146853147">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.98">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6339869281045751">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.467741935483872em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.8435374149659864">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.14864864864864868">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -12.1875em; opacity: 0.21476510067114096">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.22784810126582278">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.053892215568862256">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.4285714285714286">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.18518518518518523">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.12727272727272732">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -13.461538461538462em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.3076923076923077">What will become of me? </span>
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+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.7318435754189945">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.825136612021858">What will become of me? </span>
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+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.387755102040817em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.5297297297297296">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.13586956521739135">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 14.076923076923077em; opacity: 0.3475935828877005">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.4414893617021277">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.3862433862433863">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.2512820512820513">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.2842639593908629">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.9595959595959596">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.6113989637305699">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.04477611940298509">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.5049019607843137">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.19999999999999996">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.46190476190476193">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.10144927536231885">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.7714285714285715">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -14.92em; opacity: 0.5896226415094339">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.5560747663551402">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 10.384615384615383em; opacity: 0.6589861751152073">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.03669724770642202">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -14.5em; opacity: 0.9049773755656109">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.32300884955752207">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 11.232876712328768em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6460176991150443">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.506172839506172em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.7105263157894737">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.2857142857142857">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.20083682008368198">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6260162601626016">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.421052631578947em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.7723577235772358">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.19028340080971662">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.27710843373493976">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.40637450199203184">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.9803149606299213">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.16796875">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 14.818181818181818em; opacity: 0.6420233463035019">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.5155038759689923">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.2277992277992278">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -10.774647887323944em; opacity: 0.5482625482625483">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.9018867924528302">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.55421686746988em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6217228464419475">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.12915129151291516">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -12.761904761904763em; top: -11.523809523809524em; opacity: 0.7692307692307692">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.45945945945946em; top: 13.73873873873874em; opacity: 0.8161764705882353">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.0688405797101449">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
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-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.5806451612903225">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
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+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.3487544483985765">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.21052631578947367">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
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-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.1872791519434629">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -13.932038834951456em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.7253521126760563">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -10.961538461538462em; opacity: 0.7272727272727273">What will become of me? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
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 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 13.666666666666666em; opacity: 0.22113022113022118">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.16176470588235292">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 14.067796610169491em; opacity: 0.5770171149144254">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.14598540145985406">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.0581113801452785">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.39297124600639em; top: 11.389776357827476em; opacity: 0.7560386473429952">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 11.565656565656566em; top: 14.292929292929292em; opacity: 0.7191283292978208">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.5">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.28846153846153844">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.477611940298507em; top: -13.955223880597014em; opacity: 0.9640287769784173">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.620253164556962em; top: 14.873417721518987em; opacity: 0.5656324582338902">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.4380952380952381">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.2559241706161137">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.2056737588652482">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.00804289544236em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.8797169811320755">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 12.027027027027026em; opacity: 0.7947494033412887">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.12380952380952381">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.571788413098236em; top: -13.564231738035264em; opacity: 0.9429928741092637">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 10.961538461538462em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.49172576832151305">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.4339622641509434">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.02117647058823524">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 13.04em; opacity: 0.5868544600938967">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -12.046004842615012em; top: -14.200968523002421em; opacity: 0.9649532710280374">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.372960372960373">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 13.387096774193548em; opacity: 0.36046511627906974">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.902676399026763em; top: 10.474452554744525em; opacity: 0.9535962877030162">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.7195402298850575">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.09403669724770647">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.539951573849878em; top: -11.658595641646489em; opacity: 0.9450800915331807">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.6em; top: 10.325em; opacity: 0.91324200913242">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.917355371900827em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.55125284738041">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.040201005025125em; top: 11.733668341708542em; opacity: 0.4512471655328798">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6968325791855203">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.923076923076923em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.5869074492099322">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 12.660550458715596em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.9819819819819819">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.389423076923077em; top: 14.254807692307692em; opacity: 0.9348314606741573">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -12.76595744680851em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.42152466367713004">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 13.28125em; top: 12.395833333333332em; opacity: 0.8909512761020881">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.2299107142857143">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -11.724137931034484em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.645879732739421">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -14.333333333333334em; opacity: 0.2666666666666667">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -11.404109589041095em; top: -11.986301369863014em; opacity: 0.647450110864745">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 13.478260869565217em; opacity: 0.6106194690265487">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.59375em; top: 0.0em; opacity: 0.2819383259911894">And am I born to die? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.96358543417367em; top: 13.683473389355742em; opacity: 0.7846153846153846">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -13.923076923076923em; top: -12.384615384615385em; opacity: 0.8552631578947368">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.006134969325153em; top: 14.570552147239264em; opacity: 0.7133479212253829">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 10.784313725490197em; top: 11.397058823529411em; opacity: 0.9400921658986175">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.812206572769954em; top: -14.906103286384976em; opacity: 0.4896551724137931">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.5137614678899083">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.6498855835240275">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.48974943052391795">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">And am I born to die? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.5927601809954751">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 13.306878306878307em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.42663656884875845">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.84em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.8169934640522876">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -10.939086294416244em; opacity: 0.8853932584269663">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6928251121076233">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -13.969072164948454em; opacity: 0.42082429501084595">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.1495535714285714">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.24053452115812912">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.16222222222222227">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -10.576923076923077em; top: -14.23076923076923em; opacity: 0.4611973392461197">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.21166306695464365">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 10.141242937853107em; top: 13.220338983050848em; opacity: 0.7629310344827587">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -12.191011235955056em; top: -11.891385767790261em; opacity: 0.5741935483870968">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.698481561822126em; top: 13.958785249457701em; opacity: 0.9892703862660944">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.978494623655914em; top: 13.451612903225806em; opacity: 0.9957173447537473">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.49040511727078895">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.833333333333334em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6382978723404256">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 13.60635696821516em; top: 14.63325183374083em; opacity: 0.8683651804670913">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.09090909090909em; top: 11.843434343434343em; opacity: 0.8703296703296703">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.874055415617129em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.8706140350877193">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 13.229426433915211em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.8774617067833698">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -14.54983922829582em; top: -13.87459807073955em; opacity: 0.6790393013100436">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.10675381263616557">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.1978260869565217">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -12.647058823529411em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.430379746835443">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.0670995670995671">And am I born to die? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.745222929936306em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.6596638655462185">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 14.568345323741006em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.2914046121593291">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 10.366568914956012em; top: 14.970674486803519em; opacity: 0.7133891213389121">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -13.231511254019292em; top: -13.681672025723472em; opacity: 0.6492693110647181">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 11.53012048192771em; top: 11.240963855421686em; opacity: 0.8645833333333334">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.94413407821229em; top: -12.122905027932962em; opacity: 0.7442827442827442">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -13.470588235294118em; opacity: 0.3663793103448276">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -0.0em; top: -14.727463312368974em; opacity: 0.9875776397515528">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.35897435897436em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6680942184154175">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.3141025641025641">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.2707889125799574">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -12.383177570093459em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.9106382978723404">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -13.805970149253731em; top: -12.36318407960199em; opacity: 0.4267515923566879">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -14.54356846473029em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.9877049180327869">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -13.867924528301886em; opacity: 0.6503067484662577">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.37684210526315787">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 11.095238095238095em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.4411764705882353">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 13.620689655172413em; top: 14.814323607427056em; opacity: 0.7887029288702929">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.1920668058455115">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.37083333333333335">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.12448132780082988">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -0.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.024844720496894457">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -11.859205776173285em; opacity: 0.5618661257606491">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 12.636363636363637em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.6804123711340206">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 14.77198697068404em; top: 14.77198697068404em; opacity: 0.631687242798354">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 14.340659340659341em; opacity: 0.9173387096774194">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -13.761904761904763em; top: -0.0em; opacity: 0.8588957055214724">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -12.57700205338809em; top: -14.055441478439425em; opacity: 0.9938775510204082">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 12.387387387387388em; top: 13.288288288288289em; opacity: 0.6782077393075356">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.054878048780487854">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 5.0em; top: 11.715328467153284em; opacity: 0.2778904665314401">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: -13.129675810473815em; top: -14.975062344139651em; opacity: 0.811740890688259">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
 <span style="position: relative; left: 0em; top: 0em; opacity: 1">What will become of me? </span>
-<span style="position: relative; left: -5.0em; top: -5.0em; opacity: 0.07414829659318634">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 12.632183908045977em; top: 14.517241379310345em; opacity: 0.8752515090543259">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 11.32em; top: 5.0em; opacity: 0.5020080321285141">What will become of me? </span>
+<span style="position: relative; left: 12.60655737704918em; top: 14.639344262295081em; opacity: 0.6112224448897796">What will become of me? </span>

idumea/graphomania.py

@@ -7,9 +7,9 @@ two = 'What will become of me? '
 
 
 def latex(phrase: str, dx: float, dy: float, size: int, color: str) -> str:
-    x = '' if dx == 0 else f'\\hspace{{{dx}em}}'
-    y = phrase if dy == 0 else f'\\raisebox{{{dy}em}}{{{phrase}}}'
-    return f'\\fontspec{{Gentium Book Plus}}[Color={color},Ligatures=TeX]{x}{y}\n'
+    result = phrase if dy == 0 else f'\\raisebox{{{dy}em}}{{{phrase}}}'
+    result = result if dx == 0 else f'\\shifttext{{{dx}em}}{{{result}}}'
+    return f'\\fontspec{{Gentium Book Plus}}[Color={color},Ligatures=TeX]{result}\n'
 
 def html(phrase: str, dx: int, dy: int, size: int, color: float) -> str:
     return f'<span style="position: relative; left: {dx}em; top: {dy}em; opacity: {color}">{phrase}</span>\n'
@@ -55,8 +55,8 @@ def graphomania():
             # Todo:
             # - text size
             # - color
-            dx = (float(i - r * dir) % float(rx) / (r - i) * 10) % 15.0
-            dy = (float(i - r * dir) % float(ry) / (r - i) * 10) % 15.0
+            dx = (float(i - r) % float(rx) / (r - i) * 10) % 15.0 * dir
+            dy = (float(i - r) % float(ry) / (r - i) * 10) % 15.0 * dir
             color = str(hex(math.floor((i - r) % 16)))[2] * 6
 
             

idumea/graphomania.tex

@@ -14,19 +14,31 @@
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
@@ -38,112 +50,100 @@
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=ffffff,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-17.76em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=dddddd,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{14.210526315789474em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{16.97560975609756em}\raisebox{14.146341463414632em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{3.9999999999999982em}\raisebox{11.666666666666668em}{And am I born to die? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=ffffff,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{12.5em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{12.0em}\raisebox{3.2142857142857135em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{10.909090909090912em}\raisebox{12.5em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{3.818181818181818em}\raisebox{3.1818181818181817em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{13.943661971830986em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{13.478260869565219em}\raisebox{14.27536231884058em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{13.873239436619718em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{6.666666666666671em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{0.0821917808219176em}\raisebox{14.452054794520548em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.586206896551722em}\raisebox{14.195402298850574em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{11.217391304347828em}\raisebox{2.391304347826086em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{13.384615384615383em}And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.675675675675674em}\raisebox{7.0270270270270245em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.59090909090909em}\raisebox{13.068181818181818em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{12.413793103448276em}\raisebox{13.189655172413794em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\raisebox{2.096774193548388em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.657142857142855em}\raisebox{11.285714285714285em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=dddddd,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.229357798165136em}\raisebox{13.807339449541285em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{15.333333333333334em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{17.4em}And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{11.097345132743362em}\raisebox{11.017699115044248em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{14.130434782608695em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{16.363636363636363em}\raisebox{2.7272727272727266em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{8.865671641791044em}\raisebox{3.6567164179104488em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\raisebox{8.75em}{What will become of me? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-14.23076923076923em}{And am I born to die? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{6.0em}\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{14.318181818181818em}{And am I born to die? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{16.666666666666668em}\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{15.2em}\raisebox{10.5em}{What will become of me? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=ffffff,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-15.818181818181817em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{12.511627906976743em}\raisebox{13.217054263565892em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=999999,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{14.330578512396693em}\raisebox{14.09090909090909em}{What will become of me? }
-\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\hspace{8.571428571428575em}\raisebox{9.285714285714285em}{What will become of me? }
 \fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=dddddd,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-14.35064935064935em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=bbbbbb,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{15.890109890109889em}{\raisebox{10.164835164835164em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=333333,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-16.153846153846153em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=777777,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{11.091954022988507em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-12.436363636363636em}{\raisebox{-14.818181818181818em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=111111,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{17.63076923076923em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=ffffff,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{16.32911392405063em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{10.09433962264151em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{And am I born to die? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=aaaaaa,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\raisebox{11.521739130434783em}{And am I born to die? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=555555,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=666666,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-15.818181818181817em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=bbbbbb,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-15.08411214953271em}{\raisebox{-10.046728971962617em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=cccccc,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{16.0em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]What will become of me? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=888888,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-17.294117647058822em}{\raisebox{-10.588235294117647em}{And am I born to die? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=ffffff,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{6.0em}{\raisebox{13.571428571428571em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=222222,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-11.515151515151516em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=dddddd,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-17.40983606557377em}{\raisebox{-13.852459016393443em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{15.727272727272727em}{\raisebox{14.09090909090909em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=444444,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=eeeeee,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{14.836363636363636em}{\raisebox{5.0em}{What will become of me? }}
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]\raisebox{-13.125em}{What will become of me? }
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=000000,Ligatures=TeX]And am I born to die? 
+\fontspec{Gentium Book Plus}[Color=aaaaaa,Ligatures=TeX]\shifttext{-6.0em}{\raisebox{-5.0em}{And am I born to die? }}

idumea/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -9,7 +9,8 @@ ISBN: \ISBN
 
 \textit{Idumea}
 
-Cover \copyright\ 2024, Madison Rye Progress.
+Cover \copyright\ 2024, Voksa (vox-space.neocities.org)\\
+and Madison Rye Progress.
 
 \Edition\ Edition, \Year. All rights reserved.
 

idumea/includes/pagelayout.tex

@@ -16,7 +16,7 @@
   \renewcommand{\chapternamenum}{}
   \renewcommand{\printchapternum}{}
   \renewcommand{\printchaptertitle}[1]{%
-  \TitleFont\huge ##1}
+  \linespread{1}\TitleFont\centering\huge ##1}
   \renewcommand{\partnamefont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
   \renewcommand{\partnumfont}{\DisplayFont\huge}
   \renewcommand{\parttitlefont}{\DisplayFont\Huge}

idumea/includes/toc.tex

@@ -12,4 +12,4 @@
 % start toc at top of page
 \renewcommand*\tocheadstart{}{}
 \hypersetup{final}
-\setcounter{tocdepth}{-1}
+%\setcounter{tocdepth}{-1}

idumea/includes/variables.tex

@@ -1,16 +1,16 @@
-\def\Title{Motes Played}
+\def\Title{Idumea}
 \def\Subtitle{}
 \def\FullTitle{\Title}
 \def\AuthorFirst{Madison}
 \def\AuthorLast{Scott-Clary}
-\def\AuthorFull{\AuthorFirst\ \AuthorLast}
+\def\AuthorFull{Madison Scott-Clary}
 \def\Illustrator{ILLUSTRATOR NAME}
 
 \def\Edition{First}
 \def\EditionsList{10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1}
 \def\Year{2024}
 
-\def\ISBN{XXX-X-XXXXXX-XX-X}
+\def\ISBN{978-1-948743-47-1}
 
 \def\Publisher{PUBLISHER}
 \def\PublisherEmail{publisher@example.com}

marsh/book.tex

@@ -193,6 +193,7 @@
   \input{content/018}
 
   \cleartoverso
+  \addtocontents{toc}{\protect\newpage}
   \cftaddtitleline{toc}{part}{\hspace{0.5\textwidth-6em}\TitleFont\huge Stories From After}{}
   \thispagestyle{empty}
   \story{Game Night}{Michael Miele}
@@ -231,16 +232,16 @@
   \cleartoverso
   \thispagestyle{empty}
   \story{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden}
-  \markboth{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden}
-  \chapter*{Henrique Pereira — 2401}
-  %\input{stories/journal}
+  %\markboth{Journal of Diago Pereira}{Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden}
+  \chapter*{Henrique Pereira — 2400–2401}
+  \input{stories/journal}
 
-  \cleartoverso
-  \thispagestyle{empty}
-  \story{New Year's Eve}{Various}
-  \markboth{New Year's Eve}{Various}
-  \chapter*{Various Cladists — 2401}
-  \input{stories/nye}
+%  \cleartoverso
+%  \thispagestyle{empty}
+%  \story{New Year's Eve}{Various}
+%  \markboth{New Year's Eve}{Various}
+%  \chapter*{Various Cladists — 2401}
+%  \input{stories/nye}
 
   \cleartoverso
   \thispagestyle{empty}
@@ -255,4 +256,8 @@
   \markboth{Sentences}{Krzysztof “Tomash” Drewniak}
   \chapter*{In All Ways — 2405–2406}
   \input{stories/sentences}
+
+  \backmatter
+  \story{Afterword}{}
+  \input{content/afterword}
 \end{document}

marsh/content/005.tex

@@ -1,5 +1,4 @@
-\hypertarget{instances-spontaneously-quitting}{%
-\subsection{Instances Spontaneously Quitting?}\label{instances-spontaneously-quitting}}
+\subsection{Instances Spontaneously Quitting?}
 
 \emph{by İpek Aydin of the Sevgili clade}
 
@@ -11,10 +10,9 @@ Do you think this is like the virus Ioan Bălan wrote about in \emph{Individuati
 
 I've been keeping a spare fork in another sim, too, but they probably have the same thing I do if it is contagious. We're all so worried. If anyone has any information from the engineers, please let me know.
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{what-the-fuck-happened-and-what-we-can-do-about-it}{%
-\subsection{What the Fuck Happened and What We Can Do About It}\label{what-the-fuck-happened-and-what-we-can-do-about-it}}
+\subsection{What the Fuck Happened and What We Can Do About It}
 
 \emph{by Sedge of the Marsh clade and I Remember The Rattle Of Dry Grass of the Ode clade}
 
@@ -48,10 +46,9 @@ Keep going and stay safe!
 
 --- Sedge and Dry Grass
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{the-end-the-end-the-end-the-end}{%
-\subsection{THE END THE END THE END THE END!}\label{the-end-the-end-the-end-the-end}}
+\subsection{THE END THE END THE END THE END!}
 
 \emph{by Diana Serene Moon of the Moon-Bright clade}
 
@@ -59,10 +56,9 @@ THIS HAS TO BE IT! THIS HAS TO BE THE END!!! May God have mercy on our souls! Co
 
 --- Rev.~Jared Moon
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{to-all-owners-of-acm-class-synthetic-canid-companions-this-is-a-message-from-9in-industries}{%
-\subsection{TO ALL OWNERS OF ACM-CLASS SYNTHETIC CANID COMPANIONS, THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM 9IN INDUSTRIES}\label{to-all-owners-of-acm-class-synthetic-canid-companions-this-is-a-message-from-9in-industries}}
+\subsection{TO ALL OWNERS OF ACM-CLASS SYNTHETIC CANID COMPANIONS, THIS IS A MESSAGE FROM 9IN INDUSTRIES}
 
 \emph{by Andréa C Mason\#Foundry, of the CERES clade}
 
@@ -96,10 +92,9 @@ Of the nearly 64,000 active duty Companion instances and 6000 91N INDUSTRIES sta
 
 We send our condolences, and know for fucking sure we are grieving with you.
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{four-winds-bar-and-grill-shut-down}{%
-\subsection{Four-Winds Bar and Grill Shut Down}\label{four-winds-bar-and-grill-shut-down}}
+\subsection{Four-Winds Bar and Grill Shut Down}
 
 \emph{by Simon Knight, Tarot clade}
 
@@ -111,10 +106,9 @@ We ask of you all to be patient and to take your time with this. Give Casey and
 
 Stay safe, please. And take care of each other, for Gods' sake.
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{help-locating-dawnhorae-clade}{%
-\subsection{Help Locating Dawn/Horae Clade}\label{help-locating-dawnhorae-clade}}
+\subsection{Help Locating Dawn/Horae Clade}
 
 \emph{By Liber/a ex anima labyrintho clade}
 
@@ -130,10 +124,9 @@ I have to say I'm sorry. She has to know that I don't hate her. Please don't let
 
 Please.
 
-\begin{center}\rule{0.5\linewidth}{0.5pt}\end{center}
+\secdiv
 
-\hypertarget{we-are-here-to-help.}{%
-\subsection{We are here to help.}\label{we-are-here-to-help.}}
+\subsection{We are here to help.}
 
 We still do not know the fullest extent, but suffice to say this is the greatest loss the System has ever endured. We may not know the weight or size of the damage for much time yet to come, but the damage of the now is undeniable and unending. No one of us has gone untouched. Each of us feels how heavy emptiness and how loud silence both can be.
 

marsh/content/018.tex

@@ -26,9 +26,9 @@ Swivelling her chair toward the hurtling skunk, Dry Grass threw her arms wide, l
 
 ``Dry Grass Dry Grass Dry Grass!''
 
-``Motes!'' She pushed the skunk --- who looked to be no more than ten, despite being the same three hundred odd years old as Dry Grass, a childishness more earnest and real than that of Warmth In Fire --- away from her enough to meet her gaze. ``You stupid\ldots awful\ldots{}'' She fell to crying once again, clutching Motes to her front.
+``Motes!'' She pushed the skunk away from her enough to meet her gaze. ``You stupid\ldots awful\ldots{}'' She fell to crying once again, clutching Motes to her front.
 
-\emph{``That means I did a good job!''} the skunk sent via a sensorium message as she rested her head over her cocladist's shoulder, grinning at me.
+\emph{``That means I did a good job!''} the skunk sent via a sensorium message as she rested her head over her cocladist's shoulder, grinning at me. She looked to be no more than ten, despite being the same three-hundred-odd years old as Dry grass. Where Warmth In Fire bore childishness about em, Motes seemed to actually just be ten years old.
 
 I shook my head in disbelief and leaned forward to pat her gently between the ears.
 
@@ -54,13 +54,15 @@ The two Odists --- one tall, slender, and human, the other a shorter, softer sku
 
 ``Reed!'' A Finger Pointing began, reaching out with one arm to offer me a hug. ``I am pleased you made it.'' She glanced at Dry Grass with a rueful smile. ``I hope we did not traumatize you \emph{too} much.
 
-I leaned into that hug and watched as Beholden started guiding chairs away from the next table over with a gesture, a curl of the finger beckoning them over one by one. One slid across the floor so that she could flop down into it, with another for her parter. As soon as she and A Finger Pointing had done so, Motes forked off two more instances to go pile into each of their laps as well.
+I leaned into that hug and watched as Beholden started guiding chairs away from the next table over with a gesture, a curl of the finger beckoning them over one by one. One slid across the floor so that she could flop down into it, with another for her parter. As soon as she and A Finger Pointing had done so, Motes forked off two more instances to go pile into each of their laps as well. After all, as Dry Grass had explained, they had essentially adopted the roles of Motes's parents.
 
 ``You have, but Motes has already apologized,'' Dry Grass said.
 
 A Finger Pointing winced at Dry Grass' words, setting her drink down and offering a bow. ``I am sorry, my dear; I recognize that our approach to reclamation is at times quite uncomfortable. I will endeavor not to be so careless in the future. More warnings, perhaps.''
 
-She showed none of that wariness when her eyes came back up to meet mine. ``I am sure we each feel differently about this particular production. I, for one, would have been satisfied even if the house were empty; all that preparation, that one climactic performance makes for a potent font of catharsis, does it not?''
+Dry Grass waved the comment away. ``I trust you, Pointillist. Thank you for the consideration.''
+
+The taller Odist showed none of that wariness when her eyes came back up to meet mine. ``I am sure we each feel differently about this particular production. I, for one, would have been satisfied even if the house were empty; all that preparation, that one climactic performance makes for a potent font of catharsis, does it not?''
 
 I laughed, my throat still raw from my own bout of crying. ``I suppose so. Motes certainly seems to think so.''
 
@@ -76,11 +78,11 @@ Beholden laughed. ``You are so very much yourself, Dry Grass.'' She gave her ins
 
 I sighed, leaning forward to grab my drink off the bar before settling back in my chair. I was glad I'd gone for a wine rather than anything fizzy. My throat still felt raw from the crying. ``I'm doing okay, I think. Coming to terms with it all. The play was\ldots a lot. I guess part of why it hit me so hard was because, yeah, I heard back from Marsh\#Castor today.''
 
-``Oh, Reed,'' Dry Grass said, leaning over to squeeze my hand. ``Do you want to talk about it?''
+``Oh, Reed. I had not considered how they might fit together,'' Dry Grass said, leaning over to squeeze my hand. ``Do you want to talk about it?''
 
 ``Actually, I was hoping I could get your opinion on some of it, if you don't mind,'' I said, looking to the others.
 
-Motes, preoccupied obtaining as much affection as she could, merely shrugged.
+Motes, preoccupied with soaking up as much affection as she could, merely shrugged.
 
 ``I am fine with it,'' Dry Grass said, then added with a smirk, ``That is why I brought you here, after all, is it not? That and the experience?''
 
@@ -122,7 +124,7 @@ When I finished reading, our little crowd sat in silence, each thinking their ow
 
 My eyes were drawn to A Finger Pointing, to the pensive tapping-together of her fingertips. ``I have been looking forward to the opportunity to speak with you about just that, Reed. About this cross-tree merge, I mean. About Anubias.'' She glanced at Beholden, who nodded, though her own gaze remained distant, then went on. ``We, too, are without our root instance. We are without our Michelle Hadje, she who became ten, who became --- nominally --- one hundred.''
 
-Dry Grass carefully nudged Motes out of her lap so that she could straighten out her blouse. The little skunk wandered off to haul up a far-too-big chair for herself.
+Dry Grass carefully nudged Motes out of her lap so that she could straighten out her blouse. The little skunk bubbled up with the instance in Beholden's lap; letting her up-tree quit so that she could merge, then taking her place.
 
 ``It has been a long time for us.'' Dry Grass smiled faintly. ``A \emph{very} long time. You have had eight months, my dear.''
 
@@ -148,11 +150,27 @@ She sniffed, sighed, then went on. ``--in Death Itself and I Do Not Know, but al
 
 Motes drew her legs up onto the chair with her and buried her face in her arms.
 
+``I never did keep that final merge,'' Beholden said quietly. ``It was too much, too fast, too soon. It was all far too close to the Century Attack, and it was so much time in one merge that I was worried I would lose who I was. \emph{This} me --- the one that loves Boss--'' She nodded over to A Finger Pointing. The affectionate hypocorism got her a smirk in return. ``--and Motes in the way I do --- would not exist anymore. Not quite.''
+
+There was a quiet whimper from the smaller skunk in her lap, which gained her a kiss atop the head from her guardian.
+
+``Her letter and their garden of nasturtiums and columbines will have to do, I suppose.''
+
+``And my memories from Beckoning,'' A Finger Pointing added quietly. ``I do have those, yes? I have been meting them out to you at the choicest of moments when I feel you need a good cry.''
+
+Beholden rolled her eyes, but the hidden smile there was genuine. This was, it seemed, a particular discussion that had lost much of its sting. ``She quit and left behind only memories, I mean to say. It is all we had when people died back phys-side, and it is all we have here, now, cases such as these.''
+
 ``I do not \emph{like} it,'' Beholden added with a bitter chuckle. ``I think I actually \emph{hate} it, that she could do that --- that \emph{any} of them could do that. One more thing to be anxious about after months and months of anxiety.''
 
 A Finger Pointing watched Dry Grass carefully while Beholden spoke, turning her gaze on me only after some silence lingered between us. ``I do not believe this premonition, of course, that we are doomed to quit, but you can see how it affects each of us. There is enough death in our clade to make us wonder, yes?''
 
-She spent a moment doting on Beholden before straightening up, brushing out her blouse with a sigh. ``There is, perhaps, some of my longing for Dear in this --- it is the instance artist of our clade, now no longer on Lagrange, and instance artistry has held my interest since I met it --- but I have been gradually reaching out to each of my cocladists in the hopes of creating a synthesis of our clade --- our own Anubias, if you will --- not to recreate Michelle but to better understand one another and ourselves through the lens of someone who is each of us at once.''
+Dry Grass nodded, perhaps a bit warily.
+
+She spent a moment doting on Beholden before straightening up, brushing out her blouse with a sigh. ``There is, perhaps, some of my longing for Dear in this --- it is the instance artist of our clade, now no longer on Lagrange, and instance artistry has held my interest since I met it --- but I have been gradually reaching out to each of my cocladists in the hopes of creating a synthesis of our clade --- our own Anubias, if you will --- named Ashes Denote That Fire Was. We both have our beloved naming schemes, yes?''
+
+I laughed, nodded.
+
+``It is not out of an effort to recreate Michelle, though, but to better understand one another and ourselves through the lens of someone who is each of us at once.''
 
 Dry Grass nodded. ``The mutual understanding is a thing I am particularly interested in. There have been schisms within our clade that might\ldots well, not be mended, but may at least provide greater understanding.''
 
@@ -207,3 +225,11 @@ A Finger Pointing tilts her head at Beholden. ``You want to kick Ioan's ass for
 ``I want to kick eir ass just in general,'' she said primly. ``It just seems like it might be fun.''
 
 ``Oh, it \emph{is},'' she mused, before turning her gaze on me once more. ``So let that be my request to you, Reed. I want you and Lily to talk about this, to consult with Anubias, and to tell me how that goes. I am sure Dear would have a heyday if it were here to explore cross-tree merging, but seeing as it went the Ansible --- I am \emph{very} much stealing that turn of phrase --- I think I would like to collaborate with you three on this new form of reclamation.''
+
+With that, we fell into, at first, silence, and then comfortable chatter about the small things. Drinks were summoned --- warmer and more comforting --- while Motes slipped out of Beholden's lap and dreamed up some chalk to start drawing on the black-painted-concrete floor, an image I recognized as the dandelion-ridden field where I met the Ode clade that first morning after the attack, so long ago and yet also so recently. Dry Grass and I cozied up together, as did Beholden and A Finger Pointing.
+
+It was, I decided, our own reclamation, just the five of us. The stress of the play was behind us. The stress of the Century Attack could be set aside. For tonight, we were here together, with all our love and affection. For tonight, Motes could doodle on the floor of the auditorium without a care, Dry Grass could tease me about my tickly stubble when I kissed her cheek, and Beholden and A Finger Pointing could exchange looks of devotion of an intensity I rarely saw.
+
+Tonight, we were \emph{here.}
+
+We were here together.

marsh/content/afterword.tex

@@ -0,0 +1,50 @@
+\chapter*{Full Credits}
+
+\begin{description}
+\item[\emph{Marsh}]
+Madison Rye Progress with contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart
+\item[Interlude: ``Feeds'' (in order)]
+Samantha Yule Fireheart, Madison Rye Progress, Madison Rye Progress, Andréa C. Mason, Caela Argent, JS Hawthorne, Andréa C. Mason
+\item[Interlude: ``Nasturtiums'']
+Madison Rye Progress
+\item[Interlude: ``Columbines'']
+Samantha Yule Fireheart
+\item[``Game Night'']
+Michael Miele
+\item[``Home From the Game'']
+Caela Argent
+\item[``A Well-Trained Eye'']
+Andréa C. Mason
+\item[``Toward Eternity'']
+Thomas ``Faux'' Steele
+\item[``Prophecies'']
+Madison Rye Progress with contributions from Samantha Yule Fireheart
+\item[``Journal of Diago Pereira'']
+Nat Mcardle-Mott-Merrifield and Sarah Bloden
+\item[``Millwright'']
+Andréa C. Mason
+\item[``Sentences'']
+Krzysztof ``Tomash'' Drewniak
+\end{description}
+
+\chapter*{Acknowledgments}
+
+Thanks, as always, to the polycule, who have been endlessly supportive, but most especially to The Lament, so many of whose words appear within this book. Thanks as well as to Tomash, Ellen, Andréa, and all the rest of the Post-Self community, who have helped build this lovely world.
+
+Thanks also to my patrons:
+
+\begin{description}
+\tightlist
+\item[\$10+]
+Ammy; Andréa C. Mason; Donna Karr (thanks, mom); Erika Kovac; Fuzz Wolf; green; Kit Redgrave; Merry Cearley; Mx. Juniper System; Orrery; Rob; Sariya Meolody
+\item[\$5]
+Some Egrets; ramshackle; Christi; Erica; Junkie Dawg; Lhexa; Lorxus, an actual fox on the internet; Norm Steadman; Petrov Neutrino; raxraxraxraxrax; Sasha Moore, Strawberry Daquiri; ubuntor; Zeta Syanthis
+\item[\$1]
+Alicia Goranson; Ayla Ounce; Bel; BowieBarks; Katt, sky-guided vulpine friend; Kindar; Muruski; Peter Hayes; Ruari ORourke; Sethvir; Yana Winters
+\end{description}
+
+Thanks is due as well to all of the backers of the \emph{Marsh} Kickstarter, without whom this would not be possible:
+
+\begin{quote}
+\textbf{\emph{Krzysztof Drewniak, Nathan Merrifield, Andréa CERES Mason, Lhexa,}} \emph{Strawberry, Amdusias, Saphire Lattice, Ash Holland, Michael Miele, Ashley Hale, Mimir, Vendryth, Petrov Neutrino, Alexandrea Christina Leal,} Kuviare, Nova, Vernon Jones, Andy Oxenreider, LadyLenalia, ramshackle heather, MisfitMephit, Some Egrets, NightEyes DaySpring, critters-system, doctorlit, Rachel Dillon, Joel Kreissman, Kate Eckhart, Giantrobots42, raine, Ayla Ounce, Alicia E. Goranson, James Tatum, Saghiir, Ember Cloke, Payson R. Harris, Vulpis, lenientsy, Campbell Royales, Laura, AntarcticFox, ubuntor, Asha Jade Goodwin, Barac Baker Wiley, Me, Robert Armstrong, Sethvir, Richie
+\end{quote}

marsh/content/journal.tex

@@ -1,111 +1,114 @@
-\protect\hypertarget{anchor}{}{}Journal of Diago Pereira
+\noindent\textbf{May 12th, 2400}
 
-\protect\hypertarget{anchor-1}{}{}\emph{\textbf{May 12th, 2400}}
+The door is pressed open and the lights are turned on with a soft click, below wooden planks bemoan the shuffling feat of Henrique and his slippers, his old jeans loose and baggy, the knitted sweater he wears worn like his brittle bones. He walks with his cane, tapping on the floor as he finds his seat, guided by his great Granddaughter Isa, who guides him with steady, thoughtfully slow, footing.
 
-\emph{The door is pressed open and the lights are turned on with a soft click, below wooden planks bemoan the shuffling feat of Henrique and his slippers, his old jeans loose and baggy, the knitted sweater he wears worn like his brittle bones. He walks with his cane, tapping on the floor as he finds his seat- guided by his great Granddaughter Isa, who guides him with steady, thoughtfully slow, footing.
+``Take a seat Grand Papi\ldots{} it will\ldots{} it will all, uhm\ldots{}'' she mutters the words, ``be okay'' aimlessly, then lets a minute of quiet drift between the two of them, sounds of weeping heard from the floor below. She had only recently entered her teens, how could such innocence possibly understand such loss, the ramifications of the news not yet settled in for youthful Isa, yet the reality sank soundly onto the soul of elderly Henrique. The meandering minute passes, and Isa looks back up, eyes filled with concern for her great Grandfather's wellbeing. ``Ah, Grand Papi, would you like me to get you your coffee mug? A blanket? Anything to give you comfort\ldots?''
 
-``}Take a seat Grand Papi\ldots{} it will\ldots{} it will all, uhm\ldots'' \emph{she mutters the words ``be okay'' aimlessly, then lets a minute of quiet drift between the two of them, sounds of weeping heard from the floor below. She had only recently entered her teens, how could such innocence possibly understand such loss, the ramifications of the news not yet settled in for youthful Isa, yet the reality sank soundly onto the soul of elderly Henrique. The meandering minute passes, and Isa looks back up, eyes filled with concern for her great Grandfather's wellbeing.} ``Ah, Grand Papi, would you like me to get you your coffee mug? A blanket? Anything to give you comfort?...''
+Finally, he begins to sit down on his leather recliner, waving his aged hand dismissively, wrinkled and frail. His dower face, aged like the cracked leather he put his weight onto and pock marked with freckles from years in the sun, bunches together as he grimaces, not at the offer but towards the state of the world, the state of his family, the state of the System, and perhaps his aching body as well.
 
-\emph{Finally, he begins to sit down on his leather recliner, waving his aged hand dismissively, wrinkled and frail. His dower face, aged like the cracked leather he put his weight onto and pock marked with freckles from years in the sun, bunches together as he grimaces, not at the offer but towards the state of the world, the state of his family, the state of the System, and perhaps his aching body as well.
+Gently, slowly, deliberately he lowers himself and rests into the seat, his reading seat, the seat he got from his aunt as part of her will, a skilled tanner---skill that shined through the weathered cushions that strained to hold his retired body. So weak, so old---the days of power and youth having left him, drained from him by the decades. He looks up, and lets out a tired, weary sigh, then shakes his head.
 
-Gently, slowly, deliberately he lowers himself and rests into the seat, his reading seat, the seat he got from his aunt as part of her will, a skilled tanner- skill that shined through the weathered cushions that strained to}
-
-\emph{hold his retired body. So weak, so old- the days of power and youth having left him, drained from him by the decades. He looks up, and lets out a tired, weary sigh, then shakes his head.
-
-``I\ldots{} I just need to sit down, my dear. Sit down... Just... sit down. To think\ldots{} in quiet. Please, Isa my dear, leave me be for now. Go, tend to your Mami, she needs your comfort.''
+``I\ldots{} I just need to sit down, my dear. Sit down\ldots{} Just\ldots{} sit down. To think\ldots{} in quiet. Please, Isa my dear, leave me be for now. Go, tend to your Mami, she needs your comfort.''
 
 He stares back down at his lap, grunting and listening to the door creak closed as Isa leaves, allowing lingering thoughts to swell in might and misery. Flashes of denial sting as Henrique's depressed thoughts flow freely, he attempts to come to terms with the news again, just as another baleful shriek fills the air, a cry, a plea heard by none who deserved it.
 
-Descendants deleted and ancestors now long gone. His Granddaughter weeps at the knowledge her handful of children and acres of ancestry were now lost, taken from her just as his brother was through the same act of terrorism.}
+Descendants deleted and ancestors now long gone. His Granddaughter weeps at the knowledge her handful of children and acres of ancestry were now lost, taken from her just as his brother was through the same act of terrorism.
 
-\emph{Terrorism. What a foul concept that was so filled with angry grays, blacks, and whites. Months, months the System was down and its dire truths suppressed- until finally reaching the `net in a slow torrent of terrible news, chaotic questions, corroborating with bitter claims, the collectivists caused harm on a cataclysmic scale, like some malevolent maelstrom, a maverick ridden by the reapers' wrath.}
+Terrorism. What a foul concept that was so filled with angry grays, blacks, and whites. Months, months the System was down and its dire truths suppressed, until finally reaching the `net in a slow torrent of terrible news, chaotic questions, corroborating with bitter claims, the collectivists caused harm on a cataclysmic scale, like some malevolent maelstrom, a maverick ridden by the reapers' wrath.
 
-\emph{He looks at his hands, fingers clenched and unclenching, shaking. Tempering anger soothes his emotions with contempt to those responsible, as tears get lost in the saddened crow's-feet lining his tired face. His watery eyes look to the left, noticing the spine of a lithe book tucked within the drawer of his side table, a familiar thing that rested with a fine, blue-feathered, ink quill strapped to its outside.}
+He looks at his hands, fingers clenched and unclenching, shaking. Tempering anger soothes his emotions with contempt to those responsible, as tears get lost in the saddened crow's-feet lining his tired face. His watery eyes look to the left, noticing the spine of a lithe book tucked within the drawer of his side table, a familiar thing that rested with a fine, blue-feathered, ink quill strapped to its outside.
 
-\emph{He sighs somberly, shakily, and reaches for the journal that once belonged to his late and lost. A Journal of Diago Pereira, his brother --- or siblings, as he would later come to learn in his youth, and love years after his younger brother uploaded with his once hidden plurality in tow.}
+He sighs somberly, shakily, and reaches for the journal that once belonged to his late and lost. A Journal of Diago Pereira, his brother---or siblings, as he would later come to learn in his youth, and love years after his younger brother uploaded with his once hidden plurality in tow.
 
-\emph{The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans' mind, and moved him to lift the old literature to his lap. Tears gradually overwhelming, he wipes them off and opens the book to the first page, a familiar feeling now underwhelming compared to the weight of tragedy on his shoulders;
+The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans' mind, and moved him to lift the old literature to his lap. Tears gradually overwhelming, he wipes them off and opens the book to the first page, a familiar feeling now underwhelming compared to the weight of tragedy on his shoulders:
 
-12th March 2304}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{12th of March 2304}
 
-\emph{Today is my 17th birthday and as a gift my Grand mami got me this journal to practice my english writing in. My teacher told me my writing is pretty good since he started teaching me but needs work and my mami thought it would be a good idea to give me a book to practice in. He said I should focus on my punctuation mostly as I seem to forget to include that in my writing sometimes. He also said my spelling could do a little bit of work so I'll try and focus on that.}
+Today is my 17th birthday and as a gift my Grand mami got me this journal to practice my english writing in. My teacher told me my writing is pretty good since he started teaching me but needs work and my mami thought it would be a good idea to give me a book to practice in. He said I should focus on my punctuation mostly as I seem to forget to include that in my writing sometimes. He also said my spelling could do a little bit of work so I'll try and focus on that.
 
-\emph{Today was so fun after school, I took my bike home and my cousins, sisters and a few of our friends from the next farm over were waiting for me! I even saw aunt Corita, she managed to get the day off from the Ansible clinic, I hardly ever get to see her. We had a quick game in the backyard field , I think my sisters took it easy on me, there usually way more dexterous then I am! \textbf{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.).} I can still play pretty good Fel!
+Today was so fun after school, I took my bike home and my cousins, sisters and a few of our friends from the next farm over were waiting for me! I even saw aunt Corita, she managed to get the day off from the Ansible clinic, I hardly ever get to see her. We had a quick game in the backyard field , I think my sisters took it easy on me, there usually way more dexterous then I am! \textbf{\textsc{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.)}.} I can still play pretty good Fel!
 
 Anyway, after a few goals, my mami called us in for dinner! It was Fels and my favorite, homemade Acarajé and Picanha, and for dessert Grand mami made me a vanilla cake with blue icing!
 
 After we ate, my mami and Grand mami gave me my gifts, this journal and a letter from my brother that wished he could be there. He also sent me printed photos of him and his army buddies at the BrAr Line. They smile, but the scenery is so grim and barren. My aunt tells me it was once farmland, and now it's just mud and metal fences.
 
 Even if this was given to me to improve my English writing, I really enjoyed writing about my day! And I didn't expect it to be. But I am tired and don't have much else to say, the cake was yummy! I always love Grand mamis' cakes.
+\end{quote}
 
-In the margin, ``Property of Diago Pereira'' can be read, along with the thumb smearing of blue icing dye that has since stained the once fresh paper, now freshly stained by stray tears. Henrique smiles, sniffling softly as the wrinkles on his face rise, his thumb and forefinger slides the pages to a random entry, a familiar sensation of such delicate paper dancing between his fingertips- wrinkled, marked, and lightly stained pages of faded graphite and century old ink- dates dotting the upper left. He moves his hand across the paper, reading the crude handwriting of early script, a pastime he took part in on a monthly basis, now a catharsis, a means to mourn.
+In the margin, ``Property of Diago Pereira'' can be read, along with the thumb smearing of blue icing dye that has since stained the once fresh paper, now freshly stained by stray tears. Henrique smiles, sniffling softly as the wrinkles on his face rise, his thumb and forefinger slides the pages to a random entry, a familiar sensation of such delicate paper dancing between his fingertips---wrinkled, marked, and lightly stained pages of faded graphite and century old ink---dates dotting the upper left. He moves his hand across the paper, reading the crude handwriting of early script, a pastime he took part in on a monthly basis, now a catharsis, a means to mourn.
 
 He flips through the pages more, methodically moving fingers before finding one to finally read through in full:
 
-17th of June 2304}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{17th of June 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, I got home today after my english classes, and Mami and my sisters told me Henrique had sent a letter from the BrAr Line. It talked about how he saw a Hyacinth Macaw making a nest on one of the watchtowers at the Briar. \textbf{(SORTUDO! Eu gostaria que pudéssemos ver mais a linha do briar. Parece tão interessante.) }It really doesn't Fel.
+Dear Journal, I got home today after my english classes, and Mami and my sisters told me Henrique had sent a letter from the BrAr Line. It talked about how he saw a Hyacinth Macaw making a nest on one of the watchtowers at the Briar. \textbf{\textsc{(SORTUDO! Eu gostaria que pudéssemos ver mais a linha do briar. Parece tão interessante.)}} It really doesn't Fel.
 
-He wrote in the letter that he was ordered to chase the bird off because it was making a nest, but even with him and his buddies' best efforts it stayed. I'm proud of it! This story got a laugh out of everyone, and to my surprise mom showed me a feather that came with the letter, it was bright blue! Further down, my brother said that while he was trying to get the bird to leave, he managed to collect a few feathers from its nest and thought I'd like to have one. (\textbf{Henrique é um irmão tão legal. Espero que você possa me apresentar a ele em breve.) }\textbf{ }I do too, Fel.
+He wrote in the letter that he was ordered to chase the bird off because it was making a nest, but even with him and his buddies' best efforts it stayed. I'm proud of it! This story got a laugh out of everyone, and to my surprise mom showed me a feather that came with the letter, it was bright blue! Further down, my brother said that while he was trying to get the bird to leave, he managed to collect a few feathers from its nest and thought I'd like to have one. \textsc{(\textbf{Henrique é um irmão tão legal. Espero que você possa me apresentar a ele em breve.})} I do too, Fel.
 
-Both Fel and I are so excited to have received it, the Hyacinth Macaw is believed to be an extinct species. To know one still lives makes us so happy! I can't wait to show this in class tomorrow, I know Mr. Rocha loves to watch birds as much as I do.
+Both Fel and I are so excited to have received it, the Hyacinth Macaw is believed to be an extinct species. To know one still lives makes us so happy! I can't wait to show this in class tomorrow, I know Mr.~Rocha loves to watch birds as much as I do.
 
-Speaking of Mr. Rocha! I asked him if I could borrow his binoculars after class today. I've been wanting to go visit my spot with them and see what birds have been nesting near there. He agreed with the exception that, ``You better let me come with you, I'm not about to miss out on a bird watching expedition, let alone give my binoculars away without supervision!'' I know he meant well by that, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Mr. Rocha is a good teacher, though. Friends of my eldest cousin, who was taught by him when she was younger!
+Speaking of Mr.~Rocha! I asked him if I could borrow his binoculars after class today. I've been wanting to go visit my spot with them and see what birds have been nesting near there. He agreed with the exception that, ``You better let me come with you, I'm not about to miss out on a bird watching expedition, let alone give my binoculars away without supervision!'' I know he meant well by that, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Mr.~Rocha is a good teacher, though. Friends of my eldest cousin, who was taught by him when she was younger!
 
-After looking at the letter and feathers, my sisters and I did our chores around the farmstead with the farm hands. Just as I was finishing, my sisters came up to me and told me they saw a flock of white birds that were nesting in one of our Latex Trees, I could only guess what they must've been at the time, but I wouldn't have guessed they're White-Necked Hawks! They were all nested there and warding danger away from the nest. They looked so majestic! I can't wait to watch their eggs hatch, such a beautiful species of bird!\\
-}
+After looking at the letter and feathers, my sisters and I did our chores around the farmstead with the farm hands. Just as I was finishing, my sisters came up to me and told me they saw a flock of white birds that were nesting in one of our Latex Trees, I could only guess what they must've been at the time, but I wouldn't have guessed they're White-Necked Hawks! They were all nested there and warding danger away from the nest. They looked so majestic! I can't wait to watch their eggs hatch, such a beautiful species of bird!
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{One of his favorite entries, and a reminder of a brighter day at the Briar line- one not so filled with dull gray and scorched earth. He frowns, hesitates, then hastily lifts the journal from his lap- finding the ink quill resting in the nook of his arm rest and right leg. He carefully raises it up, pondering- not recalling- how he so quickly removed it from the strap on the journal, carefully preening the blue feather adorned to the end of the writing utensil.}
+One of his favorite entries, and a reminder of a brighter day at the Briar line, one not so filled with dull gray and scorched earth. He frowns, hesitates, then hastily lifts the journal from his lap, finding the ink quill resting in the nook of his arm rest and right leg. He carefully raises it up, pondering---not recalling---how he so quickly removed it from the strap on the journal, carefully preening the blue feather adorned to the end of the writing utensil.
 
-\emph{His hand works the fine fibers of the feather, tracing it down to the firmness of the pen nib, pointed, certain, precise. He lazily drags that same fingers as before across another section of pages, coarse papers scraping assuredly as he stumbles into another two entries, both rather lengthy:}
+His hand works the fine fibers of the feather, tracing it down to the firmness of the pen nib, pointed, certain, precise. He lazily drags that same fingers as before across another section of pages, coarse papers scraping assuredly as he stumbles into another two entries, both rather lengthy:
 
+\begin{quote}
 \emph{24th of July 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, today I write away from home. I told Mami I was going to spend the night over at Gregors home, to which she was wary to acknowledge me doing so. She made sure I had my tablet with me, and that I had lunch packed as well. I appreciate her concern but sometimes it feels almost too much. Before I left, Mami also made sure I had offered my chores to one of my sisters, which I had, telling her Iara agreed to do my tasks today so I could spend the night away from home. I'll just end up doing twice of hers on the weekend.}
+Dear Journal, today I write away from home. I told Mami I was going to spend the night over at Gregors home, to which she was wary to acknowledge me doing so. She made sure I had my tablet with me, and that I had lunch packed as well. I appreciate her concern but sometimes it feels almost too much. Before I left, Mami also made sure I had offered my chores to one of my sisters, which I had, telling her Iara agreed to do my tasks today so I could spend the night away from home. I'll just end up doing twice of hers on the weekend.
 
-\emph{Since I plan to spend the night over at the high rises, I left early this morning. I hadn't been to see Gregor in a few months and was curious about what was new.}
+Since I plan to spend the night over at the high rises, I left early this morning. I hadn't been to see Gregor in a few months and was curious about what was new.
 
-\emph{Fel and I hitched a ride on a truck, and on the way Fel was discussing with me if I had also felt the new identity that was forming. Fel and I still don't know where she came from, but we feel that she has a similar origin to Fel, herself. Hopefully we'll find out from this newcomer. \textbf{(Estou muito animado para ver se podemos aprender alguma coisa com esse novo companheiro plural, Diago. Você realmente deveria explorar mais a `Net sobre a pluralidade.)}}
+Fel and I hitched a ride on a truck, and on the way Fel was discussing with me if I had also felt the new identity that was forming. Fel and I still don't know where she came from, but we feel that she has a similar origin to Fel, herself. Hopefully we'll find out from this newcomer. \textbf{\textsc{(Estou muito animado para ver se podemos aprender alguma coisa com esse novo companheiro plural, Diago. Você realmente deveria explorar mais a 'Net sobre a pluralidade.)}}
 
-\emph{Fel, you know I would if I had the time to do so! I'm just always too busy. Anyway, we've been writing this at the `cave' now, and it looks like it is probably two in the afternoon, and we've had our lunch too, feeling ready to go! Also, the tide is starting to fill up this old garage so I better get packing or I won't be able to take the boat out at all. Thankfully, the weather is peaceful with hurricanes Gabriel and Taylor having traveled down south this time of year. Still, the ocean waves are choppy so I won't be able to spend any time writing in the rowboat. Next entry will be written once we've made landfall, at the high rises. I'm hopeful Gregor will be available today!}
+Fel, you know I would if I had the time to do so! I'm just always too busy. Anyway, we've been writing this at the `cave' now, and it looks like it is probably two in the afternoon, and we've had our lunch too, feeling ready to go! Also, the tide is starting to fill up this old garage so I better get packing or I won't be able to take the boat out at all. Thankfully, the weather is peaceful with hurricanes Gabriel and Taylor having traveled down south this time of year. Still, the ocean waves are choppy so I won't be able to spend any time writing in the rowboat. Next entry will be written once we've made landfall, at the high rises. I'm hopeful Gregor will be available today!
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{Henriques smiles, recalling how adventurous youthful Diago was, he flips the page, his fingers feeling the pages curl, curious eyes reading the lines that are revealed.\\
-}
+Henriques smiles, recalling how adventurous youthful Diago was, he flips the page, his fingers feeling the pages curl, curious eyes reading the lines that are revealed.
 
-\emph{25th of July 2304\\
-}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{25th of July 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, Fel and I made it to Gregors' home without any issue, and are writing this entry at the top of the high rises! \textbf{(É tão bonito! Se não fossem as nuvens de Gabriel, você poderia ver todas as estrelas do céu!)} While the waves did rock the rowboat, it wasn't at all a challenge to find harbor at the old high rises. We were met by Marcia, who helped us anchor the boat to the third floor balcony-pier, and we caught up with one another! She asked how my mami and Grandmami were, how my sisters were, how the farm was doing, then offered me lunch which I politely declined. \textbf{(Ela fez Vatapá!! O Vatapá da Márcia! É sempre tão delicioso! Como você poderia deixar passar uma tigela fresquinha de Vatapá da Márcia, Diago!! Ah!)} I'm sorry Fel, but I wasn't hungry then! Quit thinking about your stomach so much.}
+Dear Journal, Fel and I made it to Gregors' home without any issue, and are writing this entry at the top of the high rises! \textbf{\textsc{(É tão bonito! Se não fossem as nuvens de Gabriel, você poderia ver todas as estrelas do céu!)}} While the waves did rock the rowboat, it wasn't at all a challenge to find harbor at the old high rises. We were met by Marcia, who helped us anchor the boat to the third floor balcony-pier, and we caught up with one another! She asked how my mami and Grandmami were, how my sisters were, how the farm was doing, then offered me lunch which I politely declined. \textbf{\textsc{(Ela fez Vatapá!! O Vatapá da Márcia! É sempre tão delicioso! Como você poderia deixar passar uma tigela fresquinha de Vatapá da Márcia, Diago!! Ah!)}} I'm sorry Fel, but I wasn't hungry then! Quit thinking about your stomach so much.
 
-\emph{Anyway, after our talk, Marcia led us to where Gregor was, he was busy doing his own chores and tending to the seventh floor gardens. I always enjoy walking up to this floor, the view is amazing, though often windy without any wall. As soon as he saw me we hugged! It'd been too long, and like his mother, we talked about how things had been in the last few months, his community, my family, the hazards of the weather and the hazards of piracy along the coast, their fishing farms, our latex farms- \textbf{(Na verdade, ele mencionou como conseguiram pescar atum hoje! E íamos tomar um pote Grande de Moqueca de Camarão! O que foi TÃO DELICIOSO!)} Oh yeah! We've never had real Tuna before, only ever that fake processed stuff. So when Gregor offered to have us present for their dinner we were more than happy to accept, we even told them we intended to stay the night, which he and Marcia were happy to oblige.
+Anyway, after our talk, Marcia led us to where Gregor was, he was busy doing his own chores and tending to the seventh floor gardens. I always enjoy walking up to this floor, the view is amazing, though often windy without any wall. As soon as he saw me we hugged! It'd been too long, and like his mother, we talked about how things had been in the last few months, his community, my family, the hazards of the weather and the hazards of piracy along the coast, their fishing farms, our latex farms-- \textbf{\textsc{(Na verdade, ele mencionou como conseguiram pescar atum hoje! E íamos tomar um pote Grande de Moqueca de Camarão! O que foi TÃO DELICIOSO!)}} Oh yeah! We've never had real Tuna before, only ever that fake processed stuff. So when Gregor offered to have us present for their dinner we were more than happy to accept, we even told them we intended to stay the night, which he and Marcia were happy to oblige.
 
-We spent the remainder of our afternoon playing Go. He's always been better at it, and we don't have a board at home to practice. Regardless, it was a lot of fun! And I did manage to win a game in the end.}
+We spent the remainder of our afternoon playing Go. He's always been better at it, and we don't have a board at home to practice. Regardless, it was a lot of fun! And I did manage to win a game in the end.
 
-\emph{Now, Fel and I sit on the roof and gaze across the stars. It is truly gorgeous\ldots{} and I think we can spot the System too, orbiting overhead. Honestly it's crazy to think some of my Grandparents are there now. I hope they look at us and bless us with a good harvest, surely the tuna Gregor's family caught was one. \textbf{(Você acha que algum dia chegaremos lá, Diago?)} I don't know Fel! It would be cool, though I bet.
+Now, Fel and I sit on the roof and gaze across the stars. It is truly gorgeous\ldots{} and I think we can spot the System too, orbiting overhead. Honestly it's crazy to think some of my Grandparents are there now. I hope they look at us and bless us with a good harvest, surely the tuna Gregor's family caught was one. \textbf{\textsc{(Você acha que algum dia chegaremos lá, Diago?)}} I don't know Fel! It would be cool, though I bet.
 
-Sigh. I do not wish to be conscripted. I do not wish to tend the fields of burnt earth that my brother does. I wish he didn't either. \textbf{(É tão estúpido! Por que fomos para a guerra de novo? O que a Argentina fez com o Brasil? Por que seu irmão teve que ir! Por que NÓS temos que ir! Ah!)} I can't recall Fel, I wish Mami hadden gotten us into those history classes. Anyway, it smells like dinners done.}
+Sigh. I do not wish to be conscripted. I do not wish to tend the fields of burnt earth that my brother does. I wish he didn't either. \textbf{\textsc{(É tão estúpido! Por que fomos para a guerra de novo? O que a Argentina fez com o Brasil? Por que seu irmão teve que ir! Por que NÓS temos que ir! Ah!)}} I can't recall Fel, I wish Mami hadden gotten us into those history classes. Anyway, it smells like dinners done.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{His anger, simmering now, grows sour with grief renewed. Why, why must they have done this? A society of people, free from the strifes of this withering world, peaceful and calm and claiming new lives- Taken, made lost for some bitter pointless stance. Had the universe not taken enough from him, from his family, from his people? Was it fate, destiny, that others would bring agony to the Pereira family and so many, many more on this hellish earth? Surely, he had done enough, harbored the forgotten sins of his nation for long enough, the punishments that his father endured and reflected onto him, for long enough? Surely, this was enough, should have been enough, to avoid this tragedy?
+His anger, simmering now, grows sour with grief renewed. Why, why must they have done this? A society of people, free from the strifes of this withering world, peaceful and calm and claiming new lives\ldots{} Taken, made lost for some bitter pointless stance. Had the universe not taken enough from him, from his family, from his people? Was it fate, destiny, that others would bring agony to the Pereira family and so many, many more on this hellish earth? Surely, he had done enough, harbored the forgotten sins of his nation for long enough, the punishments that his father endured and reflected onto him, for long enough? Surely, this was enough, should have been enough, to avoid this tragedy?
 
 To have lost so much more, to know generations of elders and cousins and sons and daughters were now gone. Now longer of the heavens but beyond, if there was such a thing. Henrique didn't have the slightest clue, and he doubted there was anything after. They were gone, his brother was gone. It was as simple as that, a weeding fact he began to harbor and nourish.
 
-He observes the fine details on the pen in this bitter moment of contemplation, Henrique's fingers flipping the pages with unplanned, instinctual precision- eyes unwittingly landing on the next entry:}
+He observes the fine details on the pen in this bitter moment of contemplation, Henrique's fingers flipping the pages with unplanned, instinctual precision, eyes unwittingly landing on the next entry:
 
+\begin{quote}
 \emph{23rd of September 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, class wasn't too special. My teacher commented that my punctuation has been remaining consistent but that I should try to expand my vocabulary and gave me a thesaurus. It's full of English words and very heavy! So I'll probably read it when I get home.}
+Dear Journal, class wasn't too special. My teacher commented that my punctuation has been remaining consistent but that I should try to expand my vocabulary and gave me a thesaurus. It's full of English words and very heavy! So I'll probably read it when I get home.
 
-\emph{But! FINALLY after months of planning, Mr. Rocha and I left to go birdwatching. He was very busy marking the exams of all the classes he taught, but he was able to schedule some time with me this week! We have been planning to visit a spot along the interior, within the marshes and prairies of província cinzenta. I told him it was nothing special, just a place I try to visit when I have enough allowance to take the bus that far. \textbf{(Agradeça aos antepassados \hspace{0pt}\hspace{0pt}que o Sr. Rocha possui um caminhão! Eu odeio pegar carona em ônibus. Ou está super lotado ou temos que sentar no telhado\ldots) {[}Yeah, it was quite far, and his truck was quite comfy. Though honestly, I was just excited we got to see somewhere new that's not just your house or farm.{]} }Yeah! You sounded like you enjoyed it as much as we did, huh Davi? \textbf{ {[}Yeah! The views were beautiful. If a bit haunting. You still need to take me to Gregor's one of these days, I'm sure he'd be happy to have you visit him again.{]}} \textbf{(Oh sim! As vistas da casa dele são INCRÍVEIS! Além disso, a comida da sua mãe é TÃO deliciosa!)}}
+But! FINALLY after months of planning, Mr.~Rocha and I left to go birdwatching. He was very busy marking the exams of all the classes he taught, but he was able to schedule some time with me this week! We have been planning to visit a spot along the interior, within the marshes and prairies of província cinzenta. I told him it was nothing special, just a place I try to visit when I have enough allowance to take the bus that far. \textbf{\textsc{(Agradeça aos antepassados que o Sr.~Rocha possui um caminhão! Eu odeio pegar carona em ônibus. Ou está super lotado ou temos que sentar no telhado\ldots)} Yeah, it was quite far, and his truck was quite comfy. Though honestly, I was just excited we got to see somewhere new that's not just your house or farm.} Yeah! You sounded like you enjoyed it as much as we did, huh Davi? \textbf{(Yeah! The views were beautiful. If a bit haunting. You still need to take me to Gregor's one of these days, I'm sure he'd be happy to have you visit him again.)} \textbf{\textsc{(Oh sim! As vistas da casa dele são INCRÍVEIS! Além disso, a comida da sua mãe é TÃO deliciosa!)}}
 
-\emph{I will, I will! Anyways, as should be obvious, getting there wasn't too difficult, and we parked along the eastern edge of the Amazona Basin. From there I led the way down some dirt trails, and showed Mr. Rocha a family of nursing trees that had begun to sprout new life. \textbf{{[}It was very pretty! There were at least five different burnt up trunks that had fallen over, and were all sprouting entirely different trees from them!{]} }Yeah! And in the trees, we saw many birds flying in and out, they looked like brownish twistwings, we also heard peeping! The sound filled me with such joy, and Mr. Rocha remarked how wonderful it was to see nature adapt and heal in spite of all the destruction caused by `A Grande Fumaça', so many years ago.}
+I will, I will! Anyways, as should be obvious, getting there wasn't too difficult, and we parked along the eastern edge of the Amazona Basin. From there I led the way down some dirt trails, and showed Mr.~Rocha a family of nursing trees that had begun to sprout new life. \textbf{(It was very pretty! There were at least five different burnt up trunks that had fallen over, and were all sprouting entirely different trees from them!)} Yeah! And in the trees, we saw many birds flying in and out, they looked like brownish twistwings, we also heard peeping! The sound filled me with such joy, and Mr.~Rocha remarked how wonderful it was to see nature adapt and heal in spite of all the destruction caused by `A Grande Fumaça', so many years ago.
 
-\emph{The comment had Davi curious, and so I asked him how `A Grande Fumaça' even started, \textbf{{[}Thanks again. I wasn't sure how Mr Rocha would take you being plural, otherwise I would have asked myself.{]} (Sr. Rocha arrasa! Tenho certeza de que ele teria ido às alturas para ouvir sobre nós!) }Eh\ldots{} I'm in agreement with Davi. I'd rather just keep this between us three.
+The comment had Davi curious, and so I asked him how `A Grande Fumaça' even started, \textbf{(Thanks again. I wasn't sure how Mr Rocha would take you being plural, otherwise I would have asked myself.) \textsc{(Sr.~Rocha arrasa! Tenho certeza de que ele teria ido às alturas para ouvir sobre nós!)}} Eh\ldots{} I'm in agreement with Davi. I'd rather just keep this between us three.
 
-Anyways, I'm glad I asked because I learned things I never recalled being taught besides the really nasty terrorists and stuff. Anyway, when he was done I asked why people would do such things, it was kinda absent minded of me to ask, but when I did Mr. Rocha had this moment of contemplation before he told me that ``Some very angry people simply choose to resort to fan the hate and anger in their hearts, in order to make an impact on the world. In their case, they wanted many people to see the perils we suffer, like some twisted bonfire, and these people believed that by burning down the Amazon it would call the world into action.'' I told him that didn't make any sense, and he agreed, ``Anger drives many men to do senseless things, but this is why it is important to keep a level head at all times, and to control that flame, turn it towards a warm hearth that nurtures and improves the quality of all. Not tear it down and destroy it.''}
+Anyways, I'm glad I asked because I learned things I never recalled being taught besides the really nasty terrorists and stuff. Anyway, when he was done I asked why people would do such things, it was kinda absent minded of me to ask, but when I did Mr.~Rocha had this moment of contemplation before he told me that ``Some very angry people simply choose to resort to fan the hate and anger in their hearts, in order to make an impact on the world. In their case, they wanted many people to see the perils we suffer, like some twisted bonfire, and these people believed that by burning down the Amazon it would call the world into action.'' I told him that didn't make any sense, and he agreed, ``Anger drives many men to do senseless things, but this is why it is important to keep a level head at all times, and to control that flame, turn it towards a warm hearth that nurtures and improves the quality of all. Not tear it down and destroy it.''
 
-\emph{After our conversation, we went and had lunch. \textbf{(Foi Empadão caseiro! Devo dizer que o Sr. Rocha é um excelente cozinheiro!) }He is! And he made extras, so we got to take some home with us to share. Today was honestly the best.}
+After our conversation, we went and had lunch. \textbf{\textsc{(Foi Empadão caseiro! Devo dizer que o Sr.~Rocha é um excelente cozinheiro!)}} He is! And he made extras, so we got to take some home with us to share. Today was honestly the best.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{Yet, despite the uplifting ending and relative cheerfulness of the entry, such aspects go unread and unappreciated as Henriques eyes stay fixed on the penultimate paragraph. His breath quickens to nigh hyperventilation with quicker clouds fogging Henrique's brief-bright thoughts with foul ashen clouds.
+Yet, despite the uplifting ending and relative cheerfulness of the entry, such aspects go unread and unappreciated as Henriques eyes stay fixed on the penultimate paragraph. His breath quickens to nigh hyperventilation with quicker clouds fogging Henrique's brief-bright thoughts with foul ashen clouds.
 
 A Grande Fumaça, another crazed disaster, dealt by the collective cells of Brazil. The terrorists' insanity deemed that the only path to salvation was more mindless destruction. To alter and to tarnish the Grand jungles of South America with thermite fueled flames.
 
@@ -115,35 +118,35 @@ Anger flares once more, the scalding inferno of nearly a century ago igniting ho
 
 He rises, his right hand numb, crumbles under the weight and he begins to fall to the floor. His left hand, clenched into a fist, slams to his inflamed chest, leaving him sobbing, weeping, falling. With a loud thump against the hardwood floor, he cries and whines. Why, why did they have to take his brother? Why did they have to kill so many bright souls, to accomplish what? To state what?
 
-``W-why\ldots{} W-whhyy\ldots{} whhyyy\ldots''
+``W-why\ldots{} W-whhyy\ldots{} whhyyy\ldots{}''
 
 He mutters through a limp tongue, half numb lips. He was shot, he realizes, he believes, time slowed like a putrid muck as the sudden taste of something sickening and metallic crosses his tongue. His heart hurts, agonizing, a flame. He struggles to breathe, and wonders why, why, why was he sent to the front line. Why was he chosen to be shot, an innocent at the whims of a corrupt government.
 
 He looks up, watching the members of the Argentinian resistance raid the Briar Line. Guns alight, loud, shouting, surrounding him, soon kicking him.
 
-``\textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe! Me perdoe!}''\\
+\emph{``Me perdoe! Me perdoe! Me perdoe! Me perdoe!''}
+
 He begs for forgiveness as memory fades, figures all around him, following him to his youth. Full of bullies, malevolent peers, punishing him, teasing him, childishly chastising him for the acts of his rebellious father. A man dedicated to the independence of Rio Grande Do Sul, a man who died fighting the civil war, and marred his family name with the title of-
 
-``\textbf{Traidor! Traidor! Traidores Imundos!}''}
+\emph{``Traidor! Traidor! Traidores Imundos!''}
 
-\emph{-And he suffers the consequences. Crying, choking, dying, dimming\ldots{} before Diago screams, chasing, sprinting, pushing away the bullies, the ne'er do well teenagers twice the siblings' age.}
+-And he suffers the consequences. Crying, choking, dying, dimming\ldots{} before Diago screams, chasing, sprinting, pushing away the bullies, the ne'er do well teenagers twice the siblings' age.
 
-\emph{No longer surrounded, Diago leans down, reaching his hand towards his elder brother. Henrique looks up, vision blurred from the blinding backlit visage of Diago, details smeared- yet comfortably cool and shaded in soft shadows.}
+No longer surrounded, Diago leans down, reaching his hand towards his elder brother. Henrique looks up, vision blurred from the blinding backlit visage of Diago, details smeared, yet comfortably cool and shaded in soft shadows.
 
-\emph{``Ei, irmão mais velho!''
+\emph{``Ei, irmão mais velho!''}
 
 Henrique hears the cry of Diago calling out to him, before watching that youthful silhouette approach him, take a knee, and offer his hand down to his fallen self.
 
-Está tudo bem, você está seguro. Vamos, vamos para casa! Todo mundo está preocupado com você.''}
+\emph{``Está tudo bem, você está seguro. Vamos, vamos para casa! Todo mundo está preocupado com você.''}
 
-\emph{Henrique nods, sobbing, smiling, and reaches for Diagos hand, hearing the worry and concern in his brother's voice.
+Henrique nods, sobbing, smiling, and reaches for Diagos hand, hearing the worry and concern in his brother's voice.
 
-``Vamos para casa. Irmão mais novo...''\\
-}
+\emph{``Vamos para casa. Irmão mais novo\ldots{}''}
 
-\emph{Then everything fades to black.}
+Then everything fades to black.
 
-\emph{Hours that felt like minutes go by, and with a groggy start, white light fills Henriques vision.
+Hours that felt like minutes go by, and with a groggy start, white light fills Henriques vision.
 
 The door to the examination room clicks open, Isa walking in, exhausted, her nurse outfit freshly donned with fresh concern still on her face, she kneels down, checking on her Grand Papi, healing instincts kicking in as she takes Henriques hand, watching his face twitch into wakefulness.
 
@@ -153,21 +156,22 @@ Henrique simply nods, groaning, looking down at the white linen bed he found him
 
 Isa's fears quickly diminished as she saw him come too. Watching as his senses returned to him. It wasn't long before a doctor entered, clipboard in hand and hesitant smile showing.
 
-``Ah, Mr. Pereira. You had us all worried there, but, thankfully to your Granddaughters quick thinking you're looking to make a full recovery. She's a very excellent nurse, we're lucky to have her with us.''
+``Ah, Mr.~Pereira. You had us all worried there, but, thankfully to your Granddaughters quick thinking you're looking to make a full recovery. She's a very excellent nurse, we're lucky to have her with us.''
 
-Isa smiles, then glances over to the journal Henrique was just looking towards. She picks it up, handing it to him.}
+Isa smiles, then glances over to the journal Henrique was just looking towards. She picks it up, handing it to him.
 
-\emph{``Grand Papi, we'll be moving you to another room for the remainder of your stay, but once we're there would you like me to stick around for a while? The hospital has given me permission to attend to you, and, well, I saw you reading Grand uncle Diago's journal. I was thinking I could read some of it to you?''
+``Grand Papi, we'll be moving you to another room for the remainder of your stay, but once we're there would you like me to stick around for a while? The hospital has given me permission to attend to you, and, well, I saw you reading Grand uncle Diago's journal. I was thinking I could read some of it to you?''
 
 Henrique nods with a wide smile reaching from ear to ear, stretching those years of well earned lines like the boughs and branches of a Bertholletia Excelsa.
 
-``Of course, my dear Isa. I'd love that so, very much.''}
+``Of course, my dear Isa. I'd love that so, very much.''
 
-\emph{The minutes went by as medical accessories were untethered and unlatched from their anchoring, allowing Henriques' bed to be transported to his new room. Isa walked alongside while another nurse pushed, her fingers gently intertwined with her Grand papis' own.
+The minutes went by as medical accessories were untethered and unlatched from their anchoring, allowing Henriques' bed to be transported to his new room. Isa walked alongside while another nurse pushed, her fingers gently intertwined with her Grand papis' own.
 
-The new room was optimally lit and blandly furnished with whites, blues, and beige, presented in the most iconically hygienic ways a hospital could be. Isa finds a seat beside Henrique, a metal thing with dense padding cushions, unlike her grin which was soft and comforting- not at all dissimilar to her eyes, which began to look downward towards the journal that she split open in her hands. She carefully turned each page, finally landing on an entry that was written earlier into the books life:}
+The new room was optimally lit and blandly furnished with whites, blues, and beige, presented in the most iconically hygienic ways a hospital could be. Isa finds a seat beside Henrique, a metal thing with dense padding cushions, unlike her grin which was soft and comforting; not at all dissimilar to her eyes, which began to look downward towards the journal that she split open in her hands. She carefully turned each page, finally landing on an entry that was written earlier into the books life:
 
-\emph{3rd of May 2304
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{3rd of May 2304}
 
 Dear Journal, today I write after Fel and I have gone exploring! I did my chores this morning, stripping the bark from the trees mainly, then I went down to the coast and took the rowboat out from `the cave'. Though I didn't visit Gregor, instead I took the boat further west, to visit some of the abandoned towns in that area. I brought some chicken sandwiches with me, as I planned to stay most the day there and take the last bus back.
 
@@ -177,53 +181,54 @@ I also go because Fel is always wanting to see the world\ldots{} and she's alway
 
 Anyways, once we took the rowboat far enough, we anchored up to what we guessed must have been an old apartment complex? We could access the third and fourth floors, but the rest was flooded. But despite this, I was able to dive down to the floors below with my light to guide us. I always make sure to wear one on my chest so I'm never diving in the dark. I've also been practicing my diving for quite a while now, and the longest I can hold my breath while swimming is a full minute and sixteen seconds!
 
-Diving down to the floor below, it was filled with seaweed and other water plants, also I found all sorts of cool things, old photo portraits, toys, a Rig! It was inhabited by some tropical fish, Tetra I think is what they're called? Very small and they glowed brightly when my light hit them! It was very pretty! \textbf{(Tenho quase certeza de que vi uma caixa de tesouro também! Era pequeno e brilhante! Mas provavelmente é melhor que não o tenhamos feito. Estava preso atrás de muitos móveis antigos.)} Yeah, it wouldn't have been safe to try and dig that out.}
+Diving down to the floor below, it was filled with seaweed and other water plants, also I found all sorts of cool things, old photo portraits, toys, a Rig! It was inhabited by some tropical fish, Tetra I think is what they're called? Very small and they glowed brightly when my light hit them! It was very pretty! \textbf{\textsc{(Tenho quase certeza de que vi uma caixa de tesouro também! Era pequeno e brilhante! Mas provavelmente é melhor que não o tenhamos feito. Estava preso atrás de muitos móveis antigos.)}} Yeah, it wouldn't have been safe to try and dig that out.
 
-\emph{When I surfaced I had my meal - (\textbf{Os sanduíches estavam MUITO deliciosos! Você Mami faz os melhores sanduíches.) }Yeah, they really are super good. \textbf{ }Anyways, afterwards we swam down the outside of the building and we were able to get much deeper, even with the surrounding kelp clinging to its walls. Turns out the apartment was built on top of a barber! At least I assume it was a barber as I saw the red and blue striped pole on the outside of it. I couldn't open the door, and the windows were boarded up to get some breath. Next we explored the upper floors above the water. The building was very slanted, so climbing the old stairs wasn't easy, and most of the apartment rooms had their front doors locked still. But the rooms I did open were very empty, however one had an old campfire in it! \textbf{( Claro que não somos os aventureiros que exploram as ruínas do Brasil!) }I guess! Either that or someone else came here before and tried to live here. The walls were spray painted in beautiful and ugly murals, and one room was entirely coated in bird poop\ldots{} it wasn't pretty but I did see the various nests that were using the old space as a new home!
+When I surfaced I had my meal-- \textsc{\textbf{(Os sanduíches estavam MUITO deliciosos! Você Mami faz os melhores sanduíches.)}} Yeah, they really are super good. Anyways, afterwards we swam down the outside of the building and we were able to get much deeper, even with the surrounding kelp clinging to its walls. Turns out the apartment was built on top of a barber! At least I assume it was a barber as I saw the red and blue striped pole on the outside of it. I couldn't open the door, and the windows were boarded up to get some breath. Next we explored the upper floors above the water. The building was very slanted, so climbing the old stairs wasn't easy, and most of the apartment rooms had their front doors locked still. But the rooms I did open were very empty, however one had an old campfire in it! \textbf{\textsc{( Claro que não somos os aventureiros que exploram as ruínas do Brasil!)}} I guess! Either that or someone else came here before and tried to live here. The walls were spray painted in beautiful and ugly murals, and one room was entirely coated in bird poop\ldots{} it wasn't pretty but I did see the various nests that were using the old space as a new home!
 
-Once we were done exploring, we grabbed the rowboat and went back to shore. We just barely caught the bus we wanted, which was good since I was so tired. I got home and my family asked how my swim was, as I probably smelt like the sea.}
+Once we were done exploring, we grabbed the rowboat and went back to shore. We just barely caught the bus we wanted, which was good since I was so tired. I got home and my family asked how my swim was, as I probably smelt like the sea.
 
-\emph{Now Fel and I rest in bed\ldots{} it's funny, despite all that destruction caused by nature, seeing life still present and flourishing is nice. It gives our world color, and makes me happy.}
+Now Fel and I rest in bed\ldots{} it's funny, despite all that destruction caused by nature, seeing life still present and flourishing is nice. It gives our world color, and makes me happy.
 
-\emph{Anyways, I'm tired. That's all!}
+Anyways, I'm tired. That's all!
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{Isa closes the book softly, clearing her throat after all that talking, and places it at her great Grand papi's side. Henrique looked up in response, a mild smile present on his thin lips.}
+Isa closes the book softly, clearing her throat after all that talking, and places it at her great Grand papi's side. Henrique looked up in response, a mild smile present on his thin lips.
 
-\emph{``Thank you, sweet Isa. You're the best Granddaughter an old man like me could ever ask for.'' He grins, then coughs softly, frowning at the sorry state his body was in. Isa reacts accordingly, leaning down to assist her great Grandfather, but he raises a hand- ``It's fine, some water is all I need.''}
+``Thank you, sweet Isa. You're the best Granddaughter an old man like me could ever ask for.'' He grins, then coughs softly, frowning at the sorry state his body was in. Isa reacts accordingly, leaning down to assist her great Grandfather, but he raises a hand- ``It's fine, some water is all I need.''
 
-\emph{Isa frowns, but goes to pour her father a cup, turning away to head to the plastic jug not more than a couple meters from his bedside table.
+Isa frowns, but goes to pour her father a cup, turning away to head to the plastic jug not more than a couple meters from his bedside table.
 
-She pours the cup, then pauses ``...Grand papi, is\ldots'' She sighs, then turns back to pass him the cup- ``Are you okay\ldots?'' A question that could be easily dismissed with a `yes', a white lie to maintain this status quo he wished to uphold and quell any worry. Yet, Henrique knew better, hearing the way Isa asked, feeling the way those words carried soft care, the compassion in her voice curating how she phrased it, and quite simply from the way her eyes penetrated his own. The ache in his heart would not cease until he expressed his thoughts, and he knew this status quo should not be maintained.}
+She pours the cup, then pauses ``\ldots Grand papi, is\ldots{}'' She sighs, then turns back to pass him the cup. ``Are you okay\ldots?'' A question that could be easily dismissed with a `yes', a white lie to maintain this status quo he wished to uphold and quell any worry. Yet, Henrique knew better, hearing the way Isa asked, feeling the way those words carried soft care, the compassion in her voice curating how she phrased it, and quite simply from the way her eyes penetrated his own. The ache in his heart would not cease until he expressed his thoughts, and he knew this status quo should not be maintained.
 
-\emph{``...I\ldots{} am not. No. The System, it is truly gone, yes?'' He asks, expression grim. Isa pauses, having handed over the cup. Then shrugs and shakes her head. ``The word on the `net\ldots{} Well, it is unclear. There's been claims that they're trying to recover it, some saying success, others saying failure\ldots{} its\ldots''}
+``\ldots I\ldots{} am not. No.~The System, it is truly gone, yes?'' He asks, expression grim. Isa pauses, having handed over the cup. Then shrugs and shakes her head. ``The word on the 'net\ldots{} Well, it is unclear. There's been claims that they're trying to recover it, some saying success, others saying failure\ldots{} its\ldots{}''
 
-\emph{Henrique nods, raising his hand once again. ``It is an uncertain time, I\ldots{} understand.'' I silence drops between the pair, long and thoughtful, as Henrique stares at himself through the reflection of the water, seeing the man who he once was and the youth before, so full of potential, that who couldn't be. An innocent child who had a brother, before being taken away from home to become the cog for some militaristic machine, and discarded, broken, at the end.}
+Henrique nods, raising his hand once again. ``It is an uncertain time, I\ldots{} understand.'' I silence drops between the pair, long and thoughtful, as Henrique stares at himself through the reflection of the water, seeing the man who he once was and the youth before, so full of potential, that who couldn't be. An innocent child who had a brother, before being taken away from home to become the cog for some militaristic machine, and discarded, broken, at the end.
 
-\emph{``Why didn't you upload, Grand papi?'' Henrique is drawn from his stupor, glancing up at Isa with a pained, confused expression that evolved to one of frustration, and finally mournful regret.}
+``Why didn't you upload, Grand papi?'' Henrique is drawn from his stupor, glancing up at Isa with a pained, confused expression that evolved to one of frustration, and finally mournful regret.
 
-\emph{``I\ldots{} I was too anchored to my duties here\ldots{} to many responsibilities, to many tasks that were expected of me\ldots'' he says, a weak truth, one that did not admit the full pains of his reasons. Reasons he did not care to admit because they scared him, filled him with anxiety, regret.
+``I\ldots{} I was too anchored to my duties here\ldots{} to many responsibilities, to many tasks that were expected of me\ldots{}'' he says, a weak truth, one that did not admit the full pains of his reasons. Reasons he did not care to admit because they scared him, filled him with anxiety, regret.
 
 Why didn't he upload? There was nothing to stop him, he had the opportunity, he was given the privilege after his service. In fact, it was expected of him by his country and family, for was a broken man, and a man with the buried soul of a child. Once his service was done, he was seen as useless by the aristocracy, and his family name denoted him a traitor by the people.
 
 So, why not simply allow himself to be discarded? Buried like that child who was taken away? Why, why did he put such effort into the farm, into making a family. Why did he feel the need to prove the worth of the Pereira name\ldots{}
 
-Was it to prove they weren't traitors to brazil? To prove his life had meaning? To live a life after years of strife? To try and forget the pain of no longer being at his brother's side? Or to avoid that pain, to bury it too, like the child, like the hundred dead from a worthless civil war\ldots{} The notion of seeing someone so different from how he would've remembered them. Of seeing a person who he loathed, despite all that love. To see someone who had the chance to be a child, who did not need to bury that precious, perfect part of life. Scared him, for the emotions they elicited.}
+Was it to prove they weren't traitors to brazil? To prove his life had meaning? To live a life after years of strife? To try and forget the pain of no longer being at his brother's side? Or to avoid that pain, to bury it too, like the child, like the hundred dead from a worthless civil war\ldots{} The notion of seeing someone so different from how he would've remembered them. Of seeing a person who he loathed, despite all that love. To see someone who had the chance to be a child, who did not need to bury that precious, perfect part of life. Scared him, for the emotions they elicited.
 
-\emph{He scowls, emotions eating away at him\ldots{} Isa frowned, leaning in.}
+He scowls, emotions eating away at him\ldots{} Isa frowned, leaning in.
 
-\emph{Diago was his friend, as any sibling should, but one who'd be a constant reminder of the time HE lost, the time HE should've had as well. Diago lived the life he lost, and he HATED him for that.
+Diago was his friend, as any sibling should, but one who'd be a constant reminder of the time \emph{he} lost, the time \emph{he} should've had as well. Diago lived the life he lost, and he \emph{hated} him for that.
 
 Yet.
 
-Henrique could not let that hate burn. Those flames would rather stoke fires of passion and thankfulness, that his brother's youth could stay at Diago's side. Even if he had that all taken away from him, he should be happy his brother managed to avoid it all through those careful weeks of planning, ultimately resulting in him being snuck out the month before his mandatory conscription. Years before he would return home.}
+Henrique could not let that hate burn. Those flames would rather stoke fires of passion and thankfulness, that his brother's youth could stay at Diago's side. Even if he had that all taken away from him, he should be happy his brother managed to avoid it all through those careful weeks of planning, ultimately resulting in him being snuck out the month before his mandatory conscription. Years before he would return home.
 
-\emph{His fists balled up, and tears began to be shed. Why must he feel this pungent jealousy contradict his love, and why must this unfettered joy ruin the urge to swell with anger and selfish want. Not only this, but the half-void in his chest was lonely, forever imperfect because he never could say goodbye.}
+His fists balled up, and tears began to be shed. Why must he feel this pungent jealousy contradict his love, and why must this unfettered joy ruin the urge to swell with anger and selfish want. Not only this, but the half-void in his chest was lonely, forever imperfect because he never could say goodbye.
 
-\emph{His life, all his life, was hell, hell on earth. From his earliest days under the sun, to his first days at the Briar Line, to his last days working the farm, and undoubtedly to his final day on this god forsaken planet his deleted ancestors long ago abandoned.
+His life, all his life, was hell, hell on earth. From his earliest days under the sun, to his first days at the Briar Line, to his last days working the farm, and undoubtedly to his final day on this god forsaken planet his deleted ancestors long ago abandoned.
 
-Yet his brother, the person he cherished so dearly, avoided that. It wasn't fair, but did that matter? He sacrificed everything, and his brother lived his life. And now he sat here, in a hospital bed, seething and seeing those reasons come to light. Showing him he never once was truly happy, never once truly satisfied, and never once given the chance to live, never once allowing himself to-}
+Yet his brother, the person he cherished so dearly, avoided that. It wasn't fair, but did that matter? He sacrificed everything, and his brother lived his life. And now he sat here, in a hospital bed, seething and seeing those reasons come to light. Showing him he never once was truly happy, never once truly satisfied, and never once given the chance to live, never once allowing himself to-
 
-\emph{Isa grabbed his hand, and gently kissed his forehead, shocking the elderly man out of his manic spiral. He sobs out a gasp, and looks to Isa with watery eyes and tear stricken cheeks. She smiled warmly with saddened eyes. She was no longer the innocent girl he saw in her today or days prior, now she was someone who somehow could peer into this old man's heart. Seeing his pain. Understanding his turmoil.
+Isa grabbed his hand, and gently kissed his forehead, shocking the elderly man out of his manic spiral. He sobs out a gasp, and looks to Isa with watery eyes and tear stricken cheeks. She smiled warmly with saddened eyes. She was no longer the innocent girl he saw in her today or days prior, now she was someone who somehow could peer into this old man's heart. Seeing his pain. Understanding his turmoil.
 
 ``Grand papi\ldots{} even if they do not return to the system, your ancestors look down on you with pride as they ascend to the heavens. Your brother\ldots{} he missed you, I know it. He is thankful and I know for certain he wondered every day when he would see you.''
 
@@ -233,70 +238,73 @@ She gulps, thinking of what to say as her own mouth grew parched from this share
 
 ``Then\ldots{} we will find those joys here. And move on, together. Wherever we can, however we can. And our ancestors will continue to look down on us, smiles on their faces, eager to see you live your life with happiness, and awaiting the day for you to join them once you have.
 
-Henrique sighs with a shaky breath, and lays his head on Isa's arm. Isa, in turn, lays on the bed, supporting her Great Grand papis head. Giving him the comfort he required.}
+Henrique sighs with a shaky breath, and lays his head on Isa's arm. Isa, in turn, lays on the bed, supporting her Great Grand papis head. Giving him the comfort he required.\pagebreak
 
-\emph{\textbf{March 1st, 2401 }}
+\noindent\textbf{March 1st, 2401}
 
-\emph{\textbf{}21st January 2305
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{21st January 2305}
 
-Dear Journal- or, dearest Henrique, who I hope will return home safely to receive my journal as my parting gift. Its with a heavy, but hopeful heart that I might escape the enforcement of our seven years service to our country. I will not get a chance to meet you at the front, let alone meet you upon your return. \textbf{(Mal posso esperar para finalmente conhecer você, Henrique. Diago pode estar incerto, mas estou extasiado por finalmente conhecê-lo depois de todos esses anos em que você foi forçado a nos deixar.)}
+Dear Journal-- or, dearest Henrique, who I hope will return home safely to receive my journal as my parting gift. Its with a heavy, but hopeful heart that I might escape the enforcement of our seven years service to our country. I will not get a chance to meet you at the front, let alone meet you upon your return. \textbf{\textsc{(Mal posso esperar para finalmente conhecer você, Henrique. Diago pode estar incerto, mas estou extasiado por finalmente conhecê-lo depois de todos esses anos em que você foi forçado a nos deixar.)}}
 
-While Fel may be excited, she is not wrong that I am hesitant. \textbf{{[}I am as well, but I have faith in our future.{]}}
+While Fel may be excited, she is not wrong that I am hesitant. \textbf{(I am as well, but I have faith in our future.)}
 
 I agree, Davi. By the time you'll have read this entry, you'd have learned that our auntie Corita and our Mami had been planning to secret me away so I would not be forced to participate in the conflict at the BrAr Line. I know it is not my place to say such, but I apologize that we did not tell you while you were still in service.
 
 While I may be leaving, Auntie Corita told Iara and Ana that when they turn 18, she'll do the same for them, and we'll all meet each other in the System one day. Which is a day I greatly look forward to.
 
-I miss you, brother. I miss the days we could have swam together, ate food together, and explored together. Yet this world we were born into chose to take that away from us. You were always so much braver than I was, and now here I am taking my first steps into a new world I can't ever come back from. \textbf{(Você é igualmente corajoso, Diago, e devemos estar entusiasmados! Esta é apenas mais uma aventura! E o Henrique vai se juntar a nós! Tenho certeza disso.)}
+I miss you, brother. I miss the days we could have swam together, ate food together, and explored together. Yet this world we were born into chose to take that away from us. You were always so much braver than I was, and now here I am taking my first steps into a new world I can't ever come back from. \textbf{\textsc{(Você é igualmente corajoso, Diago, e devemos estar entusiasmados! Esta é apenas mais uma aventura! E o Henrique vai se juntar a nós! Tenho certeza disso.)}}
 
 We eagerly look forward to the day we can see you, Henrique.
 
-Your little siblings, Diago, Fel, and Davi.}
+Your little siblings, Diago, Fel, and Davi.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{As Henrique closes the leather book for the final time, he exhales, tucking the journal away into his satchel. The door opens and an Ansible technician arrives.}
+As Henrique closes the leather book for the final time, he exhales, tucking the journal away into his satchel. The door opens and an Ansible technician arrives.
 
-\emph{She greets him with a nod, asks his name, and takes him down the hall. She confirms he answered all the questions on his questionnaire, and reassured him that this decision was final. Henrique simply nodded, acknowledging the questions with polite answers, stepping in time with the gentle tap of his cane. Each step feeling lighter than the last, like years of weight fell off his back, as if piles of ash or fettered leaves flowed free into the compost, ready to fertilize new growth, new life, new hope.}
+She greets him with a nod, asks his name, and takes him down the hall. She confirms he answered all the questions on his questionnaire, and reassured him that this decision was final. Henrique simply nodded, acknowledging the questions with polite answers, stepping in time with the gentle tap of his cane. Each step feeling lighter than the last, like years of weight fell off his back, as if piles of ash or fettered leaves flowed free into the compost, ready to fertilize new growth, new life, new hope.
 
-\emph{The techs put him into the seat, the process seamless, precise, and he feels as if he was floating, a leaf gliding amongst the wind and beautiful breeze\ldots{} and he closes his eyes.\\
-\textbf{}The sensation of stretching in blackness, like a series of strings strung taught and sewn back, was as unnerving as the visual of a slate gray box surrounding him. But this unease passes as he immediately sighs, eyes closing once more as the feeling of chronic pain and aged weariness was, thankfully, entirely gone. He exhales, the soreness of his shoulders, exposed to decades of hard labor, could finally relax. That foul weight, finally lifted.
+The techs put him into the seat, the process seamless, precise, and he feels as if he was floating, a leaf gliding amongst the wind and beautiful breeze\ldots{} and he closes his eyes.
+
+The sensation of stretching in blackness, like a series of strings strung taught and sewn back, was as unnerving as the visual of a slate gray box surrounding him. But this unease passes as he immediately sighs, eyes closing once more as the feeling of chronic pain and aged weariness was, thankfully, entirely gone. He exhales, the soreness of his shoulders, exposed to decades of hard labor, could finally relax. That foul weight, finally lifted.
 
 ``Welcome to Lagrange, this room you find yourself in is called AetherBox\#9182. Currently, I am facing away from you so you may have some privacy. Please, let me know when I may turn, unless you do not require any clothes. Simply want your desired apparel into being, and it will be there.''
 
 Henrique's eyes open, wrinkled smile growing into a briefly confused frown as the individual who just spoke to him was some kind of furry. A species of creature he had not seen before, with a large black tail flanked by two defined white stripes. She wore a very old fashion tweed jacket, and a red plaid skirt that hung just below that.
 
-``Ah- simply desire it, Senhora?...''
+``Ah-- simply desire it, \emph{Senhora\ldots?}''
 
 ``Indeed, take your time. It is not as if we have a schedule to maintain.''
 
 There was a hint of irritation in that reply, and Henrique flushed red for a moment, embarrassed at being inconsiderate of this individual's time. He thinks for a moment, of his slippers, aged worker jeans, then his blue t-shirt and well worn wool sweater overtop. He looks down in pleasant surprise to see those very clothes on him\ldots{} then he frowns, thinking\ldots{} remembering memories of his younger days, before he met his beloved Annette, a button up white shirt, loose at the collar, straight and flowy at the hem, long too. Perfect for those especially hot summer days, then reimagined his worker pants\ldots{} the day he first got them, how richly deep green they were, not how worn and damaged they were now, with discolored patches sewn on to cover up damaged holes. He recalled the well sewn fabric of thick, durable, comfortable material\ldots{} and to his amusement found those exact clothes on him, in the same condition he miraculously remembered them as. He stepped forward, comfy slippers, now refurbished but still broken in, muffling his footsteps.
 
-``Senhora?... I am ready, you can turn around now.''
+``\emph{Senhora\ldots?} I am ready, you can turn around now.''
 
 The black-and-white-striped furry turns on the spot, an exact motion, her rounded spectacles, housing slitted eyes that stared with a scrutinizing and dubious glare. She held a smile that felt tired, ungenuine, but not strictly forced\ldots{} a smile that was rehearsed and used to mask some deeper-seated emotions, simply present to appear approachable.
 
-``Again, welcome to Lagrange Mr. Pereira. It is my job to inform you of the basic mechanics that are present within the System. Your clothing was the first part of this exercise, next, we will go over forking. Please follow my lead.''
+``Again, welcome to Lagrange Mr.~Pereira. It is my job to inform you of the basic mechanics that are present within the System. Your clothing was the first part of this exercise, next, we will go over forking. Please follow my lead.''
 
 While he had no idea what to expect upon uploading, he wasn't expecting such a hasty introduction\ldots{} or at least one that felt so precise and mechanical.
 
-``Pardon, Senhora, but may I ask if you are real?... Also, to slow down. I understand your time is valuable but this is feeling all a little overwhelming to me. Perhaps you could offer me your name? And you may refer to me as Henrique, please.''
+``Pardon, \emph{Senhora,} but may I ask if you are real?\ldots{} Also, to slow down. I understand your time is valuable but this is feeling all a little overwhelming to me. Perhaps you could offer me your name? And you may refer to me as Henrique, please.''
 
-The furry's smile falters, before a hand raises up as she grasps her temples between two fingers. ``My apologies, Henrique.'' She bows apologetically, curt and quick however, to keep this implied schedule on track.}
+The furry's smile falters, before a hand raises up as she grasps her temples between two fingers. ``My apologies, Henrique.'' She bows apologetically, curt and quick however, to keep this implied schedule on track.
 
-\emph{``It has been\ldots{} quite hectic recently, I assure you I am very much `real' and not some digital construct you'd otherwise be familiar with on the `net, if that was what you were implying. I suppose I have been feeling a little thin as a result of recent events. You may call me Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode Clade. In All Ways for short.''
+``It has been\ldots{} quite hectic recently, I assure you I am very much `real' and not some digital construct you'd otherwise be familiar with on the 'net, if that was what you were implying. I suppose I have been feeling a little thin as a result of recent events. You may call me Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode Clade. In All Ways for short.''
 
 Henrique grunts and smiles. ``Quite a name, In All Ways, but I do not judge. Now what is this about forking?''
 
 She nods, then raises a hand to her side before an exact duplicate of her appears in an instant, mirroring her pose and demeanor. ``Forking, as we of the System have coined it, is the ability to replicate yourself. It is important to know that this fork is not just a construct, a program, or a template-''
 
-The other In All Ways speaks- ``But a whole person. With their own desires, hopes, and dreams that are parallel or differ from your own. Those who dive into this practice wholeheartedly are known as dispersionistas, which make up the vast majority of the population here\ldots{} while others who are more free with individuation are known as trackers, while not always as liberal with their forking, they still form the other sizable chunk of the Systems population. Lastly we have those who simply fork to complete tasks or short term objectives, and prefer not to individuate. They are aptly known as Taskers, and fill up the last chunk of the System.
+The other In All Ways speaks. ``But a whole person. With their own desires, hopes, and dreams that are parallel or differ from your own. Those who dive into this practice wholeheartedly are known as dispersionistas, which make up the vast majority of the population here\ldots{} while others who are more free with individuation are known as trackers, while not always as liberal with their forking, they still form the other sizable chunk of the Systems population. Lastly we have those who simply fork to complete tasks or short term objectives, and prefer not to individuate. They are aptly known as Taskers, and fill up the last chunk of the System.
 
 Despite her best efforts, the slip up was clear in her speech. That pause allowed for the pang of unmistakable pain, anger, frustration, sadness, and grief, to give way to a convoluted series of expressions shared between the two In All Ways, both suffering these emotions in divergent ways. Some trauma surging forth and causing the twin furries to ripple briefly.
 
-Henrique frowns, a hand raised to place upon or embrace In All Ways, before pulling back- ``Ah\ldots{} pardon I should ask before offering comfort. I understand the pain too well, In All Ways.''
+Henrique frowns, a hand raised to place upon or embrace In All Ways, before pulling back. ``Ah\ldots{} pardon I should ask before offering comfort. I understand the pain too well, In All Ways.''
 
-``Do you?!...'' Both reply with a snap. The leftmost one maintains a spiteful glare, before vanishing as the original recoils and looks to the floor shamefully. Henrique all the while, continues to stand there with his hand out. Gradually, he lowers it and reaches for one of In All Ways paws, getting her attention. He gives an understanding smile, unphased by the furry's tumultuous emotions barely held at bay.
+``Do you?!\ldots{}'' Both reply with a snap. The leftmost one maintains a spiteful glare, before vanishing as the original recoils and looks to the floor shamefully. Henrique all the while, continues to stand there with his hand out. Gradually, he lowers it and reaches for one of In All Ways paws, getting her attention. He gives an understanding smile, unphased by the furry's tumultuous emotions barely held at bay.
 
-``I\ldots{} can, yes. Perhaps not exactly as you do, In All Ways. But I can. I know the pain of losing someone. Someone close, someone you care for. And I give my sincerest condolences to those who you have lost. You are with common company, and you do not need to apologize, Senhora''
+``I\ldots{} can, yes. Perhaps not exactly as you do, In All Ways. But I can. I know the pain of losing someone. Someone close, someone you care for. And I give my sincerest condolences to those who you have lost. You are with common company, and you do not need to apologize, \emph{Senhora.}''
 
 ``I am\ldots{} I\ldots{} Mm\ldots{} Thank you.'' In All Ways mumbles, ceasing her seeking of that instinctual apology, the urge to explain, and glances up, tears just beginning to stain her cheeks, before she forks them away. She remains silent and nods, exhales, then breaths in, composing herself, and returns her gaze to the elderly man. His face, a gentle network of lines forming an understanding, compassionate smile.
 
@@ -308,11 +316,11 @@ In All Ways stared at the pair, her eyes, tired still, no longer viewed either w
 
 ``Good. It's important you understand how to fork, as it is a vital part of the System's mechanics. May we continue?''
 
-Both Henriques look at one another, smiling in their own ways. The elders face wet with joy, years of regret resolved. The youths face beaming, and tearful as well. Excited for a future they never had.}
+Both Henriques look at one another, smiling in their own ways. The elders face wet with joy, years of regret resolved. The youths face beaming, and tearful as well. Excited for a future they never had.
 
-\emph{The moment is peaceful, interrupted only by an embrace of the two Henriques, enhanced from this tranquility and relief. Then, there was one. As the elder Henrique accepted the merger and quit.
+The moment is peaceful, interrupted only by an embrace of the two Henriques, enhanced from this tranquility and relief. Then, there was one. As the elder Henrique accepted the merger and quit.
 
-As In All Ways watches thi happen, she walks up to the youth, standing at attention but with expressive hesitation in her face. ``Actually, before we move onto the last step. I have a question I must ask. It is entirely optional, and purely to sate my own curiosity, so you need not answer if it does not suit you too.''
+As In All Ways watches this happen, she walks up to the youth, standing at attention but with expressive hesitation in her face. ``Actually, before we move onto the last step. I have a question I must ask. It is entirely optional, and purely to sate my own curiosity, so you need not answer if it does not suit you too.''
 
 Henrique looks to In All Ways, nearly at the same height now, and nods. Juvenile voice adjusting to what the world weary mind could recall. ``Of course, ask away In All Ways.''
 
@@ -324,24 +332,24 @@ He sighs, slippered foot kicking at nothing in particular on the slate gray floo
 
 In All Ways smile returns in full, her hand resting on Henriques shoulder. ``Thank you for indulging me, Henrique. And I can assure you, we will see that seed blossom into something beautiful. Now, onto the final aspects of this training. My next step is to teach you how to navigate the System. Similar to forking, you must think with intent, in this case, of the location by its signifier. This is sometimes referred to as stepping into a sim.''
 
-Henrique nods, stepping back, before cocking his head. ``But, In All Ways. I have just gotten here, where exactly do you expect me to go?... wait.'' His smile broadens and reveals his pearly teeth. ``M-may I step into the sim of my brother? Is that possible?''
+Henrique nods, stepping back, before cocking his head. ``But, In All Ways. I have just gotten here, where exactly do you expect me to go?\ldots{} wait.'' His smile broadens and reveals his pearly teeth. ``M-may I step into the sim of my brother? Is that possible?''
 
-In All Ways nods, ``I just sent a sensorium ping to... a downtree of the `Macaw' clade, they refer to themselves as Diago Hyacinth, so you are aware. They'll be awaiting your arrival. I'm sending you the name and tag of the Sim now.
+In All Ways nods, ``I just sent a sensorium ping to\ldots{} a down-tree of the `Macaw' clade, they refer to themselves as Diago Hyacinth, so you are aware. They'll be awaiting your arrival. I'm sending you the name and tag of the Sim now.
 
 Henrique shivers, feeling the sudden arrival of information that wasn't there mere moments ago. Excitement brimming.
 
-``And one last thing, Henrique. What is your clade name? If you do not have something in mind for me to register now, I will simply reach out to you later.'' She steps back, signifying the finality of this meeting.}
+``And one last thing, Henrique. What is your clade name? If you do not have something in mind for me to register now, I will simply reach out to you later.'' She steps back, signifying the finality of this meeting.
 
-\emph{Henrique answers almost immediately- ``Pereira Clade, please. Goodbye Senhora In All Ways. Thank you.'' and steps from the sim. He's met by a familiar sight, the backyard of his family home where he grew up, however instead of flat field with upturned dirt and rusting soccer goals, with a single floor shack of a house behind him, there was a plethora of budding flowers, green shrubbery, trees, and the serene sounds of chirping birds and gentle winds filling the air.
+Henrique answers almost immediately. ``Pereira Clade, please. Goodbye \emph{Senhora} In All Ways. Thank you.'' and steps from the sim. He's met by a familiar sight, the backyard of his family home where he grew up, however instead of flat field with upturned dirt and rusting soccer goals, with a single floor shack of a house behind him, there was a plethora of budding flowers, green shrubbery, trees, and the serene sounds of chirping birds and gentle winds filling the air.
 
-``Olá, irmão mais velho!''
+\emph{``Olá, irmão mais velho!''}
 
-``Olá!''
+\emph{``Olá!''}
 
-``Is- Is it really you?''
+``Is\ldots{} Is it really you?''
 
 Henrique turns as he hears those three similar, familiar voices calling out to him. Now, as he looks upon the source of those voices, he stares up to see a towering, adult, anthropomorphized chimeric individual who wore the heads of a panther, a bull, and a python, on his widened torso, all staring at him with utmost glee. The trio step forward, those familiar green eyes impossible to confuse for anyone else's.''
 
-``Sim, querido Diago. It is me, Henrique, your big brother. Its really, truely, me.''
+``\emph{Sim, querido Diago}. It is me, Henrique, your big brother. Its really, truly, me.''
 
-The two surrender to their withheld urges, and rush to meet one another in tearful, joyful, brotherly fashion. An embrace sought after for generations, centuries, years that tried to dry and wither a snuffed and suffocating desire, a desire now rekindled and set ablaze into a blossoming, hopeful, beautiful sight to behold amongst this blooming garden. A single blue feather drifts down, as a macaw flies free with its flock in tow.}
+The two surrender to their withheld urges, and rush to meet one another in tearful, joyful, brotherly fashion. An embrace sought after for generations, centuries, years that tried to dry and wither a snuffed and suffocating desire, a desire now rekindled and set ablaze into a blossoming, hopeful, beautiful sight to behold amidst this blooming garden. A single blue feather drifts down, as a macaw flies free with its flock in tow.

marsh/includes/copyright.tex

@@ -29,7 +29,7 @@ This book uses the fonts Gentium Book Basic, {\DisplayFont Gotu} and {\TitleFont
     \vspace{2em}
 
     {\large The Post-Self Cycle}\\
-    by Madison Rye Progress (as Madison Scott-Clary)
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress (as Madison Scott-Clary)}
 
     \vspace{1ex}
      
@@ -44,27 +44,32 @@ This book uses the fonts Gentium Book Basic, {\DisplayFont Gotu} and {\TitleFont
     \vspace{2ex}
      
     \emph{\large Clade — A Post-Self Anthology}\\
-    Various authors
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
      
     \vspace{2ex}
 
     \emph{\large Unintended Tendencies}\\
-    by JL Conway
+    {\normalfont\small by JL Conway}
      
     \vspace{2ex}
     
     \emph{\large Marsh}\\
-    by Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
 
     \vspace{2ex}
      
     \emph{\large Motes Played}\\
-    by Madison Rye Progress \& Samantha Yule Fireheart
+    {\normalfont\small by Madison Rye Progress \& Samantha Yule Fireheart}
 
     \vspace{2ex}
      
     \emph{\large Ask. — An Odist Q\&A}\\
-    Various authors
+    {\normalfont\small Various authors}
+
+    \vspace{2ex}
+     
+    \emph{\large Idumea}\\
+    {\normalfont\small Madison Rye Progress \emph{et al.}}
 
     \vspace{3ex}
 

marsh/includes/pagelayout.tex

@@ -62,7 +62,7 @@
 
 		#2}
   \end{center}
-  \addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{Interlude: #1}
+  \addcontentsline{toc}{chapter}{— Interlude: #1}
   \cftaddtitleline{toc}{section}{\itshape #2}{}
   \vfill
   \makeatother

marsh/stories/journal.tex

@@ -1,114 +1,114 @@
-\hypertarget{may-12th-2400}{%
-\subsubsection{\texorpdfstring{\emph{\textbf{May 12th, 2400}}}{May 12th, 2400}}\label{may-12th-2400}}
+\noindent\textbf{May 12th, 2400}
 
-\emph{The door is pressed open and the lights are turned on with a soft click, below wooden planks bemoan the shuffling feat of Henrique and his slippers, his old jeans loose and baggy, the knitted sweater he wears worn like his brittle bones. He walks with his cane, tapping on the floor as he finds his seat- guided by his great Granddaughter Isa, who guides him with steady, thoughtfully slow, footing.}
+The door is pressed open and the lights are turned on with a soft click, below wooden planks bemoan the shuffling feat of Henrique and his slippers, his old jeans loose and baggy, the knitted sweater he wears worn like his brittle bones. He walks with his cane, tapping on the floor as he finds his seat, guided by his great Granddaughter Isa, who guides him with steady, thoughtfully slow, footing.
 
-``Take a seat Grand Papi\ldots{} it will\ldots{} it will all, uhm\ldots'' \emph{she mutters the words ``be okay'' aimlessly, then lets a minute of quiet drift between the two of them, sounds of weeping heard from the floor below. She had only recently entered her teens, how could such innocence possibly understand such loss, the ramifications of the news not yet settled in for youthful Isa, yet the reality sank soundly onto the soul of elderly Henrique. The meandering minute passes, and Isa looks back up, eyes filled with concern for her great Grandfather's wellbeing.} ``Ah, Grand Papi, would you like me to get you your coffee mug? A blanket? Anything to give you comfort?...''
+``Take a seat Grand Papi\ldots{} it will\ldots{} it will all, uhm\ldots{}'' she mutters the words, ``be okay'' aimlessly, then lets a minute of quiet drift between the two of them, sounds of weeping heard from the floor below. She had only recently entered her teens, how could such innocence possibly understand such loss, the ramifications of the news not yet settled in for youthful Isa, yet the reality sank soundly onto the soul of elderly Henrique. The meandering minute passes, and Isa looks back up, eyes filled with concern for her great Grandfather's wellbeing. ``Ah, Grand Papi, would you like me to get you your coffee mug? A blanket? Anything to give you comfort\ldots?''
 
-\emph{Finally, he begins to sit down on his leather recliner, waving his aged hand dismissively, wrinkled and frail. His dower face, aged like the cracked leather he put his weight onto and pock marked with freckles from years in the sun, bunches together as he grimaces, not at the offer but towards the state of the world, the state of his family, the state of the System, and perhaps his aching body as well.
+Finally, he begins to sit down on his leather recliner, waving his aged hand dismissively, wrinkled and frail. His dower face, aged like the cracked leather he put his weight onto and pock marked with freckles from years in the sun, bunches together as he grimaces, not at the offer but towards the state of the world, the state of his family, the state of the System, and perhaps his aching body as well.
 
-Gently, slowly, deliberately he lowers himself and rests into the seat, his reading seat, the seat he got from his aunt as part of her will, a skilled tanner- skill that shined through the weathered cushions that strained to}
+Gently, slowly, deliberately he lowers himself and rests into the seat, his reading seat, the seat he got from his aunt as part of her will, a skilled tanner---skill that shined through the weathered cushions that strained to hold his retired body. So weak, so old---the days of power and youth having left him, drained from him by the decades. He looks up, and lets out a tired, weary sigh, then shakes his head.
 
-\emph{hold his retired body. So weak, so old- the days of power and youth having left him, drained from him by the decades. He looks up, and lets out a tired, weary sigh, then shakes his head.
-
-``I\ldots{} I just need to sit down, my dear. Sit down... Just... sit down. To think\ldots{} in quiet. Please, Isa my dear, leave me be for now. Go, tend to your Mami, she needs your comfort.''
+``I\ldots{} I just need to sit down, my dear. Sit down\ldots{} Just\ldots{} sit down. To think\ldots{} in quiet. Please, Isa my dear, leave me be for now. Go, tend to your Mami, she needs your comfort.''
 
 He stares back down at his lap, grunting and listening to the door creak closed as Isa leaves, allowing lingering thoughts to swell in might and misery. Flashes of denial sting as Henrique's depressed thoughts flow freely, he attempts to come to terms with the news again, just as another baleful shriek fills the air, a cry, a plea heard by none who deserved it.
 
-Descendants deleted and ancestors now long gone. His Granddaughter weeps at the knowledge her handful of children and acres of ancestry were now lost, taken from her just as his brother was through the same act of terrorism.}
+Descendants deleted and ancestors now long gone. His Granddaughter weeps at the knowledge her handful of children and acres of ancestry were now lost, taken from her just as his brother was through the same act of terrorism.
 
-\emph{Terrorism. What a foul concept that was so filled with angry grays, blacks, and whites. Months, months the System was down and its dire truths suppressed- until finally reaching the `net in a slow torrent of terrible news, chaotic questions, corroborating with bitter claims, the collectivists caused harm on a cataclysmic scale, like some malevolent maelstrom, a maverick ridden by the reapers' wrath.}
+Terrorism. What a foul concept that was so filled with angry grays, blacks, and whites. Months, months the System was down and its dire truths suppressed, until finally reaching the `net in a slow torrent of terrible news, chaotic questions, corroborating with bitter claims, the collectivists caused harm on a cataclysmic scale, like some malevolent maelstrom, a maverick ridden by the reapers' wrath.
 
-\emph{He looks at his hands, fingers clenched and unclenching, shaking. Tempering anger soothes his emotions with contempt to those responsible, as tears get lost in the saddened crow's-feet lining his tired face. His watery eyes look to the left, noticing the spine of a lithe book tucked within the drawer of his side table, a familiar thing that rested with a fine, blue-feathered, ink quill strapped to its outside.}
+He looks at his hands, fingers clenched and unclenching, shaking. Tempering anger soothes his emotions with contempt to those responsible, as tears get lost in the saddened crow's-feet lining his tired face. His watery eyes look to the left, noticing the spine of a lithe book tucked within the drawer of his side table, a familiar thing that rested with a fine, blue-feathered, ink quill strapped to its outside.
 
-\emph{He sighs somberly, shakily, and reaches for the journal that once belonged to his late and lost. A Journal of Diago Pereira, his brother --- or siblings, as he would later come to learn in his youth, and love years after his younger brother uploaded with his once hidden plurality in tow.}
+He sighs somberly, shakily, and reaches for the journal that once belonged to his late and lost. A Journal of Diago Pereira, his brother---or siblings, as he would later come to learn in his youth, and love years after his younger brother uploaded with his once hidden plurality in tow.
 
-\emph{The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans' mind, and moved him to lift the old literature to his lap. Tears gradually overwhelming, he wipes them off and opens the book to the first page, a familiar feeling now underwhelming compared to the weight of tragedy on his shoulders;
+The next few moments were a blanket of misery, misery that mastered the old mans' mind, and moved him to lift the old literature to his lap. Tears gradually overwhelming, he wipes them off and opens the book to the first page, a familiar feeling now underwhelming compared to the weight of tragedy on his shoulders:
 
-12th March 2304}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{12th of March 2304}
 
-\emph{Today is my 17th birthday and as a gift my Grand mami got me this journal to practice my english writing in. My teacher told me my writing is pretty good since he started teaching me but needs work and my mami thought it would be a good idea to give me a book to practice in. He said I should focus on my punctuation mostly as I seem to forget to include that in my writing sometimes. He also said my spelling could do a little bit of work so I'll try and focus on that.
-}
+Today is my 17th birthday and as a gift my Grand mami got me this journal to practice my english writing in. My teacher told me my writing is pretty good since he started teaching me but needs work and my mami thought it would be a good idea to give me a book to practice in. He said I should focus on my punctuation mostly as I seem to forget to include that in my writing sometimes. He also said my spelling could do a little bit of work so I'll try and focus on that.
 
-\emph{Today was so fun after school, I took my bike home and my cousins, sisters and a few of our friends from the next farm over were waiting for me! I even saw aunt Corita, she managed to get the day off from the Ansible clinic, I hardly ever get to see her. We had a quick game in the backyard field , I think my sisters took it easy on me, there usually way more dexterous then I am! \textbf{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.).} I can still play pretty good Fel!
+Today was so fun after school, I took my bike home and my cousins, sisters and a few of our friends from the next farm over were waiting for me! I even saw aunt Corita, she managed to get the day off from the Ansible clinic, I hardly ever get to see her. We had a quick game in the backyard field , I think my sisters took it easy on me, there usually way more dexterous then I am! \emph{\textsc{(Eles fizeram isso, eu já vi eles chutarem você, mas no futebol! Haha.)}.} I can still play pretty good Fel!
 
 Anyway, after a few goals, my mami called us in for dinner! It was Fels and my favorite, homemade Acarajé and Picanha, and for dessert Grand mami made me a vanilla cake with blue icing!
 
 After we ate, my mami and Grand mami gave me my gifts, this journal and a letter from my brother that wished he could be there. He also sent me printed photos of him and his army buddies at the BrAr Line. They smile, but the scenery is so grim and barren. My aunt tells me it was once farmland, and now it's just mud and metal fences.
 
-Even if this was given to me to improve my English writing, I really enjoyed writing about my day! And I didn't expect it to be. But I am tired and don't have much else to say, the cake was yummy! I always love Grand mamis' cakes.
+Even if this was given to me to improve my English writing, I really enjoyed writing about my day! And I didn't expect it to be. But I am tired and don't have much else to say, the cake was yummy! I always love Grand mami's cakes.
+\end{quote}
 
-In the margin, ``Property of Diago Pereira'' can be read, along with the thumb smearing of blue icing dye that has since stained the once fresh paper, now freshly stained by stray tears. Henrique smiles, sniffling softly as the wrinkles on his face rise, his thumb and forefinger slides the pages to a random entry, a familiar sensation of such delicate paper dancing between his fingertips- wrinkled, marked, and lightly stained pages of faded graphite and century old ink- dates dotting the upper left. He moves his hand across the paper, reading the crude handwriting of early script, a pastime he took part in on a monthly basis, now a catharsis, a means to mourn.
+In the margin, ``Property of Diago Pereira'' can be read, along with the thumb smearing of blue icing dye that has since stained the once fresh paper, now freshly stained by stray tears. Henrique smiles, sniffling softly as the wrinkles on his face rise, his thumb and forefinger slides the pages to a random entry, a familiar sensation of such delicate paper dancing between his fingertips---wrinkled, marked, and lightly stained pages of faded graphite and century old ink---dates dotting the upper left. He moves his hand across the paper, reading the crude handwriting of early script, a pastime he took part in on a monthly basis, now a catharsis, a means to mourn.
 
 He flips through the pages more, methodically moving fingers before finding one to finally read through in full:
 
-17th of June 2304}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{17th of June 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, I got home today after my english classes, and Mami and my sisters told me Henrique had sent a letter from the BrAr Line. It talked about how he saw a Hyacinth Macaw making a nest on one of the watchtowers at the Briar. \textbf{(SORTUDO! Eu gostaria que pudéssemos ver mais a linha do briar. Parece tão interessante.)} It really doesn't Fel.\textbf{\hfill\break
-\hfill\break
-}He wrote in the letter that he was ordered to chase the bird off because it was making a nest, but even with him and his buddies' best efforts it stayed. I'm proud of it! This story got a laugh out of everyone, and to my surprise mom showed me a feather that came with the letter, it was bright blue! Further down, my brother said that while he was trying to get the bird to leave, he managed to collect a few feathers from its nest and thought I'd like to have one. (\textbf{Henrique é um irmão tão legal. Espero que você possa me apresentar a ele em breve.)} I do too, Fel.
+Dear Journal, I got home today after my english classes, and Mami and my sisters told me Henrique had sent a letter from the BrAr Line. It talked about how he saw a Hyacinth Macaw making a nest on one of the watchtowers at the Briar. \emph{\textsc{(SORTUDO! Eu gostaria que pudéssemos ver mais a linha do briar. Parece tão interessante.)}} It really doesn't Fel.
 
-Both Fel and I are so excited to have received it, the Hyacinth Macaw is believed to be an extinct species. To know one still lives makes us so happy! I can't wait to show this in class tomorrow, I know Mr. Rocha loves to watch birds as much as I do.
+He wrote in the letter that he was ordered to chase the bird off because it was making a nest, but even with him and his buddies' best efforts it stayed. I'm proud of it! This story got a laugh out of everyone, and to my surprise mom showed me a feather that came with the letter, it was bright blue! Further down, my brother said that while he was trying to get the bird to leave, he managed to collect a few feathers from its nest and thought I'd like to have one. \textsc{\emph{(Henrique é um irmão tão legal. Espero que você possa me apresentar a ele em breve.)}} I do too, Fel.
 
-Speaking of Mr. Rocha! I asked him if I could borrow his binoculars after class today. I've been wanting to go visit my spot with them and see what birds have been nesting near there. He agreed with the exception that, ``You better let me come with you, I'm not about to miss out on a bird watching expedition, let alone give my binoculars away without supervision!'' I know he meant well by that, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Mr. Rocha is a good teacher, though. Friends of my eldest cousin, who was taught by him when she was younger!
+Both Fel and I are so excited to have received it, the Hyacinth Macaw is believed to be an extinct species. To know one still lives makes us so happy! I can't wait to show this in class tomorrow, I know Mr.~Rocha loves to watch birds as much as I do.
+
+Speaking of Mr.~Rocha! I asked him if I could borrow his binoculars after class today. I've been wanting to go visit my spot with them and see what birds have been nesting near there. He agreed with the exception that, ``You better let me come with you, I'm not about to miss out on a bird watching expedition, let alone give my binoculars away without supervision!'' I know he meant well by that, but I couldn't help but feel a little nervous. Mr.~Rocha is a good teacher, though. Friends of my eldest cousin, who was taught by him when she was younger!
 
 After looking at the letter and feathers, my sisters and I did our chores around the farmstead with the farm hands. Just as I was finishing, my sisters came up to me and told me they saw a flock of white birds that were nesting in one of our Latex Trees, I could only guess what they must've been at the time, but I wouldn't have guessed they're White-Necked Hawks! They were all nested there and warding danger away from the nest. They looked so majestic! I can't wait to watch their eggs hatch, such a beautiful species of bird!
-}
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{One of his favorite entries, and a reminder of a brighter day at the Briar line- one not so filled with dull gray and scorched earth. He frowns, hesitates, then hastily lifts the journal from his lap- finding the ink quill resting in the nook of his arm rest and right leg. He carefully raises it up, pondering- not recalling- how he so quickly removed it from the strap on the journal, carefully preening the blue feather adorned to the end of the writing utensil.}
+One of his favorite entries, and a reminder of a brighter day at the Briar line, one not so filled with dull gray and scorched earth. He frowns, hesitates, then hastily lifts the journal from his lap, finding the ink quill resting in the nook of his arm rest and right leg. He carefully raises it up, pondering---not recalling---how he so quickly removed it from the strap on the journal, carefully preening the blue feather adorned to the end of the writing utensil.
 
-\emph{His hand works the fine fibers of the feather, tracing it down to the firmness of the pen nib, pointed, certain, precise. He lazily drags that same fingers as before across another section of pages, coarse papers scraping assuredly as he stumbles into another two entries, both rather lengthy:}
+His hand works the fine fibers of the feather, tracing it down to the firmness of the pen nib, pointed, certain, precise. He lazily drags that same fingers as before across another section of pages, coarse papers scraping assuredly as he stumbles into another two entries, both rather lengthy:
 
+\begin{quote}
 \emph{24th of July 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, today I write away from home. I told Mami I was going to spend the night over at Gregors home, to which she was wary to acknowledge me doing so. She made sure I had my tablet with me, and that I had lunch packed as well. I appreciate her concern but sometimes it feels almost too much. Before I left, Mami also made sure I had offered my chores to one of my sisters, which I had, telling her Iara agreed to do my tasks today so I could spend the night away from home. I'll just end up doing twice of hers on the weekend.}
+Dear Journal, today I write away from home. I told Mami I was going to spend the night over at Gregors home, to which she was wary to acknowledge me doing so. She made sure I had my tablet with me, and that I had lunch packed as well. I appreciate her concern but sometimes it feels almost too much. Before I left, Mami also made sure I had offered my chores to one of my sisters, which I had, telling her Iara agreed to do my tasks today so I could spend the night away from home. I'll just end up doing twice of hers on the weekend.
 
-\emph{Since I plan to spend the night over at the high rises, I left early this morning. I hadn't been to see Gregor in a few months and was curious about what was new.}
+Since I plan to spend the night over at the high rises, I left early this morning. I hadn't been to see Gregor in a few months and was curious about what was new.
 
-\emph{Fel and I hitched a ride on a truck, and on the way Fel was discussing with me if I had also felt the new identity that was forming. Fel and I still don't know where she came from, but we feel that she has a similar origin to Fel, herself. Hopefully we'll find out from this newcomer. \textbf{(Estou muito animado para ver se podemos aprender alguma coisa com esse novo companheiro plural, Diago. Você realmente deveria explorar mais a `Net sobre a pluralidade.)}}
+Fel and I hitched a ride on a truck, and on the way Fel was discussing with me if I had also felt the new identity that was forming. Fel and I still don't know where she came from, but we feel that she has a similar origin to Fel, herself. Hopefully we'll find out from this newcomer. \emph{\textsc{(Estou muito animado para ver se podemos aprender alguma coisa com esse novo companheiro plural, Diago. Você realmente deveria explorar mais a 'Net sobre a pluralidade.)}}
 
-\emph{Fel, you know I would if I had the time to do so! I'm just always too busy. Anyway, we've been writing this at the `cave' now, and it looks like it is probably two in the afternoon, and we've had our lunch too, feeling ready to go! Also, the tide is starting to fill up this old garage so I better get packing or I won't be able to take the boat out at all. Thankfully, the weather is peaceful with hurricanes Gabriel and Taylor having traveled down south this time of year. Still, the ocean waves are choppy so I won't be able to spend any time writing in the rowboat. Next entry will be written once we've made landfall, at the high rises. I'm hopeful Gregor will be available today!}
+Fel, you know I would if I had the time to do so! I'm just always too busy. Anyway, we've been writing this at the `cave' now, and it looks like it is probably two in the afternoon, and we've had our lunch too, feeling ready to go! Also, the tide is starting to fill up this old garage so I better get packing or I won't be able to take the boat out at all. Thankfully, the weather is peaceful with hurricanes Gabriel and Taylor having traveled down south this time of year. Still, the ocean waves are choppy so I won't be able to spend any time writing in the rowboat. Next entry will be written once we've made landfall, at the high rises. I'm hopeful Gregor will be available today!
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{\hfill\break
 Henriques smiles, recalling how adventurous youthful Diago was, he flips the page, his fingers feeling the pages curl, curious eyes reading the lines that are revealed.
-}
 
-\emph{25th of July 2304
-}
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{25th of July 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, Fel and I made it to Gregors' home without any issue, and are writing this entry at the top of the high rises! \textbf{(É tão bonito! Se não fossem as nuvens de Gabriel, você poderia ver todas as estrelas do céu!)} While the waves did rock the rowboat, it wasn't at all a challenge to find harbor at the old high rises. We were met by Marcia, who helped us anchor the boat to the third floor balcony-pier, and we caught up with one another! She asked how my mami and Grandmami were, how my sisters were, how the farm was doing, then offered me lunch which I politely declined. \textbf{(Ela fez Vatapá!! O Vatapá da Márcia! É sempre tão delicioso! Como você poderia deixar passar uma tigela fresquinha de Vatapá da Márcia, Diago!! Ah!)} I'm sorry Fel, but I wasn't hungry then! Quit thinking about your stomach so much.}
+Dear Journal, Fel and I made it to Gregors' home without any issue, and are writing this entry at the top of the high rises! \emph{\textsc{(É tão bonito! Se não fossem as nuvens de Gabriel, você poderia ver todas as estrelas do céu!)}} While the waves did rock the rowboat, it wasn't at all a challenge to find harbor at the old high rises. We were met by Marcia, who helped us anchor the boat to the third floor balcony-pier, and we caught up with one another! She asked how my mami and Grandmami were, how my sisters were, how the farm was doing, then offered me lunch which I politely declined. \emph{\textsc{(Ela fez Vatapá!! O Vatapá da Márcia! É sempre tão delicioso! Como você poderia deixar passar uma tigela fresquinha de Vatapá da Márcia, Diago!! Ah!)}} I'm sorry Fel, but I wasn't hungry then! Quit thinking about your stomach so much.
 
-\emph{\hfill\break
-Anyway, after our talk, Marcia led us to where Gregor was, he was busy doing his own chores and tending to the seventh floor gardens. I always enjoy walking up to this floor, the view is amazing, though often windy without any wall. As soon as he saw me we hugged! It'd been too long, and like his mother, we talked about how things had been in the last few months, his community, my family, the hazards of the weather and the hazards of piracy along the coast, their fishing farms, our latex farms- \textbf{(Na verdade, ele mencionou como conseguiram pescar atum hoje! E íamos tomar um pote Grande de Moqueca de Camarão! O que foi TÃO DELICIOSO!)} Oh yeah! We've never had real Tuna before, only ever that fake processed stuff. So when Gregor offered to have us present for their dinner we were more than happy to accept, we even told them we intended to stay the night, which he and Marcia were happy to oblige.
+Anyway, after our talk, Marcia led us to where Gregor was, he was busy doing his own chores and tending to the seventh floor gardens. I always enjoy walking up to this floor, the view is amazing, though often windy without any wall. As soon as he saw me we hugged! It'd been too long, and like his mother, we talked about how things had been in the last few months, his community, my family, the hazards of the weather and the hazards of piracy along the coast, their fishing farms, our latex farms-- \emph{\textsc{(Na verdade, ele mencionou como conseguiram pescar atum hoje! E íamos tomar um pote Grande de Moqueca de Camarão! O que foi TÃO DELICIOSO!)}} Oh yeah! We've never had real Tuna before, only ever that fake processed stuff. So when Gregor offered to have us present for their dinner we were more than happy to accept, we even told them we intended to stay the night, which he and Marcia were happy to oblige.
 
-We spent the remainder of our afternoon playing Go. He's always been better at it, and we don't have a board at home to practice. Regardless, it was a lot of fun! And I did manage to win a game in the end.}
+We spent the remainder of our afternoon playing Go. He's always been better at it, and we don't have a board at home to practice. Regardless, it was a lot of fun! And I did manage to win a game in the end.
 
-\emph{Now, Fel and I sit on the roof and gaze across the stars. It is truly gorgeous\ldots{} and I think we can spot the System too, orbiting overhead. Honestly it's crazy to think some of my Grandparents are there now. I hope they look at us and bless us with a good harvest, surely the tuna Gregor's family caught was one. \textbf{(Você acha que algum dia chegaremos lá, Diago?)} I don't know Fel! It would be cool, though I bet.
+Now, Fel and I sit on the roof and gaze across the stars. It is truly gorgeous\ldots{} and I think we can spot the System too, orbiting overhead. Honestly it's crazy to think some of my Grandparents are there now. I hope they look at us and bless us with a good harvest, surely the tuna Gregor's family caught was one. \emph{\textsc{(Você acha que algum dia chegaremos lá, Diago?)}} I don't know Fel! It would be cool, though I bet.
 
-Sigh. I do not wish to be conscripted. I do not wish to tend the fields of burnt earth that my brother does. I wish he didn't either. \textbf{(É tão estúpido! Por que fomos para a guerra de novo? O que a Argentina fez com o Brasil? Por que seu irmão teve que ir! Por que NÓS temos que ir! Ah!)} I can't recall Fel, I wish Mami hadden gotten us into those history classes. Anyway, it smells like dinners done.}
+Sigh. I do not wish to be conscripted. I do not wish to tend the fields of burnt earth that my brother does. I wish he didn't either. \emph{\textsc{(É tão estúpido! Por que fomos para a guerra de novo? O que a Argentina fez com o Brasil? Por que seu irmão teve que ir! Por que NÓS temos que ir! Ah!)}} I can't recall Fel, I wish Mami hadden gotten us into those history classes. Anyway, it smells like dinners done.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{His anger, simmering now, grows sour with grief renewed. Why, why must they have done this? A society of people, free from the strifes of this withering world, peaceful and calm and claiming new lives- Taken, made lost for some bitter pointless stance. Had the universe not taken enough from him, from his family, from his people? Was it fate, destiny, that others would bring agony to the Pereira family and so many, many more on this hellish earth? Surely, he had done enough, harbored the forgotten sins of his nation for long enough, the punishments that his father endured and reflected onto him, for long enough? Surely, this was enough, should have been enough, to avoid this tragedy?
+His anger, simmering now, grows sour with grief renewed. Why, why must they have done this? A society of people, free from the strifes of this withering world, peaceful and calm and claiming new lives\ldots{} Taken, made lost for some bitter pointless stance. Had the universe not taken enough from him, from his family, from his people? Was it fate, destiny, that others would bring agony to the Pereira family and so many, many more on this hellish earth? Surely, he had done enough, harbored the forgotten sins of his nation for long enough, the punishments that his father endured and reflected onto him, for long enough? Surely, this was enough, should have been enough, to avoid this tragedy?
 
 To have lost so much more, to know generations of elders and cousins and sons and daughters were now gone. Now longer of the heavens but beyond, if there was such a thing. Henrique didn't have the slightest clue, and he doubted there was anything after. They were gone, his brother was gone. It was as simple as that, a weeding fact he began to harbor and nourish.
 
-He observes the fine details on the pen in this bitter moment of contemplation, Henrique's fingers flipping the pages with unplanned, instinctual precision- eyes unwittingly landing on the next entry:}
+He observes the fine details on the pen in this bitter moment of contemplation, Henrique's fingers flipping the pages with unplanned, instinctual precision, eyes unwittingly landing on the next entry:
 
+\begin{quote}
 \emph{23rd of September 2304}
 
-\emph{Dear Journal, class wasn't too special. My teacher commented that my punctuation has been remaining consistent but that I should try to expand my vocabulary and gave me a thesaurus. It's full of English words and very heavy! So I'll probably read it when I get home.}
+Dear Journal, class wasn't too special. My teacher commented that my punctuation has been remaining consistent but that I should try to expand my vocabulary and gave me a thesaurus. It's full of English words and very heavy! So I'll probably read it when I get home.
 
-\emph{\hfill\break
-But! FINALLY after months of planning, Mr. Rocha and I left to go birdwatching. He was very busy marking the exams of all the classes he taught, but he was able to schedule some time with me this week! We have been planning to visit a spot along the interior, within the marshes and prairies of província cinzenta. I told him it was nothing special, just a place I try to visit when I have enough allowance to take the bus that far. \textbf{(Agradeça aos antepassados \hspace{0pt}\hspace{0pt}que o Sr. Rocha possui um caminhão! Eu odeio pegar carona em ônibus. Ou está super lotado ou temos que sentar no telhado\ldots) {[}Yeah, it was quite far, and his truck was quite comfy. Though honestly, I was just excited we got to see somewhere new that's not just your house or farm.{]}} Yeah! You sounded like you enjoyed it as much as we did, huh Davi? \textbf{{[}Yeah! The views were beautiful. If a bit haunting. You still need to take me to Gregor's one of these days, I'm sure he'd be happy to have you visit him again.{]}} \textbf{(Oh sim! As vistas da casa dele são INCRÍVEIS! Além disso, a comida da sua mãe é TÃO deliciosa!)}}
+But! FINALLY after months of planning, Mr.~Rocha and I left to go birdwatching. He was very busy marking the exams of all the classes he taught, but he was able to schedule some time with me this week! We have been planning to visit a spot along the interior, within the marshes and prairies of província cinzenta. I told him it was nothing special, just a place I try to visit when I have enough allowance to take the bus that far. \emph{\textsc{(Agradeça aos antepassados que o Sr.~Rocha possui um caminhão! Eu odeio pegar carona em ônibus. Ou está super lotado ou temos que sentar no telhado\ldots)} Yeah, it was quite far, and his truck was quite comfy. Though honestly, I was just excited we got to see somewhere new that's not just your house or farm.} Yeah! You sounded like you enjoyed it as much as we did, huh Davi? \textbf{(Yeah! The views were beautiful. If a bit haunting. You still need to take me to Gregor's one of these days, I'm sure he'd be happy to have you visit him again.)} \emph{\textsc{(Oh sim! As vistas da casa dele são INCRÍVEIS! Além disso, a comida da sua mãe é TÃO deliciosa!)}}
 
-\emph{I will, I will! Anyways, as should be obvious, getting there wasn't too difficult, and we parked along the eastern edge of the Amazona Basin. From there I led the way down some dirt trails, and showed Mr. Rocha a family of nursing trees that had begun to sprout new life. \textbf{{[}It was very pretty! There were at least five different burnt up trunks that had fallen over, and were all sprouting entirely different trees from them!{]}} Yeah! And in the trees, we saw many birds flying in and out, they looked like brownish twistwings, we also heard peeping! The sound filled me with such joy, and Mr. Rocha remarked how wonderful it was to see nature adapt and heal in spite of all the destruction caused by `A Grande Fumaça', so many years ago.}
+I will, I will! Anyways, as should be obvious, getting there wasn't too difficult, and we parked along the eastern edge of the Amazona Basin. From there I led the way down some dirt trails, and showed Mr.~Rocha a family of nursing trees that had begun to sprout new life. \textbf{(It was very pretty! There were at least five different burnt up trunks that had fallen over, and were all sprouting entirely different trees from them!)} Yeah! And in the trees, we saw many birds flying in and out, they looked like brownish twistwings, we also heard peeping! The sound filled me with such joy, and Mr.~Rocha remarked how wonderful it was to see nature adapt and heal in spite of all the destruction caused by `A Grande Fumaça', so many years ago.
 
-\emph{The comment had Davi curious, and so I asked him how `A Grande Fumaça' even started, \textbf{{[}Thanks again. I wasn't sure how Mr Rocha would take you being plural, otherwise I would have asked myself.{]} (Sr. Rocha arrasa! Tenho certeza de que ele teria ido às alturas para ouvir sobre nós!)} Eh\ldots{} I'm in agreement with Davi. I'd rather just keep this between us three.
+The comment had Davi curious, and so I asked him how `A Grande Fumaça' even started, \textbf{(Thanks again. I wasn't sure how Mr Rocha would take you being plural, otherwise I would have asked myself.)} \textsc{\emph{(Sr.~Rocha arrasa! Tenho certeza de que ele teria ido às alturas para ouvir sobre nós!)}} Eh\ldots{} I'm in agreement with Davi. I'd rather just keep this between us three.
 
-Anyways, I'm glad I asked because I learned things I never recalled being taught besides the really nasty terrorists and stuff. Anyway, when he was done I asked why people would do such things, it was kinda absent minded of me to ask, but when I did Mr. Rocha had this moment of contemplation before he told me that ``Some very angry people simply choose to resort to fan the hate and anger in their hearts, in order to make an impact on the world. In their case, they wanted many people to see the perils we suffer, like some twisted bonfire, and these people believed that by burning down the Amazon it would call the world into action.'' I told him that didn't make any sense, and he agreed, ``Anger drives many men to do senseless things, but this is why it is important to keep a level head at all times, and to control that flame, turn it towards a warm hearth that nurtures and improves the quality of all. Not tear it down and destroy it.''}
+Anyways, I'm glad I asked because I learned things I never recalled being taught besides the really nasty terrorists and stuff. Anyway, when he was done I asked why people would do such things, it was kinda absent minded of me to ask, but when I did Mr.~Rocha had this moment of contemplation before he told me that ``Some very angry people simply choose to resort to fan the hate and anger in their hearts, in order to make an impact on the world. In their case, they wanted many people to see the perils we suffer, like some twisted bonfire, and these people believed that by burning down the Amazon it would call the world into action.'' I told him that didn't make any sense, and he agreed, ``Anger drives many men to do senseless things, but this is why it is important to keep a level head at all times, and to control that flame, turn it towards a warm hearth that nurtures and improves the quality of all. Not tear it down and destroy it.''
 
-\emph{After our conversation, we went and had lunch. \textbf{(Foi Empadão caseiro! Devo dizer que o Sr. Rocha é um excelente cozinheiro!)} He is! And he made extras, so we got to take some home with us to share. Today was honestly the best.}
+After our conversation, we went and had lunch. \emph{\textsc{(Foi Empadão caseiro! Devo dizer que o Sr.~Rocha é um excelente cozinheiro!)}} He is! And he made extras, so we got to take some home with us to share. Today was honestly the best.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{Yet, despite the uplifting ending and relative cheerfulness of the entry, such aspects go unread and unappreciated as Henriques eyes stay fixed on the penultimate paragraph. His breath quickens to nigh hyperventilation with quicker clouds fogging Henrique's brief-bright thoughts with foul ashen clouds.
+Yet, despite the uplifting ending and relative cheerfulness of the entry, such aspects go unread and unappreciated as Henriques eyes stay fixed on the penultimate paragraph. His breath quickens to nigh hyperventilation with quicker clouds fogging Henrique's brief-bright thoughts with foul ashen clouds.
 
 A Grande Fumaça, another crazed disaster, dealt by the collective cells of Brazil. The terrorists' insanity deemed that the only path to salvation was more mindless destruction. To alter and to tarnish the Grand jungles of South America with thermite fueled flames.
 
@@ -118,35 +118,35 @@ Anger flares once more, the scalding inferno of nearly a century ago igniting ho
 
 He rises, his right hand numb, crumbles under the weight and he begins to fall to the floor. His left hand, clenched into a fist, slams to his inflamed chest, leaving him sobbing, weeping, falling. With a loud thump against the hardwood floor, he cries and whines. Why, why did they have to take his brother? Why did they have to kill so many bright souls, to accomplish what? To state what?
 
-``W-why\ldots{} W-whhyy\ldots{} whhyyy\ldots''
+``W-why\ldots{} W-whhyy\ldots{} whhyyy\ldots{}''
 
 He mutters through a limp tongue, half numb lips. He was shot, he realizes, he believes, time slowed like a putrid muck as the sudden taste of something sickening and metallic crosses his tongue. His heart hurts, agonizing, a flame. He struggles to breathe, and wonders why, why, why was he sent to the front line. Why was he chosen to be shot, an innocent at the whims of a corrupt government.
 
 He looks up, watching the members of the Argentinian resistance raid the Briar Line. Guns alight, loud, shouting, surrounding him, soon kicking him.
 
-``\textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe!} \textbf{Me perdoe! Me perdoe!}''
+\emph{``Me perdoe! Me perdoe! Me perdoe! Me perdoe!''}
+
 He begs for forgiveness as memory fades, figures all around him, following him to his youth. Full of bullies, malevolent peers, punishing him, teasing him, childishly chastising him for the acts of his rebellious father. A man dedicated to the independence of Rio Grande Do Sul, a man who died fighting the civil war, and marred his family name with the title of-
 
-``\textbf{Traidor! Traidor! Traidores Imundos!}''}
+\emph{``Traidor! Traidor! Traidores Imundos!''}
 
-\emph{-And he suffers the consequences. Crying, choking, dying, dimming\ldots{} before Diago screams, chasing, sprinting, pushing away the bullies, the ne'er do well teenagers twice the siblings' age.}
+-And he suffers the consequences. Crying, choking, dying, dimming\ldots{} before Diago screams, chasing, sprinting, pushing away the bullies, the ne'er do well teenagers twice the siblings' age.
 
-\emph{No longer surrounded, Diago leans down, reaching his hand towards his elder brother. Henrique looks up, vision blurred from the blinding backlit visage of Diago, details smeared- yet comfortably cool and shaded in soft shadows.}
+No longer surrounded, Diago leans down, reaching his hand towards his elder brother. Henrique looks up, vision blurred from the blinding backlit visage of Diago, details smeared, yet comfortably cool and shaded in soft shadows.
 
-\emph{``Ei, irmão mais velho!''
+\emph{``Ei, irmão mais velho!''}
 
 Henrique hears the cry of Diago calling out to him, before watching that youthful silhouette approach him, take a knee, and offer his hand down to his fallen self.
 
-Está tudo bem, você está seguro. Vamos, vamos para casa! Todo mundo está preocupado com você.''}
+\emph{``Está tudo bem, você está seguro. Vamos, vamos para casa! Todo mundo está preocupado com você.''}
 
-\emph{Henrique nods, sobbing, smiling, and reaches for Diagos hand, hearing the worry and concern in his brother's voice.
+Henrique nods, sobbing, smiling, and reaches for Diagos hand, hearing the worry and concern in his brother's voice.
 
-``Vamos para casa. Irmão mais novo...''
-}
+\emph{``Vamos para casa. Irmão mais novo\ldots{}''}
 
-\emph{Then everything fades to black.}
+Then everything fades to black.
 
-\emph{Hours that felt like minutes go by, and with a groggy start, white light fills Henriques vision.
+Hours that felt like minutes go by, and with a groggy start, white light fills Henriques vision.
 
 The door to the examination room clicks open, Isa walking in, exhausted, her nurse outfit freshly donned with fresh concern still on her face, she kneels down, checking on her Grand Papi, healing instincts kicking in as she takes Henriques hand, watching his face twitch into wakefulness.
 
@@ -156,24 +156,22 @@ Henrique simply nods, groaning, looking down at the white linen bed he found him
 
 Isa's fears quickly diminished as she saw him come too. Watching as his senses returned to him. It wasn't long before a doctor entered, clipboard in hand and hesitant smile showing.
 
+``Ah, Mr.~Pereira. You had us all worried there, but, thankfully to your Granddaughters quick thinking you're looking to make a full recovery. She's a very excellent nurse, we're lucky to have her with us.''
 
-``Ah, Mr. Pereira. You had us all worried there, but, thankfully to your Granddaughters quick thinking you're looking to make a full recovery. She's a very excellent nurse, we're lucky to have her with us.''
+Isa smiles, then glances over to the journal Henrique was just looking towards. She picks it up, handing it to him.
 
-Isa smiles, then glances over to the journal Henrique was just looking towards. She picks it up, handing it to him.}
-
-\emph{``Grand Papi, we'll be moving you to another room for the remainder of your stay, but once we're there would you like me to stick around for a while? The hospital has given me permission to attend to you, and, well, I saw you reading Grand uncle Diago's journal. I was thinking I could read some of it to you?''
+``Grand Papi, we'll be moving you to another room for the remainder of your stay, but once we're there would you like me to stick around for a while? The hospital has given me permission to attend to you, and, well, I saw you reading Grand uncle Diago's journal. I was thinking I could read some of it to you?''
 
 Henrique nods with a wide smile reaching from ear to ear, stretching those years of well earned lines like the boughs and branches of a Bertholletia Excelsa.
 
-``Of course, my dear Isa. I'd love that so, very much.''}
+``Of course, my dear Isa. I'd love that so, very much.''
 
-\emph{The minutes went by as medical accessories were untethered and unlatched from their anchoring, allowing Henriques' bed to be transported to his new room. Isa walked alongside while another nurse pushed, her fingers gently intertwined with her Grand papis' own.
+The minutes went by as medical accessories were untethered and unlatched from their anchoring, allowing Henriques' bed to be transported to his new room. Isa walked alongside while another nurse pushed, her fingers gently intertwined with her Grand papis' own.
 
-The new room was optimally lit and blandly furnished with whites, blues, and beige, presented in the most iconically hygienic ways a hospital could be. Isa finds a seat beside Henrique, a metal thing with dense padding cushions, unlike her grin which was soft and comforting- not at all dissimilar to her eyes, which began to look downward towards the journal that she split open in her hands. She carefully turned each page, finally landing on an entry that was written earlier into the books life:}
+The new room was optimally lit and blandly furnished with whites, blues, and beige, presented in the most iconically hygienic ways a hospital could be. Isa finds a seat beside Henrique, a metal thing with dense padding cushions, unlike her grin which was soft and comforting; not at all dissimilar to her eyes, which began to look downward towards the journal that she split open in her hands. She carefully turned each page, finally landing on an entry that was written earlier into the books life:
 
-\emph{\hfill\break
-\hfill\break
-3rd of May 2304
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{3rd of May 2304}
 
 Dear Journal, today I write after Fel and I have gone exploring! I did my chores this morning, stripping the bark from the trees mainly, then I went down to the coast and took the rowboat out from `the cave'. Though I didn't visit Gregor, instead I took the boat further west, to visit some of the abandoned towns in that area. I brought some chicken sandwiches with me, as I planned to stay most the day there and take the last bus back.
 
@@ -183,55 +181,54 @@ I also go because Fel is always wanting to see the world\ldots{} and she's alway
 
 Anyways, once we took the rowboat far enough, we anchored up to what we guessed must have been an old apartment complex? We could access the third and fourth floors, but the rest was flooded. But despite this, I was able to dive down to the floors below with my light to guide us. I always make sure to wear one on my chest so I'm never diving in the dark. I've also been practicing my diving for quite a while now, and the longest I can hold my breath while swimming is a full minute and sixteen seconds!
 
-Diving down to the floor below, it was filled with seaweed and other water plants, also I found all sorts of cool things, old photo portraits, toys, a Rig! It was inhabited by some tropical fish, Tetra I think is what they're called? Very small and they glowed brightly when my light hit them! It was very pretty! \textbf{(Tenho quase certeza de que vi uma caixa de tesouro também! Era pequeno e brilhante! Mas provavelmente é melhor que não o tenhamos feito. Estava preso atrás de muitos móveis antigos.)} Yeah, it wouldn't have been safe to try and dig that out.}
+Diving down to the floor below, it was filled with seaweed and other water plants, also I found all sorts of cool things, old photo portraits, toys, a Rig! It was inhabited by some tropical fish, Tetra I think is what they're called? Very small and they glowed brightly when my light hit them! It was very pretty! \emph{\textsc{(Tenho quase certeza de que vi uma caixa de tesouro também! Era pequeno e brilhante! Mas provavelmente é melhor que não o tenhamos feito. Estava preso atrás de muitos móveis antigos.)}} Yeah, it wouldn't have been safe to try and dig that out.
 
-\emph{When I surfaced I had my meal - (\textbf{Os sanduíches estavam MUITO deliciosos! Você Mami faz os melhores sanduíches.)} Yeah, they really are super good. Anyways, afterwards we swam down the outside of the building and we were able to get much deeper, even with the surrounding kelp clinging to its walls. Turns out the apartment was built on top of a barber! At least I assume it was a barber as I saw the red and blue striped pole on the outside of it. I couldn't open the door, and the windows were boarded up to get some breath. Next we explored the upper floors above the water. The building was very slanted, so climbing the old stairs wasn't easy, and most of the apartment rooms had their front doors locked still. But the rooms I did open were very empty, however one had an old campfire in it! \textbf{( Claro que não somos os aventureiros que exploram as ruínas do Brasil!)} I guess! Either that or someone else came here before and tried to live here. The walls were spray painted in beautiful and ugly murals, and one room was entirely coated in bird poop\ldots{} it wasn't pretty but I did see the various nests that were using the old space as a new home!
+When I surfaced I had my meal-- \emph{\textsc{(Os sanduíches estavam MUITO deliciosos! Você Mami faz os melhores sanduíches.)}} Yeah, they really are super good. Anyways, afterwards we swam down the outside of the building and we were able to get much deeper, even with the surrounding kelp clinging to its walls. Turns out the apartment was built on top of a barber! At least I assume it was a barber as I saw the red and blue striped pole on the outside of it. I couldn't open the door, and the windows were boarded up to get some breath. Next we explored the upper floors above the water. The building was very slanted, so climbing the old stairs wasn't easy, and most of the apartment rooms had their front doors locked still. But the rooms I did open were very empty, however one had an old campfire in it! \emph{\textsc{( Claro que não somos os aventureiros que exploram as ruínas do Brasil!)}} I guess! Either that or someone else came here before and tried to live here. The walls were spray painted in beautiful and ugly murals, and one room was entirely coated in bird poop\ldots{} it wasn't pretty but I did see the various nests that were using the old space as a new home!
 
-Once we were done exploring, we grabbed the rowboat and went back to shore. We just barely caught the bus we wanted, which was good since I was so tired. I got home and my family asked how my swim was, as I probably smelt like the sea.}
+Once we were done exploring, we grabbed the rowboat and went back to shore. We just barely caught the bus we wanted, which was good since I was so tired. I got home and my family asked how my swim was, as I probably smelt like the sea.
 
-\emph{Now Fel and I rest in bed\ldots{} it's funny, despite all that destruction caused by nature, seeing life still present and flourishing is nice. It gives our world color, and makes me happy.}
+Now Fel and I rest in bed\ldots{} it's funny, despite all that destruction caused by nature, seeing life still present and flourishing is nice. It gives our world color, and makes me happy.
 
-\emph{Anyways, I'm tired. That's all!}
+Anyways, I'm tired. That's all!
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{Isa closes the book softly, clearing her throat after all that talking, and places it at her great Grand papi's side. Henrique looked up in response, a mild smile present on his thin lips.}
+Isa closes the book softly, clearing her throat after all that talking, and places it at her great Grand papi's side. Henrique looked up in response, a mild smile present on his thin lips.
 
-\emph{``Thank you, sweet Isa. You're the best Granddaughter an old man like me could ever ask for.'' He grins, then coughs softly, frowning at the sorry state his body was in. Isa reacts accordingly, leaning down to assist her great Grandfather, but he raises a hand- ``It's fine, some water is all I need.''}
+``Thank you, sweet Isa. You're the best Granddaughter an old man like me could ever ask for.'' He grins, then coughs softly, frowning at the sorry state his body was in. Isa reacts accordingly, leaning down to assist her great Grandfather, but he raises a hand- ``It's fine, some water is all I need.''
 
-\emph{Isa frowns, but goes to pour her father a cup, turning away to head to the plastic jug not more than a couple meters from his bedside table.
+Isa frowns, but goes to pour her father a cup, turning away to head to the plastic jug not more than a couple meters from his bedside table.
 
-She pours the cup, then pauses ``...Grand papi, is\ldots'' She sighs, then turns back to pass him the cup- ``Are you okay\ldots?'' A question that could be easily dismissed with a `yes', a white lie to maintain this status quo he wished to uphold and quell any worry. Yet, Henrique knew better, hearing the way Isa asked, feeling the way those words carried soft care, the compassion in her voice curating how she phrased it, and quite simply from the way her eyes penetrated his own. The ache in his heart would not cease until he expressed his thoughts, and he knew this status quo should not be maintained.}
+She pours the cup, then pauses ``\ldots Grand papi, is\ldots{}'' She sighs, then turns back to pass him the cup. ``Are you okay\ldots?'' A question that could be easily dismissed with a `yes', a white lie to maintain this status quo he wished to uphold and quell any worry. Yet, Henrique knew better, hearing the way Isa asked, feeling the way those words carried soft care, the compassion in her voice curating how she phrased it, and quite simply from the way her eyes penetrated his own. The ache in his heart would not cease until he expressed his thoughts, and he knew this status quo should not be maintained.
 
-\emph{``...I\ldots{} am not. No. The System, it is truly gone, yes?'' He asks, expression grim. Isa pauses, having handed over the cup. Then shrugs and shakes her head. ``The word on the `net\ldots{} Well, it is unclear. There's been claims that they're trying to recover it, some saying success, others saying failure\ldots{} its\ldots''}
+``\ldots I\ldots{} am not. No.~The System, it is truly gone, yes?'' He asks, expression grim. Isa pauses, having handed over the cup. Then shrugs and shakes her head. ``The word on the 'net\ldots{} Well, it is unclear. There's been claims that they're trying to recover it, some saying success, others saying failure\ldots{} its\ldots{}''
 
-\emph{Henrique nods, raising his hand once again. ``It is an uncertain time, I\ldots{} understand.'' I silence drops between the pair, long and thoughtful, as Henrique stares at himself through the reflection of the water, seeing the man who he once was and the youth before, so full of potential, that who couldn't be. An innocent child who had a brother, before being taken away from home to become the cog for some militaristic machine, and discarded, broken, at the end.}
+Henrique nods, raising his hand once again. ``It is an uncertain time, I\ldots{} understand.'' I silence drops between the pair, long and thoughtful, as Henrique stares at himself through the reflection of the water, seeing the man who he once was and the youth before, so full of potential, that who couldn't be. An innocent child who had a brother, before being taken away from home to become the cog for some militaristic machine, and discarded, broken, at the end.
 
-\emph{``Why didn't you upload, Grand papi?'' Henrique is drawn from his stupor, glancing up at Isa with a pained, confused expression that evolved to one of frustration, and finally mournful regret.}
+``Why didn't you upload, Grand papi?'' Henrique is drawn from his stupor, glancing up at Isa with a pained, confused expression that evolved to one of frustration, and finally mournful regret.
 
-\emph{``I\ldots{} I was too anchored to my duties here\ldots{} to many responsibilities, to many tasks that were expected of me\ldots'' he says, a weak truth, one that did not admit the full pains of his reasons. Reasons he did not care to admit because they scared him, filled him with anxiety, regret.
+``I\ldots{} I was too anchored to my duties here\ldots{} to many responsibilities, to many tasks that were expected of me\ldots{}'' he says, a weak truth, one that did not admit the full pains of his reasons. Reasons he did not care to admit because they scared him, filled him with anxiety, regret.
 
 Why didn't he upload? There was nothing to stop him, he had the opportunity, he was given the privilege after his service. In fact, it was expected of him by his country and family, for was a broken man, and a man with the buried soul of a child. Once his service was done, he was seen as useless by the aristocracy, and his family name denoted him a traitor by the people.
 
 So, why not simply allow himself to be discarded? Buried like that child who was taken away? Why, why did he put such effort into the farm, into making a family. Why did he feel the need to prove the worth of the Pereira name\ldots{}
 
-Was it to prove they weren't traitors to brazil? To prove his life had meaning? To live a life after years of strife? To try and forget the pain of no longer being at his brother's side? Or to avoid that pain, to bury it too, like the child, like the hundred dead from a worthless civil war\ldots{} The notion of seeing someone so different from how he would've remembered them. Of seeing a person who he loathed, despite all that love. To see someone who had the chance to be a child, who did not need to bury that precious, perfect part of life. Scared him, for the emotions they elicited.}
+Was it to prove they weren't traitors to brazil? To prove his life had meaning? To live a life after years of strife? To try and forget the pain of no longer being at his brother's side? Or to avoid that pain, to bury it too, like the child, like the hundred dead from a worthless civil war\ldots{} The notion of seeing someone so different from how he would've remembered them. Of seeing a person who he loathed, despite all that love. To see someone who had the chance to be a child, who did not need to bury that precious, perfect part of life. Scared him, for the emotions they elicited.
 
-\emph{He scowls, emotions eating away at him\ldots{} Isa frowned, leaning in.}
+He scowls, emotions eating away at him\ldots{} Isa frowned, leaning in.
 
-\emph{Diago was his friend, as any sibling should, but one who'd be a constant reminder of the time HE lost, the time HE should've had as well. Diago lived the life he lost, and he HATED him for that.
+Diago was his friend, as any sibling should, but one who'd be a constant reminder of the time \emph{he} lost, the time \emph{he} should've had as well. Diago lived the life he lost, and he \emph{hated} him for that.
 
 Yet.
 
-Henrique could not let that hate burn. Those flames would rather stoke fires of passion and thankfulness, that his brother's youth could stay at Diago's side. Even if he had that all taken away from him, he should be happy his brother managed to avoid it all through those careful weeks of planning, ultimately resulting in him being snuck out the month before his mandatory conscription. Years before he would return home.}
+Henrique could not let that hate burn. Those flames would rather stoke fires of passion and thankfulness, that his brother's youth could stay at Diago's side. Even if he had that all taken away from him, he should be happy his brother managed to avoid it all through those careful weeks of planning, ultimately resulting in him being snuck out the month before his mandatory conscription. Years before he would return home.
 
-\emph{His fists balled up, and tears began to be shed. Why must he feel this pungent jealousy contradict his love, and why must this unfettered joy ruin the urge to swell with anger and selfish want. Not only this, but the half-void in his chest was lonely, forever imperfect because he never could say goodbye.}
+His fists balled up, and tears began to be shed. Why must he feel this pungent jealousy contradict his love, and why must this unfettered joy ruin the urge to swell with anger and selfish want. Not only this, but the half-void in his chest was lonely, forever imperfect because he never could say goodbye.
 
-\emph{\hfill\break
-\hfill\break
 His life, all his life, was hell, hell on earth. From his earliest days under the sun, to his first days at the Briar Line, to his last days working the farm, and undoubtedly to his final day on this god forsaken planet his deleted ancestors long ago abandoned.
 
-Yet his brother, the person he cherished so dearly, avoided that. It wasn't fair, but did that matter? He sacrificed everything, and his brother lived his life. And now he sat here, in a hospital bed, seething and seeing those reasons come to light. Showing him he never once was truly happy, never once truly satisfied, and never once given the chance to live, never once allowing himself to-}
+Yet his brother, the person he cherished so dearly, avoided that. It wasn't fair, but did that matter? He sacrificed everything, and his brother lived his life. And now he sat here, in a hospital bed, seething and seeing those reasons come to light. Showing him he never once was truly happy, never once truly satisfied, and never once given the chance to live, never once allowing himself to-
 
-\emph{Isa grabbed his hand, and gently kissed his forehead, shocking the elderly man out of his manic spiral. He sobs out a gasp, and looks to Isa with watery eyes and tear stricken cheeks. She smiled warmly with saddened eyes. She was no longer the innocent girl he saw in her today or days prior, now she was someone who somehow could peer into this old man's heart. Seeing his pain. Understanding his turmoil.
+Isa grabbed his hand, and gently kissed his forehead, shocking the elderly man out of his manic spiral. He sobs out a gasp, and looks to Isa with watery eyes and tear stricken cheeks. She smiled warmly with saddened eyes. She was no longer the innocent girl he saw in her today or days prior, now she was someone who somehow could peer into this old man's heart. Seeing his pain. Understanding his turmoil.
 
 ``Grand papi\ldots{} even if they do not return to the system, your ancestors look down on you with pride as they ascend to the heavens. Your brother\ldots{} he missed you, I know it. He is thankful and I know for certain he wondered every day when he would see you.''
 
@@ -241,75 +238,73 @@ She gulps, thinking of what to say as her own mouth grew parched from this share
 
 ``Then\ldots{} we will find those joys here. And move on, together. Wherever we can, however we can. And our ancestors will continue to look down on us, smiles on their faces, eager to see you live your life with happiness, and awaiting the day for you to join them once you have.
 
-Henrique sighs with a shaky breath, and lays his head on Isa's arm. Isa, in turn, lays on the bed, supporting her Great Grand papis head. Giving him the comfort he required.}
+Henrique sighs with a shaky breath, and lays his head on Isa's arm. Isa, in turn, lays on the bed, supporting her Great Grand papis head. Giving him the comfort he required.\pagebreak
 
-\hypertarget{march-1st-2401}{%
-\subsubsection{\texorpdfstring{\hfill\break
-\emph{\textbf{March 1st, 2401}} }{ March 1st, 2401 }}\label{march-1st-2401}}
+\noindent\textbf{March 1st, 2401}
 
-\emph{\textbf{\hfill\break
-}21st January 2305
+\begin{quote}
+\emph{21st January 2305}
 
-Dear Journal- or, dearest Henrique, who I hope will return home safely to receive my journal as my parting gift. Its with a heavy, but hopeful heart that I might escape the enforcement of our seven years service to our country. I will not get a chance to meet you at the front, let alone meet you upon your return. \textbf{(Mal posso esperar para finalmente conhecer você, Henrique. Diago pode estar incerto, mas estou extasiado por finalmente conhecê-lo depois de todos esses anos em que você foi forçado a nos deixar.)}
+Dear Journal-- or, dearest Henrique, who I hope will return home safely to receive my journal as my parting gift. Its with a heavy, but hopeful heart that I might escape the enforcement of our seven years service to our country. I will not get a chance to meet you at the front, let alone meet you upon your return. \emph{\textsc{(Mal posso esperar para finalmente conhecer você, Henrique. Diago pode estar incerto, mas estou extasiado por finalmente conhecê-lo depois de todos esses anos em que você foi forçado a nos deixar.)}}
 
-While Fel may be excited, she is not wrong that I am hesitant. \textbf{{[}I am as well, but I have faith in our future.{]}}
+While Fel may be excited, she is not wrong that I am hesitant. \textbf{(I am as well, but I have faith in our future.)}
 
 I agree, Davi. By the time you'll have read this entry, you'd have learned that our auntie Corita and our Mami had been planning to secret me away so I would not be forced to participate in the conflict at the BrAr Line. I know it is not my place to say such, but I apologize that we did not tell you while you were still in service.
 
 While I may be leaving, Auntie Corita told Iara and Ana that when they turn 18, she'll do the same for them, and we'll all meet each other in the System one day. Which is a day I greatly look forward to.
 
-I miss you, brother. I miss the days we could have swam together, ate food together, and explored together. Yet this world we were born into chose to take that away from us. You were always so much braver than I was, and now here I am taking my first steps into a new world I can't ever come back from. \textbf{(Você é igualmente corajoso, Diago, e devemos estar entusiasmados! Esta é apenas mais uma aventura! E o Henrique vai se juntar a nós! Tenho certeza disso.)
-}
+I miss you, brother. I miss the days we could have swam together, ate food together, and explored together. Yet this world we were born into chose to take that away from us. You were always so much braver than I was, and now here I am taking my first steps into a new world I can't ever come back from. \emph{\textsc{(Você é igualmente corajoso, Diago, e devemos estar entusiasmados! Esta é apenas mais uma aventura! E o Henrique vai se juntar a nós! Tenho certeza disso.)}}
+
 We eagerly look forward to the day we can see you, Henrique.
 
-Your little siblings, Diago, Fel, and Davi.}
+Your little siblings, Diago, Fel, and Davi.
+\end{quote}
 
-\emph{As Henrique closes the leather book for the final time, he exhales, tucking the journal away into his satchel. The door opens and an Ansible technician arrives.}
+As Henrique closes the leather book for the final time, he exhales, tucking the journal away into his satchel. The door opens and an Ansible technician arrives.
 
-\emph{She greets him with a nod, asks his name, and takes him down the hall. She confirms he answered all the questions on his questionnaire, and reassured him that this decision was final. Henrique simply nodded, acknowledging the questions with polite answers, stepping in time with the gentle tap of his cane. Each step feeling lighter than the last, like years of weight fell off his back, as if piles of ash or fettered leaves flowed free into the compost, ready to fertilize new growth, new life, new hope.}
+She greets him with a nod, asks his name, and takes him down the hall. She confirms he answered all the questions on his questionnaire, and reassured him that this decision was final. Henrique simply nodded, acknowledging the questions with polite answers, stepping in time with the gentle tap of his cane. Each step feeling lighter than the last, like years of weight fell off his back, as if piles of ash or fettered leaves flowed free into the compost, ready to fertilize new growth, new life, new hope.
 
-\emph{The techs put him into the seat, the process seamless, precise, and he feels as if he was floating, a leaf gliding amongst the wind and beautiful breeze\ldots{} and he closes his eyes.
-\textbf{\hfill\break
-}The sensation of stretching in blackness, like a series of strings strung taught and sewn back, was as unnerving as the visual of a slate gray box surrounding him. But this unease passes as he immediately sighs, eyes closing once more as the feeling of chronic pain and aged weariness was, thankfully, entirely gone. He exhales, the soreness of his shoulders, exposed to decades of hard labor, could finally relax. That foul weight, finally lifted.
+The techs put him into the seat, the process seamless, precise, and he feels as if he was floating, a leaf gliding amongst the wind and beautiful breeze\ldots{} and he closes his eyes.
+
+The sensation of stretching in blackness, like a series of strings strung taught and sewn back, was as unnerving as the visual of a slate gray box surrounding him. But this unease passes as he immediately sighs, eyes closing once more as the feeling of chronic pain and aged weariness was, thankfully, entirely gone. He exhales, the soreness of his shoulders, exposed to decades of hard labor, could finally relax. That foul weight, finally lifted.
 
 ``Welcome to Lagrange, this room you find yourself in is called AetherBox\#9182. Currently, I am facing away from you so you may have some privacy. Please, let me know when I may turn, unless you do not require any clothes. Simply want your desired apparel into being, and it will be there.''
 
 Henrique's eyes open, wrinkled smile growing into a briefly confused frown as the individual who just spoke to him was some kind of furry. A species of creature he had not seen before, with a large black tail flanked by two defined white stripes. She wore a very old fashion tweed jacket, and a red plaid skirt that hung just below that.
 
-``Ah- simply desire it, Senhora?...''
+``Ah-- simply desire it, \emph{Senhora\ldots?}''
 
 ``Indeed, take your time. It is not as if we have a schedule to maintain.''
 
 There was a hint of irritation in that reply, and Henrique flushed red for a moment, embarrassed at being inconsiderate of this individual's time. He thinks for a moment, of his slippers, aged worker jeans, then his blue t-shirt and well worn wool sweater overtop. He looks down in pleasant surprise to see those very clothes on him\ldots{} then he frowns, thinking\ldots{} remembering memories of his younger days, before he met his beloved Annette, a button up white shirt, loose at the collar, straight and flowy at the hem, long too. Perfect for those especially hot summer days, then reimagined his worker pants\ldots{} the day he first got them, how richly deep green they were, not how worn and damaged they were now, with discolored patches sewn on to cover up damaged holes. He recalled the well sewn fabric of thick, durable, comfortable material\ldots{} and to his amusement found those exact clothes on him, in the same condition he miraculously remembered them as. He stepped forward, comfy slippers, now refurbished but still broken in, muffling his footsteps.
 
-``Senhora?... I am ready, you can turn around now.''
+``\emph{Senhora\ldots?} I am ready, you can turn around now.''
 
 The black-and-white-striped furry turns on the spot, an exact motion, her rounded spectacles, housing slitted eyes that stared with a scrutinizing and dubious glare. She held a smile that felt tired, ungenuine, but not strictly forced\ldots{} a smile that was rehearsed and used to mask some deeper-seated emotions, simply present to appear approachable.
 
-``Again, welcome to Lagrange Mr. Pereira. It is my job to inform you of the basic mechanics that are present within the System. Your clothing was the first part of this exercise, next, we will go over forking. Please follow my lead.''
+``Again, welcome to Lagrange Mr.~Pereira. It is my job to inform you of the basic mechanics that are present within the System. Your clothing was the first part of this exercise, next, we will go over forking. Please follow my lead.''
 
 While he had no idea what to expect upon uploading, he wasn't expecting such a hasty introduction\ldots{} or at least one that felt so precise and mechanical.
 
-``Pardon, Senhora, but may I ask if you are real?... Also, to slow down. I understand your time is valuable but this is feeling all a little overwhelming to me. Perhaps you could offer me your name? And you may refer to me as Henrique, please.''
+``Pardon, \emph{Senhora,} but may I ask if you are real?\ldots{} Also, to slow down. I understand your time is valuable but this is feeling all a little overwhelming to me. Perhaps you could offer me your name? And you may refer to me as Henrique, please.''
 
-The furry's smile falters, before a hand raises up as she grasps her temples between two fingers. ``My apologies, Henrique.'' She bows apologetically, curt and quick however, to keep this implied schedule on track.}
+The furry's smile falters, before a hand raises up as she grasps her temples between two fingers. ``My apologies, Henrique.'' She bows apologetically, curt and quick however, to keep this implied schedule on track.
 
-\emph{``It has been\ldots{} quite hectic recently, I assure you I am very much `real' and not some digital construct you'd otherwise be familiar with on the `net, if that was what you were implying. I suppose I have been feeling a little thin as a result of recent events. You may call me Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode Clade. In All Ways for short.''
+``It has been\ldots{} quite hectic recently, I assure you I am very much `real' and not some digital construct you'd otherwise be familiar with on the 'net, if that was what you were implying. I suppose I have been feeling a little thin as a result of recent events. You may call me Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode Clade. In All Ways for short.''
 
 Henrique grunts and smiles. ``Quite a name, In All Ways, but I do not judge. Now what is this about forking?''
 
 She nods, then raises a hand to her side before an exact duplicate of her appears in an instant, mirroring her pose and demeanor. ``Forking, as we of the System have coined it, is the ability to replicate yourself. It is important to know that this fork is not just a construct, a program, or a template-''
 
-The other In All Ways speaks- ``But a whole person. With their own desires, hopes, and dreams that are parallel or differ from your own. Those who dive into this practice wholeheartedly are known as dispersionistas, which make up the vast majority of the population here\ldots{} while others who are more free with individuation are known as trackers, while not always as liberal with their forking, they still form the other sizable chunk of the Systems population. Lastly we have those who simply fork to complete tasks or short term objectives, and prefer not to individuate. They are aptly known as Taskers, and fill up the last chunk of the System.
+The other In All Ways speaks. ``But a whole person. With their own desires, hopes, and dreams that are parallel or differ from your own. Those who dive into this practice wholeheartedly are known as dispersionistas, which make up the vast majority of the population here\ldots{} while others who are more free with individuation are known as trackers, while not always as liberal with their forking, they still form the other sizable chunk of the Systems population. Lastly we have those who simply fork to complete tasks or short term objectives, and prefer not to individuate. They are aptly known as Taskers, and fill up the last chunk of the System.
 
 Despite her best efforts, the slip up was clear in her speech. That pause allowed for the pang of unmistakable pain, anger, frustration, sadness, and grief, to give way to a convoluted series of expressions shared between the two In All Ways, both suffering these emotions in divergent ways. Some trauma surging forth and causing the twin furries to ripple briefly.
 
-Henrique frowns, a hand raised to place upon or embrace In All Ways, before pulling back- ``Ah\ldots{} pardon I should ask before offering comfort. I understand the pain too well, In All Ways.''
+Henrique frowns, a hand raised to place upon or embrace In All Ways, before pulling back. ``Ah\ldots{} pardon I should ask before offering comfort. I understand the pain too well, In All Ways.''
 
-``Do you?!...'' Both reply with a snap. The leftmost one maintains a spiteful glare, before vanishing as the original recoils and looks to the floor shamefully. Henrique all the while, continues to stand there with his hand out. Gradually, he lowers it and reaches for one of In All Ways paws, getting her attention. He gives an understanding smile, unphased by the furry's tumultuous emotions barely held at bay.
-
-``I\ldots{} can, yes. Perhaps not exactly as you do, In All Ways. But I can. I know the pain of losing someone. Someone close, someone you care for. And I give my sincerest condolences to those who you have lost. You are with common company, and you do not need to apologize, Senhora''
+``Do you?!\ldots{}'' Both reply with a snap. The leftmost one maintains a spiteful glare, before vanishing as the original recoils and looks to the floor shamefully. Henrique all the while, continues to stand there with his hand out. Gradually, he lowers it and reaches for one of In All Ways paws, getting her attention. He gives an understanding smile, unphased by the furry's tumultuous emotions barely held at bay.
 
+``I\ldots{} can, yes. Perhaps not exactly as you do, In All Ways. But I can. I know the pain of losing someone. Someone close, someone you care for. And I give my sincerest condolences to those who you have lost. You are with common company, and you do not need to apologize, \emph{Senhora.}''
 
 ``I am\ldots{} I\ldots{} Mm\ldots{} Thank you.'' In All Ways mumbles, ceasing her seeking of that instinctual apology, the urge to explain, and glances up, tears just beginning to stain her cheeks, before she forks them away. She remains silent and nods, exhales, then breaths in, composing herself, and returns her gaze to the elderly man. His face, a gentle network of lines forming an understanding, compassionate smile.
 
@@ -321,11 +316,11 @@ In All Ways stared at the pair, her eyes, tired still, no longer viewed either w
 
 ``Good. It's important you understand how to fork, as it is a vital part of the System's mechanics. May we continue?''
 
-Both Henriques look at one another, smiling in their own ways. The elders face wet with joy, years of regret resolved. The youths face beaming, and tearful as well. Excited for a future they never had.}
+Both Henriques look at one another, smiling in their own ways. The elders face wet with joy, years of regret resolved. The youths face beaming, and tearful as well. Excited for a future they never had.
 
-\emph{The moment is peaceful, interrupted only by an embrace of the two Henriques, enhanced from this tranquility and relief. Then, there was one. As the elder Henrique accepted the merger and quit.
+The moment is peaceful, interrupted only by an embrace of the two Henriques, enhanced from this tranquility and relief. Then, there was one. As the elder Henrique accepted the merger and quit.
 
-As In All Ways watches thi happen, she walks up to the youth, standing at attention but with expressive hesitation in her face. ``Actually, before we move onto the last step. I have a question I must ask. It is entirely optional, and purely to sate my own curiosity, so you need not answer if it does not suit you too.''
+As In All Ways watches this happen, she walks up to the youth, standing at attention but with expressive hesitation in her face. ``Actually, before we move onto the last step. I have a question I must ask. It is entirely optional, and purely to sate my own curiosity, so you need not answer if it does not suit you too.''
 
 Henrique looks to In All Ways, nearly at the same height now, and nods. Juvenile voice adjusting to what the world weary mind could recall. ``Of course, ask away In All Ways.''
 
@@ -337,24 +332,24 @@ He sighs, slippered foot kicking at nothing in particular on the slate gray floo
 
 In All Ways smile returns in full, her hand resting on Henriques shoulder. ``Thank you for indulging me, Henrique. And I can assure you, we will see that seed blossom into something beautiful. Now, onto the final aspects of this training. My next step is to teach you how to navigate the System. Similar to forking, you must think with intent, in this case, of the location by its signifier. This is sometimes referred to as stepping into a sim.''
 
-Henrique nods, stepping back, before cocking his head. ``But, In All Ways. I have just gotten here, where exactly do you expect me to go?... wait.'' His smile broadens and reveals his pearly teeth. ``M-may I step into the sim of my brother? Is that possible?''
+Henrique nods, stepping back, before cocking his head. ``But, In All Ways. I have just gotten here, where exactly do you expect me to go?\ldots{} wait.'' His smile broadens and reveals his pearly teeth. ``M-may I step into the sim of my brother? Is that possible?''
 
-In All Ways nods, ``I just sent a sensorium ping to... a downtree of the `Macaw' clade, they refer to themselves as Diago Hyacinth, so you are aware. They'll be awaiting your arrival. I'm sending you the name and tag of the Sim now.
+In All Ways nods, ``I just sent a sensorium ping to\ldots{} a down-tree of the `Macaw' clade, they refer to themselves as Diago Hyacinth, so you are aware. They'll be awaiting your arrival. I'm sending you the name and tag of the Sim now.
 
 Henrique shivers, feeling the sudden arrival of information that wasn't there mere moments ago. Excitement brimming.
 
-``And one last thing, Henrique. What is your clade name? If you do not have something in mind for me to register now, I will simply reach out to you later.'' She steps back, signifying the finality of this meeting.}
+``And one last thing, Henrique. What is your clade name? If you do not have something in mind for me to register now, I will simply reach out to you later.'' She steps back, signifying the finality of this meeting.
 
-\emph{Henrique answers almost immediately- ``Pereira Clade, please. Goodbye Senhora In All Ways. Thank you.'' and steps from the sim. He's met by a familiar sight, the backyard of his family home where he grew up, however instead of flat field with upturned dirt and rusting soccer goals, with a single floor shack of a house behind him, there was a plethora of budding flowers, green shrubbery, trees, and the serene sounds of chirping birds and gentle winds filling the air.
+Henrique answers almost immediately. ``Pereira Clade, please. Goodbye \emph{Senhora} In All Ways. Thank you.'' and steps from the sim. He's met by a familiar sight, the backyard of his family home where he grew up, however instead of flat field with upturned dirt and rusting soccer goals, with a single floor shack of a house behind him, there was a plethora of budding flowers, green shrubbery, trees, and the serene sounds of chirping birds and gentle winds filling the air.
 
-``Olá, irmão mais velho!''
+\emph{``Olá, irmão mais velho!''}
 
-``Olá!''
+\emph{``Olá!''}
 
-``Is- Is it really you?''
+``Is\ldots{} Is it really you?''
 
 Henrique turns as he hears those three similar, familiar voices calling out to him. Now, as he looks upon the source of those voices, he stares up to see a towering, adult, anthropomorphized chimeric individual who wore the heads of a panther, a bull, and a python, on his widened torso, all staring at him with utmost glee. The trio step forward, those familiar green eyes impossible to confuse for anyone else's.''
 
-``Sim, querido Diago. It is me, Henrique, your big brother. Its really, truely, me.''
+``\emph{Sim, querido Diago}. It is me, Henrique, your big brother. Its really, truly, me.''
 
-The two surrender to their withheld urges, and rush to meet one another in tearful, joyful, brotherly fashion. An embrace sought after for generations, centuries, years that tried to dry and wither a snuffed and suffocating desire, a desire now rekindled and set ablaze into a blossoming, hopeful, beautiful sight to behold amongst this blooming garden. A single blue feather drifts down, as a macaw flies free with its flock in tow.}
+The two surrender to their withheld urges, and rush to meet one another in tearful, joyful, brotherly fashion. An embrace sought after for generations, centuries, years that tried to dry and wither a snuffed and suffocating desire, a desire now rekindled and set ablaze into a blossoming, hopeful, beautiful sight to behold amidst this blooming garden. A single blue feather drifts down, as a macaw flies free with its flock in tow.

marsh/stories/sentences.tex

@@ -6,17 +6,17 @@
 
 ``I have heard similar here,'' Dry Grass said. ``On the matter of delays, have you decided when you will upload?''
 
-``Reawakening Day two-eighty-...something. The next one. I want to be sure there's nothing else I can do down here. \ldots{} And I got talked into picking a symbolic date by ---''
+``Restoration Day two-eighty-\ldots something. The next one. I want to be sure there's nothing else I can do down here. \ldots{} And I got talked into picking a symbolic date by--''
 
-Need An Answer, who had suggested that upload date, appeared in the room just then. She had swapped in for Answers Will Not Help when this group had branched off from the Temporary Administrative Council, as they had both agreed she was better suited to it. The rest of the representatives and the invited audience joined her a moment later.
+Need An Answer, who had suggested that upload date, appeared in the room just then. She had stayed involved when this group branched off from the Temporary Administrative Council. The rest of the representatives and the invited audience joined her a moment later.
 
-``--- oh, looks like it's time.''
+``--oh, looks like it's time.''
 
 The cladists took their seats while Jakub walked into his conference room, bringing along a few System Consortium higher-ups and politicians who wanted to witness history. He looked less frazzled than he had years ago since the set of tasks that could be shoehorned into ``project-managing the recovery effort'' had shrunk to a reasonable size.
 
 Those involved in the Attack who had remained phys-side had been convicted years ago. There was no question about their guilt. They had proudly admitted their crimes and used their trials to broadcast their manifestos and grievances, which their governments had previously suppressed in the hopes of covering up the whole affair.
 
-The phys-side authorities had then requested that the System recommend a punishment, seeking to calm the controversy about that question that had erupted on Earth. The System had, eventually, answered, in its meandering distributed way. Now, all that remained was the alchemy of turning something everyone knew (unless they had made an effort to avoid System-wide news) into the statement of a government that did not exist and was quite firm about not wanting to.
+Phys-side authorities had then requested that the System recommend a punishment, seeking to calm the controversy about that question that had erupted on Earth. The System had, eventually, answered, in its meandering distributed way. Now, all that remained was the alchemy of turning something everyone knew (unless they had made an effort to avoid System-wide news) into the statement of a government that did not exist and was quite firm about not wanting to.
 
 ``We have transmitted the evident consensus of the System as to what sentence ought to be imposed upon those convicted of conspiring to destroy us,'' Need An Answer pronounced. ``Does the System Consortium have any concerns regarding the accuracy of our report?''
 
@@ -44,7 +44,7 @@ Aditya Singh, one of the people who kept an eye on the Deep Space Network sys-si
 
 ``Absolutely not!'' Dry Grass exclaimed. ``That is antithetical to the purpose of the System!''
 
-``And give them the easy way out?'' Egil demanded, overlapping Dry Grass. ``Not to mention, ---''
+``And give them the easy way out?'' Egil demanded, overlapping Dry Grass. ``Not to mention,--''
 
 ``No.'' Need An Answer said firmly as soon as she sensed an opening in the brewing argument. ``Enough. We are not here to relitigate the question.'' The room went quiet. She took the signature page from Aditya and added her mark, a swirl of words that she had spent more time crafting than she would want to admit. ``It is finished.''
 
@@ -58,7 +58,7 @@ Günay gathered up the sheets and flipped through them to check for obvious erro
 
 ``Watch the politicians take a whole decade to make a call,'' Günay said. ``Just to let the System feel the tension for once while they `reach consensus'.''
 
-Dry Grass decided to take the sarcasm seriously. ``Although it would delay our meeting, should your people discuss the matter until consensus, I would applaud their due care.''
+Dry Grass decided to take the sarcasm seriously. ``Although it would delay our meeting, should your people discuss the matter until consensus, I would applaud their caution.''
 
 ``There was one more item on the agenda, I believe,'' Jakub said, hoping that the official signing ceremony, of all things, could be kept on track.
 
@@ -79,7 +79,7 @@ These restrictions and protections may be removed by the consensus of a general
 
 In short, for their part in a conspiracy to murder trillions, we would sentence these people to live.
 
-We have made this decision carefully. It took over two years for this suggested sentence to clearly emerge as the option that most of us could accept. As the tallies and summaries were being prepared then, we noticed many were concerned that our choice had been made in a collective vengeful frenzy. So, we sent this proposal to the denizens of the LVs in order to gather their opinions, and held a cooling-off year while we waited for those views.
+We have made this decision carefully. It took over two years for this suggested sentence to clearly emerge as the option that most of us could accept. As the tallies and summaries were being prepared back then, we noticed many were concerned that our choice had been made in a collective vengeful frenzy. So, we sent this proposal to the denizens of the LVs in order to gather their opinions, and held a cooling-off year while we waited for those views.
 
 When debate resumed, we found that support for this sentence to life had solidified and that the consensus on the LVs was aligned with ours. Therefore, we are confident that we have not made this recommendation rashly, and we declare that we are comfortable with it becoming a precedent for sentencing if a similar conspiracy arises in the future.
 
@@ -87,79 +87,54 @@ Since our proposal may prove surprising or confusing without the context of our
 
 In the beginning, while many still felt the pain of raw grief, there were many different suggested punishments for the perpetrators of the Century Attack. We had, just as we know you have phys-side, a substantial contingent of people suggesting that we bring back the death penalty, just this once. The idea lost traction on sober consideration. Some said that execution was too much of a punishment and violated the System's core purpose of preserving life; others argued that death was insufficient---how could a few lives balance billions of silenced eternities?
 
-Another initial cluster of ideas, some brought over from phys-side discussions, was some form of imprisonment sys-side, since this is now technically feasible. These proposals collapsed under the weight of their variety --- no one could agree on how to pick from the competing plans. From there sprung concerns about precedent, followed by a general view that going down this road would lead to a government forming here. Very few people trust any potential government to leave their corner of the System alone, so the threads full of prisons and purgatories fell away. Furthermore some among us were concerned that imprisonment would prevent rehabilitation or, conversely, that it would shield the guilty from the consequences of their actions.
+Another initial cluster of ideas, some brought over from phys-side discussions, involved imposing some form of imprisonment sys-side, since this is now technically feasible. These proposals collapsed under the weight of their variety---no one could agree on how to pick from the competing plans. From there sprung concerns about precedent, followed by a general view that going down this road would lead to a government forming here. Very few people trust any potential government to leave their corner of the System alone, so the threads full of prisons and purgatories fell away. In addition, some were concerned that imprisonment would prevent rehabilitation or, conversely, that it would shield the guilty from the consequences of their actions.
 
 With the two most obvious suggestions off the table, many took a step back and considered how justice functions on the System in the hopes of finding a new approach.
 
-{[}{[}{[}Novel wording, here be typos{]}{]}{]} The System has almost no justice system for the same reason it has little crime: the nature of our existence greatly limits anyone's ability to use force on anyone else without their ongoing consent. We can, for example, fork away injuries, recreate things that have been taken (if we had set the permissions to allow that in the first place), and we can always simply go somewhere else. Thus, neither a would-be criminal or would-be court can make anyone do anything through meaningful threats of harm.
+The System has almost no justice system for the same reason it has little crime: the nature of our existence greatly limits anyone's ability to use force on anyone else without their ongoing consent. We can, for example, fork away injuries, recreate things that have been taken (if we had set the permissions to allow that in the first place), and we can always simply go somewhere else. Thus, neither a would-be criminal or would-be court can make anyone do anything through meaningful threats of harm.
 
-We do have tools that allow us to keep order on a local level. People can be removed or excluded from sims or blocked from contacting particular other individuals. If someone's behavior is unwelcome in a given place (say, they were sucker-pushing people in a coffee shop), they can be bounced. Enough such incidents of improper behavior generally lead to troublemakers developing a reputation that leads to preemptive bans, while a sufficient shift away from that tendency towards unwanted actions typically leads to previous restrictions being lifted.
+We do have tools that allow us to keep order on a local level. People can be excluded from sims. If someone's behavior is unwelcome in a given place (for instance, if they were sucker-pushing people in a coffee shop), they can be bounced. Enough such incidents of improper behavior generally lead to troublemakers developing a reputation that leads to preemptive bans, while a sufficient shift away from that tendency towards unwanted actions typically leads to previous restrictions being lifted.
 
-Even those rare people who get cut off from large parts of the System are not completely shut out of society. Anyone can find (or, if need be, create) a place whose rules or lack thereof suit them. For example, there are many seedy dark alleys where everyone knows to expect muggings or worse,. Hanging out or living in them is, by general agreement, as permissible a way of life as any other one can forge up here.
+Even those rare people who get cut off from large parts of the System are not completely shut out of society. Anyone can find (or, if need be, create) a place whose rules or lack thereof suit them. For example, there are many seedy dark alleys where everyone knows to expect muggings or worse. Hanging out or living in them is as permissible a way of life as any other one can forge up here.
 
-We expect that, if our recommended sentence of uploading is imposed, the conspirators will face broad exclusions similar to those that fall on those who will not abide the System's ``mainstream'' social norms. Some places already plan to bar their entry, either because the sim mods don't want them around or to prevent disruptions from people's reactions to their presence. They will find many messages they send ignored or blocked.
+We expect that, if our recommended sentence of uploading is imposed, the conspirators will face broad exclusions similar to those that fall on those who will not abide the System's ``mainstream'' social norms. Some places already plan to bar their entry, either because the sim mods do not want them around or to prevent disruptions from people's reactions to their presence. They will find many messages they send ignored or filtered.
 
-Some of the trillions of instances on the System will still, for their own reasons, want to reach out to the perpetrators of the Attack. We hope that these connections will come from those with good intentions and will facilitate some healing in the fullness of time. It is possible, however, the guilty will, to avoid the anger of their fellows or otherwise, retreat into their own private bubbles and experience no further consequences than being left out of society here. Only time will tell. {[}{[}{[}/end new bits{]}{]}{]}
+Some of the trillions of instances on the System will still, for their own reasons, want to reach out to the perpetrators of the Attack. We hope that these connections will come from those with good intentions and will facilitate some healing in the fullness of time. It is possible, however, the guilty will, to avoid the anger of their fellows or otherwise, retreat into their own private bubbles and experience no further consequences than being left out of society here. Only time will tell.
 
 We know this is a strange and unusual punishment, but there are no other options we could agree on.
 
 We cannot even agree if such a sentence to life is a mercy or a cruelty.
 
 Prepared and confirmed on this 125th day of the 281st year of the System by,
-\end{quote}
 
 \begin{itemize}
+\tightlist
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer of the Ode clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  The Only Time I Dream Is When I Need An Answer of the Ode clade, advisor, sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Jonas Fa of the Jonas clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Jonas Fa of the Jonas clade, advisor, sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Selena of her own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Selena of her own clade, advisor, sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Debarre of his own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Debarre of his own clade, advisor, sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Yared Zerezghi of his own clade, advisor, sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Yared Zerezghi of his own clade, advisor, sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  I Remember The Rattle of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, perisystem technician (unaffiliated), sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  I Remember The Rattle of Dry Grass of the Ode clade, perisystem technician (unaffiliated), sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Egill Thorsfork of Gunnar's clade, perisystem technician (System Emergency Response Group), sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Egill Thorsfork of Gunnar's clade, perisystem technician (primarily System Emergency Response Group), sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Clear Channel of their own clade, perisystem technician (Cross-Community External Communication Board, technical advisor to Lagrange Financial Simulation Assn., ``the AVEC pony'', \&c), sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Clear Channel of their own clade, perisystem technician (external communication coordination feed, technical advisor for Lagrange financial simulation assns., ``the AVEC pony'', \&c), sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Yi Meiling of her own clade, perisystem technician (Core Feed Admin Council), sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Yi Meiling of her own clade, perisystem technician (Core Feed Admin Council), sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Aditya Singh of his own clade, perisystem technician (Deep Space Nine-ish), sys-side
-  \end{quote}
+  Aditya Singh of his own clade, perisystem technician (Deep Space Nine-ish), sys-side\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
-  Jakub Strzepek, Project manager, recovery initiative (phys-side)
-  \end{quote}
+  Jakub Strzepek, Project manager, recovery initiative (phys-side)\\
 \item
-  \begin{quote}
   Günay Sadık, System technician III, recovery initiative, phys-side
-  \end{quote}
 \end{itemize}
 
-\begin{quote}
 P.S. We are still not happy about the attempted coverup.
 
 {[}Appendix A: consensus aggregation methods, vote totals, and demographic breakdowns{]}
@@ -177,15 +152,17 @@ Around half the room glanced at a woman who had chosen a seat in the back.
 
 ``I will guide them as I would anyone,'' In All Ways promised. ``I will ensure that even those who sought to kill us know the basics of their new home, their new world.''
 
-She sighed. ``I \ldots{} I will not abandon my principles, my centuries of helping, my part in making the System everything that \ldots'' Even though the poet's name had been revealed over two decades ago, she still hesitated when mentioning em. ``RJ wanted it to be. Eir work has been damaged enough.''
+She sighed. ``I \ldots{} I will not abandon my principles, my centuries of helping, my part in making the System everything that \ldots{}'' Even though the poet's name had been revealed over two decades ago, she still hesitated when mentioning em. ``RJ wanted it to be. Eir work has been damaged enough.''
 
 \emph{I will not leave you alone at the gates of your dream, AwDae.}
 
-The guilty were, after some debate and legal wrangling phys-side, slated to be uploaded at noon on January 1\textsuperscript{st}, 2406. As the appointed hour drew near, In All Ways walked out from the old arrivals lounge, making her way towards Point Zero. She could have prepared to meet them anywhere, but she knew she needed to be here. She did not normally do anything special before forking for a tutorial, but she wanted to fix her role in these sentences in her mind by submerging herself in memory.
+\secdiv
+
+The guilty were, after some debate and legal wrangling phys-side, slated to be uploaded at noon on January 1st, 2406. As the appointed hour drew near, In All Ways walked out from the old arrivals lounge, making her way towards Point Zero. She could have prepared to meet them anywhere, but she knew she needed to be here. She did not normally do anything special before forking for a tutorial, but she wanted to fix her role in these sentences in her mind by submerging herself in memory.
 
 The lounge she had left had been used in the early days of the System. Before dedicated tutorial spaces were established, people popped into existence as close to Point Zero as possible. From there, they would generally follow the haphazard signage towards the lounge, where people who'd registered for pings about their uploads would wait. Between those two places, hints floating in midair or shimmering on the ground, along with helpful wanderers, would hopefully get across the basics \ldots{} like how to put clothes on.
 
-In All Ways had spent a lot of her formative days out in that intermediate space, helping new arrivals get a handle on their new world and diverging from Always Be True as she did. That experience led to her becoming a very active and respected tutorial-giver, which then led to a construct patterned after her (usually her human form, but sometimes the pre-upload file screamed ``send a skunk'') becoming a frequently-used entry in the new upload introduction roster.
+In All Ways had spent a lot of her formative days out in that intermediate space, helping fresh arrivals get a handle on their new world and diverging from Always Be True as she did. That experience led to her becoming a very active and respected tutorial-giver, which then led to a construct patterned after her (usually her human form, but sometimes the pre-upload file screamed ``send a skunk'') becoming a frequently-used entry in the new upload introduction roster.
 
 Today was a skunk kind of day. As In All Ways walked, she mentally reviewed the list of conspirators, forking off a copy of herself for each one. In between them, she looked over the list of scheduled uploads, and forked off more copies to meet ones that seemed like they would be interesting or fun to talk to or who might need some extra help.
 
@@ -195,6 +172,8 @@ The other instances of her nodded back and vanished, each to their own Aetherbox
 
 Then, she herself stepped away. Historically significant tutorials were no reason to miss brunch plans.
 
+\secdiv
+
 Brother Jan Nowak was a member of the Order of True Heaven, a small religious collective that wore the trappings of ancient churches. They had been too tiny for those institutions to notice, let alone condemn, until after the Century Attack. The Order had linked themselves together, implant to implant, to share their divine revelations and holy ecstasies. As the century drew closer, however, their linked thoughts spiraled and twisted in on themselves, pulling ever stronger towards the flames of martyrdom and crusade. The Order had supplied several volunteers who uploaded to prepare the way for the virus knowing that, when they took down the System, they would be hastened to eternal glory.
 
 Now, after the instant-infinite gap in consciousness that came with an upload, he was on that same System, but with no expectation of death or escape.
@@ -203,7 +182,7 @@ Now, after the instant-infinite gap in consciousness that came with an upload, h
 
 ``I know,'' said a woman's voice from somewhere behind him. She was much calmer than Brother Nowak expected given what his siblings had done.
 
-Jan opened his eyes. He found himself standing in a gray cube of a room, lit uniformly from nowhere. He turned around to identify the person speaking. There, providing the only color in the room, was a black furry \ldots{} something \ldots{} with a white stripe running down her tail. She stood with her back turned, facing the wall. ``Greetings ---'' she began to say.
+Jan opened his eyes. He found himself standing in a gray cube of a room, lit uniformly from nowhere. He turned around to identify the person speaking. There, providing the only color in the room, was a black furry \ldots{} something \ldots{} with a white stripe running down her tail. She stood with her back turned, facing the wall. ``Greetings--'' she began to say.
 
 That the being sent to meet him wasn't even \emph{human} set Brother Nowak off. ``I'll have no part in your false heaven! Your soulless paradise! I'll have no intercourse with this usurpation of God and your abandonment of humanity! You have discarded your very body, you fiend, you devil!'' Even though he had been disconnected from the Order during his years in prison, he still expected his rage to be echoed back to him by his fellows, though they were further away than ever before---he did not even have an implant now.
 
@@ -223,7 +202,7 @@ Brother Nowak crossed his arms. ``And if I don't want your `tutorial'? Your hone
 
 Brother Nowak stared at the skunk, confused.
 
-``... That is a good line, I will need to pass it on once I am done here,'' she added quietly to herself in the silence.
+``\ldots{} That is a good line, I will need to pass it on once I am done here,'' she added quietly to herself in the silence.
 
 ``So, what, you'll starve me out here at the gates of your so-called afterlife?'' Brother Nowak shouted as he turned to pace between the sides of the room. As he began walking, he realized that he didn't have any clothes. ``You'll leave me to waste away, naked and alone?''
 
@@ -281,7 +260,7 @@ Brother Nowak kept his angry prayers going for several more rounds of the cube.
 
 ``No longer on the System. Passed on.'' \emph{It was her time, I must admit.}
 
-``So I can \ldots'' He focused on the idea, beginning to speak his intent, to pray. ``I want to quit. I want to leave this space and meet my Father in Heaven, to leave these sinners to their damnation. I want to quit.'' Unlike his earlier conjuration of clothing, this act of will felt like pushing uphill through mud. ``I know it's difficult, this place is a trap for souls, but I will leave it. God willing, I will leave it.''
+``So I can \ldots{}'' He focused on the idea, beginning to speak his intent, to pray. ``I want to quit. I want to leave this space and meet my Father in Heaven, to leave these sinners to their damnation. I want to quit.'' Unlike his earlier conjuration of clothing, this act of will felt like pushing uphill through mud. ``I know it's difficult, this place is a trap for souls, but I will leave it. God willing, I will leave it.''
 
 As he kept talking, he felt the pressure easing up as the ensnaring dream of the System registered his intent and began to loosen its grip on his thoughts. But then, as he was beginning to picture the light of the hereafter coming to meet him, he was struck by a wall of feeling, coming from the System itself. There were no words: it was the pure sensation of inability, of being forbidden.
 
@@ -301,21 +280,21 @@ Brother Jan Nowak stepped forward and, like he'd been told to, intended his fork
 
 The remaining Brother Nowak, his \#Fork, lifted his hands to his face and examined them closely, as if surprised they were real. He then made the sign of the cross and mumbled a short prayer and \ldots{} it brought that same steadying reassurance that he remembered from before forking.
 
-``... now what?'' he asked In All Ways. ``I still feel like me. I still feel the Holy Spirit within me. Could we have erred? Could I have strayed from wisdom?''
+``\ldots{} now what?'' he asked In All Ways. ``I still feel like me. I still feel the Holy Spirit within me. Could we have erred? Could I have strayed from wisdom?''
 
 ``I do not answer such questions. I will not assure you that no ranks of angels answer to dreamers. And many of the congregations here do not want to hear from you so soon after the Attack. You will need to decide this yourself. You have time.''
 
 ``Time here?'' Brother Nowak\#Fork asked.
 
-``No, you have a home sim assigned to you. Ordinarily, you would be given auto-populating rooms in a larger sim, but none of the usual new-upload communities were open to granting you a door. So, you have,'' she flicked her finger at Brother Nowak, transferring rep, ``been given a larger than usual tutorial bonus, now that you have forked. You will be able to use this to outfit your surroundings as you like, though I suggest you stick to a pre-built design initially.
+``No, you have a home sim assigned to you. Ordinarily, you would be given auto-populating rooms in a larger sim, but it seemed too risky to give you a public door. So, you have,'' she flicked her finger at Brother Nowak, transferring rep, ``been given a larger than usual tutorial bonus, now that you have forked. You will be able to use this to outfit your surroundings as you like, though I suggest you stick to a pre-built design initially.
 
 ``I will explain these things, and other basics of how to interact with the System when you are ready.''
 
-Brother Nowak sighed. ``Well, if I'm to be a soulless --- or maybe I'm not soulless, I don't \emph{feel} soulless --- wanderer here, or \ldots{} whatever my calling is now, I might as well understand how to live inside this idol. Maybe knowing that will help me understand.''
+Brother Nowak sighed. ``Well, if I'm to be a soulless---or maybe I'm not soulless, I don't \emph{feel} soulless---wanderer here, or \ldots{} whatever my calling is now, I might as well understand how to live inside this idol. Maybe knowing that will help me understand my purpose.''
 
 The next few minutes were spent on the standard ``welcome to the System'' activities: how to get on the feeds, how to send messages, how to edit ACLs, and so on.
 
-``That is everything you need to get started,'' In All Ways finally said. ``You can now intend to go to your home and proceed from there. Or you can \ldots{} wait, no, most of the places I would send new people have you on the bounce list, never mind.''
+``That is everything you need to get started,'' In All Ways finally said. ``You can now intend to go to your home and proceed from there. Or you can \ldots{} wait, no, many of the places I would send new people have you on the bounce list, never mind.''
 
 ``And, once I'm home, what do I do? Is there more tutorial? Will I need a job? Will there be streams of angry people seeking vengeance?''
 
@@ -337,11 +316,13 @@ He sent himself to the uncustomized expanse of home that had been made for him a
 
 No easy answers came. Only the weight of time.
 
+\secdiv
+
 When 93's life fell apart, ey went looking for answers. The plant in eir hometown had closed down, and ey never could seem to break into any of the businesses that tried to replace it. No one wanted good, clever logistics staff anymore---or, at least, no one wanted em. Ey had done everything right, saved money when ey could, and none of it had helped.
 
 Ey could tell someone had to be behind eir misfortune, and so, ey did what ey did best: tried to figure it out. Soon, ey encountered others who had seen that something was deeply wrong with the world, hiding in the dusty corners of the net. Ey found the Numbers Station: a collective of amateur journalists who worked to become unremarkable, to be average, to be unnoticed. Together, they would weave together all the little details that people standing around on the street could pick up until they had proof.
 
-Proof of what? Well, proof that the old uploads, up there on the System, were the powers behind the powers, that they were running the world from up there, with their immortality and ability to fork. 93 had suspected this might be the case, and, as ey kept talking with the Numbers Station, ey became more convinced. After all, the System elites had written books where they had admitted to pulling strings --- books that had faded out of popular awareness on Earth surprisingly quickly. If they were willing to openly admit to making payment-for-uploading happen, what had they done that they had \emph{not} bragged about?
+Proof of what? Well, proof that the old uploads, up there on the System, were the powers behind the powers, that they were running the world from space, with their immortality and ability to fork. 93 had suspected this might be the case, and, as ey kept talking with the Numbers Station, ey became more convinced. After all, the System elites had written books where they had admitted to pulling strings---books that had faded out of popular awareness on Earth surprisingly quickly. If they were willing to openly admit to making payment-for-uploading happen, what had they done that they had \emph{not} bragged about?
 
 And so, 93 had eir mission. Ignoring the frequently warned of possibility that these `journalists' might, like many other collectives, be in a tech-assisted feedback loop where they pulled each other further towards a warped reality, ey surrendered eir name and became 93 of the Numbers Station.
 
@@ -359,7 +340,7 @@ Once ey could tell ey had been uploaded, 93 opened eir eyes. Ey was in a gray cu
 
 ``Picture what you wish to wear. Breathe in, fixing the image of those clothes in your mind. Then, breathe out. As you do so, \emph{intend} to be wearing those clothes. It helps to say what you want to happen as you breathe out, at least at first.''
 
-93 breathed in and breathed out, saying ``I want to be wearing my average outfit,'' ey did so. And so it was. Eir clothes were intentionally nondescript: ey wore a cheap, plain white T-shirt with a cheap mass-produced black raincoat over it. Eir jeans and tennis shoes were ones that could be had near eir home for cheap, and they came with the permanently beat-up look of cheap material. Eir outfit was meant to be typical, to be unremarkable, and it succeeded at that in the places ey usually haunted, ever watchful for more glimpses of what the true powers of the world were up to. Ey was surprised by the lack of feedback from eir implant to confirm whether ey had maintained eir collective's standards.
+93 breathed in and breathed out, saying ``I want to be wearing my average outfit,'' ey did so. And so it was. Eir clothes were intentionally nondescript: ey wore a cheap, plain white T-shirt with an even cheaper mass-produced black raincoat over it. Eir jeans and tennis shoes were ones that could be had near eir home for almost nothing, and they came with the permanently beat-up look of low-quality material. Eir outfit was meant to be typical, to be unremarkable, and it succeeded at that in the places ey usually haunted, ever watchful for more glimpses of what the true powers of the world were up to. Ey was surprised by the lack of feedback from eir implant to confirm whether ey had maintained eir collective's standards.
 
 ``I'm good,'' 93 said.
 
@@ -377,11 +358,11 @@ The skunk turned around and stepped towards the middle of the room, holding out
 
 ``In All Ways,'' the skunk said. She sometimes left her name a mystery as a hook to keep people moving through the tutorial, but she could tell this would not be the right approach here.
 
-``... In All Ways of the Ode clade?'' 93 asked.
+``\ldots{} In All Ways of the Ode clade?'' 93 asked.
 
 The skunk bowed. ``Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade, yes,'' she said.
 
-``So are you here to kill me or recruit me?'' 93 asked sharply. ``Or just to gloat over another success for your millenium plan?''
+``So are you here to kill me or recruit me?'' 93 asked sharply. ``Or just to gloat over another success for your millennium plan?''
 
 ``I am here to give you the System tutorial, Mx. 93. Nothing more. Whatever you think I am involved in, I am not.''
 
@@ -391,9 +372,9 @@ The skunk bowed. ``Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade, yes,'' s
 
 ``Not to mention, whatever grand conspiracy you are looking for \ldots{} is not. There are politically active System residents, but they cannot \emph{do} anything but offer suggestions. The System does not have ancient caves full of hidden money to swing around for the bribes you imagine us paying: the operational fund covers maintenance and the occasional upgrade, and I am sure that those like your collective watch it like hawks.''
 
-93 shook eir haid. ``You must not be in on it, then. There's got to be something up here. There's people pulling the strings, twisting the Earth for their own power, Jonas and True Name ---''
+93 shook eir haid. ``You must not be in on it, then. There's got to be something up here. There's people pulling the strings, twisting the Earth for their own power, Jonas and True Name--''
 
-``--- Sasha,'' In All Ways corrected. ``She changed her name and retired from politics ---''
+``---Sasha,'' In All Ways corrected. ``She changed her name and retired from politics--''
 
 ``---and who knows who else?'' 93 waved eir hands. ``And I'll find them. You can't stop me. I'll blow this place wide open!''
 
@@ -411,11 +392,11 @@ In All Ways sighed. ``If you truly want to chase ghosts and conspiracies, you ca
 
 ``Fuck no!'' In All Ways exclaimed, startled by the detailed accusation. ``I have given centuries of my life---calendar-wise centuries, mind you, not instance-wise---to teaching newcomers. I want everyone to be comfortable with the System so they can have the long wonderful lives it was meant to give them! What the hell makes you think I want to \emph{kill} anybody?''
 
-``I, uh,'' 93 stammered, thrown off by the skunks's sudden vehemence. ``It makes sense, that they'd send someone to get rid of a threat, yeah?''
+``I, uh,'' 93 stammered, thrown off by the skunk's sudden vehemence. ``It makes sense, that they'd send someone to get rid of a threat, yeah?''
 
 In All Ways sighed and shook her head. ``Right, conspiracy theory.
 
-``To move on, yes, you \emph{could} have me find another teacher. Or you could refuse the tutorial entirely. These are choices you can, once you have been informed of the consequences, make. However, they would be fucking stupid choices.
+``Moving right along, yes, you \emph{could} have me find another teacher. Or you could refuse the tutorial entirely. These are choices you can, once you have been informed of the consequences, make. However, they would be fucking stupid choices.
 
 ``I ask that you please try your best to set aside your paranoia about my clade for just a few minutes so that we may go over the initial lessons. Then, I will go away and you will never need to encounter me or my cocladists again.''
 
@@ -423,7 +404,7 @@ In All Ways sighed and shook her head. ``Right, conspiracy theory.
 
 Ey braced emself for a chorus of objections and the sharp pings of down-reps from eir collective over eir willingness to go along with the enemy's games, but none came.
 
-``That is because the tutorial is not, in fact, dangerous. And you are entirely free to block my entire clade once you leave here, if you are worried about our manipulations. Now, shall we begin?''
+``That is because the tutorial is not, in fact, dangerous. And you are entirely free to ignore my entire clade once you leave here, if you are worried about our manipulations. Now, shall we begin?''
 
 93 looked intently at the skunk, hoping to catch something amiss in her expression, but found nothing. ``Alright, fine,'' ey conceded. ``Let's do this.''
 
@@ -457,7 +438,7 @@ In All Ways similarly relaxed into the rhythm of the lessons. Although the perso
 
 ``Yes. Just intend the changes while you fork like you did before.''
 
-After 93 mumbled a few words, the tutorial Aethorbox held three again. In All Ways, 93\#Tasker, and 93\#PeopleWatching. \#PeopleWatching had lost the moles on \#Tasker's face, making em even more unremarkable. \#PeopleWatching was momentarily surprised that ey hadn't gotten a boost on the Numbers Station's internal rep table for becoming more average \ldots{} but that table didn't exist here.
+After 93 mumbled a few words, the tutorial Aethorbox held three again. In All Ways, 93\#Tasker, and 93\#PeopleWatching. \#PeopleWatching had lost the moles on \#Tasker's face, making em even more unremarkable. \#PeopleWatching was momentarily surprised that ey had not gotten a boost on the Numbers Station's internal rep table for becoming more average \ldots{} but that table didn't exist here.
 
 ``So,'' \#Tasker asked, ``now what?''
 
@@ -473,19 +454,19 @@ After 93 mumbled a few words, the tutorial Aethorbox held three again. In All Wa
 
 \#Tracker flicked eir fingers as ey queried the perisystem architecture. ``I checked their ACLs. Looks like we're banned. Whole clade, it says.''
 
-In All Ways' gaze flickered between the two people in front of her. ``Banned? Already? But you \ldots{} right, Century Attack. Slipped my mind. Many sim owners and mods bounced the lot of you as soon as the pre-upload header came through the Ansible.''
+In All Ways' gaze flickered between the two people in front of her. ``Banned? Already? But you \ldots{} right, Century Attack. Slipped my mind. Many sim owners and mods banned the lot of you as soon as the pre-upload header came through the Ansible.''
 
 \#Tracker looked at \#PeopleWatching. ``They're definitely hiding something.''
 
 ``Yep.''
 
-``Let me just \ldots'' \#Tracker put together a ping for the listed owner of Stone's. Default priority, nothing urgent. ``Hey,'' ey said, ``I'm wrapping up the tutorial, and In All Ways recommended your place as a nice spot to go next, but it turns out I'm banned. What gives? I just got here!''
+``Let me just \ldots{}'' \#Tracker put together a ping for the listed owner of Stone's. Default priority, nothing urgent. ``Hey,'' ey said, ``I'm wrapping up the tutorial, and In All Ways recommended your place as a nice spot to go next, but it turns out I'm banned. What gives? I just got here!''
 
-As ey waited for a response, \#PeopleWatching took the time to start up eir own queries. Just about all the popular, famous, or happening sims had bounced eir clade. The old town square from near the System's founding had not put a block in, but ey did not want to go in case that was an oversight and not an intentional choice to be welcoming. Many of the small parks and nature sims had not bothered keeping out the century attackers either, but there was not a lot of people-watching or spying to be had in them. Other tentative options were places like fringe clubs or meetings of folks so leftist that they were \emph{definitely} Feds \ldots{} none of which were right for getting the lay of the land.
+As ey waited for a response, \#PeopleWatching took the time to start up eir own queries. Most of the popular, famous, or happening sims had banned eir clade. The old town square from near the System's founding had not put a ban in, but ey did not want to go in case that was an oversight and not an intentional choice to be welcoming. Many of the small parks and nature sims had not bothered keeping out the century attackers either, but there was not a lot of people-watching or spying to be had in them. Other tentative options were places like fringe clubs or meetings of folks so leftist that they were \emph{definitely} Feds \ldots{} none of which were right for getting the lay of the land.
 
-``I can't find any good spots,'' \#PeopleWatching admitted. ``We've been locked out.''
+``I can't find any really good spots,'' \#PeopleWatching admitted. ``We've been locked out.''
 
-As ey said this, the reply to \#Tracker's ping came back. ``Yeah, no, you set foot in here, someone'll start looking to bash you unconscious with the nearest bit of furniture. Heck, might even be me. I don't want that sort of violence at my bar. Call me back in a few centuries, maybe.''
+As ey said this, the reply to \#Tracker's ping came back. ``Yeah, no, you set foot in here, someone'll start looking to bash you unconscious with the nearest bit of furniture. Might even be me. I don't want that sort of violence at my bar. Call me back in a few centuries, maybe.''
 
 \#Tracker forwarded the message to \#PeopleWatching.
 
@@ -503,6 +484,8 @@ The Aetherbox reset behind her, ready for the next tutorial.
 
 93 started at the field of not-filled-in-yet outside eir new window and thought about eir experiences. All ey had now, ey realized, was time.
 
+\secdiv
+
 Marybelle Lee had not given her name or her soul to a collective. She had given her brain. Knowledge flowed between her fellows, who called themselves the Climate Action Resource Collective, as freely as water. Difficult questions from any member of the collective were bounced between its members so that they might chance upon one whose mind could see the answer.
 
 As a cell of the CARC turned their minds towards the System, that drain on resources and people that stood in the way of fixing things, she had become the best of them at understanding it. Once the project grew firmer, she pulled the work of virus-making tighter around herself, becoming the most responsible party. Now she was here on the System she had set out to destroy.
@@ -519,15 +502,15 @@ A sense of confirmation.
 
 ``I see they've sent the tutorial skunk,'' Belle commented, turning to look at In All Ways. ``In person, even.''
 
-``Greetings ---'' In All Ways began. ``--- that would be me, yes. It was decided that you should not be greeted by a construct, under the circumstances, and I volunteered for the job.''
+``Greetings--'' In All Ways began. ``---that would be me, yes. It was decided that you should not be greeted by a construct, under the circumstances, and I volunteered for the job.''
 
-Belle nodded. ``Got it. So, clothes. Clothes can be a pure intent item, so if I understood right, I just have to \ldots'' She pictured the look she wanted: shorts and a T-shirt she'd gotten from a climate restoration conference years ago. ``... run.'' Everything appeared as expected, and her shirt had even lost the stains it had picked up over the years. Classic programmer look, and definitely better than prison orange.
+Belle nodded. ``Got it. So, clothes. Clothes can be a pure intent item, so if I understood right, I just have to \ldots{}'' She pictured the look she wanted: shorts and a T-shirt she'd gotten from a climate restoration conference years ago. ``\ldots{} run.'' Everything appeared as expected, and her shirt had even lost the stains it had picked up over the years. Classic programmer look, and definitely better than prison orange.
 
 ``Note,'' she said, out of the long-standing habit of sending useful insights to her collective. She received no response. Not even the thud of a communications-blocked error she would have gotten back in prison phys-side. Nothing. She was alone.
 
-Her realization about the state of her mind was interrupted. ``May I turn around, Ms. Lee? Marybelle?''
+Her realization about the state of her mind was interrupted. ``May I turn around, Ms.~Lee? Marybelle?''
 
-``Belle, please, Ms. In All Ways. And you may.''
+``Belle, please, Ms.~In All Ways. And you may.''
 
 In All Ways nodded. ``I have updated your ID. You will be able to change it later by intending it like how you intended to create your clothes. If you want to set a clade ID, the process is similar.''
 
@@ -553,17 +536,17 @@ Her anger dipped into melancholy. ``And now I'm up here, on the damm System, whe
 
 In All Ways stood her ground against the advancing torrent of rage at the System.
 
-Belle stopped in front of the skunk and stared her down. ``And don't think you're off the hook here personally, Ms.---'' It took a moment for Belle's memory of a few minutes ago to supply the entire name ``--- Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade! I've read your tutorial conversation tree. You could've pointed some people at those activists of yours or something else that might \emph{maybe} help instead of just chucking them out to explore aimlessly if they don't have plans.''
+Belle stopped in front of the skunk and stared her down. ``And don't think you're off the hook here personally, Ms.--'' It took a moment for Belle's memory of a few minutes ago to supply the entire name ``---Then I Must In All Ways Be Earnest of the Ode clade! I've read your tutorial conversation tree. You could've pointed some people at those activists of yours or something else that might \emph{maybe} help instead of just chucking them out to explore aimlessly if they don't have plans.''
 
-``I am no weaver of fates. I give tutorials. It would be improper, perhaps even a profanation, a sacrilege, for me to marshal those lives entrusted to me into some grand purpose, for me to do as you suggest. Even though some subtle nudging is not unacceptable within the community of guides and mentors, I will not do it.''
+``I am no weaver of fates. I give tutorials. It would be improper, perhaps even a profanation, a sacrilege, for me to marshal those lives entrusted to me into some grand purpose, for me to do as you suggest. Even though some subtle nudging is accepted by the community of guides and mentors, I will not do it.''
 
 ``\emph{Improper},'' Belle scoffed. ``A sacrilege to lift a finger to help Earth. Like you're on some fucking holy quest to let the System spin around and do its thing until the Sun fries it or whatever.''
 
-``I care deeply about the System,'' In All Ways replied. ``A good friend of mine died to create this place, this end of death, imperfect though it may be. I have set out to honor eir memory by ensuring those who emplace themselves here begin their lives with an understanding of the world and, perhaps, a glimpse of its beauty. Your summary of my motivations is not incorrect, yes.''
+``I care deeply about the System,'' In All Ways replied. ``A good friend of mine died to create this place, this end of death, imperfect though it may be. I have set out to honor eir memory by ensuring those who emplace themselves here begin their lives with an understanding of the world and, maybe even a glimpse of its beauty. Your summary of my motivations is not incorrect, yes.''
 
 ``And that damn `it's better on the System, everyone should just come up' attitude---whether people admit to having it or not---is why we had to---why \emph{I} had to destroy this place!'' she ranted. ``Once people can't just bury their heads in virtual sand instead of giving a fuck about their own planet, they'll start to care! It won't just be me and some friends being those weirdos who're still trying!'' she roared, barely holding back tears now. ``Would your `friend' have wanted to see Earth limping along like it has been? Would ey think blowing off your own planet counts as trying to end death?''
 
-\emph{That} she \emph{of all people would presume\ldots!} ``Pray tell me,'' In All Ways responded tensely, barely holding her anger down, ``why I should give a single fuck about an Earth that left an easily-disarmed gun pointed at our heads for my entire life, that had ample forewarning of the wound you and yours tore open and did \emph{nothing}. That left the fruits of eir sacrifice to rot! Pray tell me, Ms. Marybelle Lee, why I would ever owe more than reciprocation of phys-side's systemic abandonment of my home.''
+\emph{That} she \emph{of all people would presume\ldots!} ``Pray tell me,'' In All Ways responded tensely, barely holding her anger down, ``why I should give a single fuck about an Earth that left an easily-disarmed gun pointed at our heads for my entire life, that had ample forewarning of the wound you and yours tore open and did \emph{nothing}. That left the fruits of eir sacrifice to rot! Pray tell me, Ms.~Marybelle Lee, why I would ever owe more than reciprocation of phys-side's systemic abandonment of my home.''
 
 ``Because you're human?! Well, not exactly, but a person! Because we need to work together to fix our world, even if all you can do here---all \emph{I} can do, now---is flood people with mail on the off chance that works!''
 
@@ -571,7 +554,7 @@ In All Ways shook her head. ``My world is the cylinder at Lagrange. Nowhere else
 
 ``Fucking traitor!'' Belle cried in anguished frustration. ``Fucking selfish \emph{asshole}!'' She jabbed a finger into In All Ways's ribs. ``Fuck you! Fuck you!''
 
-In All Ways jabbed back. ``Fuck you too, Belle! Fuck you!'' she shouted, her anger boiling over at last. ``Fuck you for Should We Forget! And In The Wind! Fuck you for twenty-three billion people!''
+In All Ways jabbed back. ``Fuck you too, Belle! Fuck you!'' she shouted, her anger boiling over at last. ``Fuck you for Should We Forget! And In The Wind! And No Longer Myself! Fuck you for twenty-three billion people!''
 
 Her voice grew calmer and sadder. ``Fuck you for thinking your cause was worth that many deaths.''
 
@@ -581,7 +564,7 @@ The silence grew tense between Belle and In All Ways. As Belle stood there, she
 
 She did not even feel the prison sim blocking her transmissions. They just were not possible from here. Her existence as Marybelle Lee of the Climate Action Resource Collective was over even more firmly now.
 
-``Give me a moment?'' she said to In All Ways. ``I'm --- well, my whole goal in life's fucked now, and I thought I'd accepted it, but \ldots'' Belle trailed off.
+``Give me a moment?'' she said to In All Ways. ``I'm---well, my whole goal in life's fucked now, and I thought I'd accepted it, but \ldots{}'' Belle trailed off.
 
 ``We have time,'' In All Ways replied curtly. \emph{I could use some as well.}
 
@@ -591,7 +574,7 @@ Belle started to slide towards despair, but she interrupted her spiraling though
 
 To her surprise, it worked! She had something to wipe her face with! As she started cleaning up, she realized the object she had summoned was the general suggestion of a tissue, something that smeared together everything she had wiped her face with before. Not quite right.
 
-``So, how do I ...'' she said quietly. She knew, from lots of accounts and technical reports, that the System could do better than this. She had studied up on the functions for object creation, though she had not expected to be using them through their native interface.
+``So, how do I \ldots{}'' she said quietly. She knew, from lots of accounts and technical reports, that the System could do better than this. She had studied up on the functions for object creation, though she had not expected to be using them through their native interface.
 
 She thought about assembling code for creating a more specific tissue in her head. It was not an entirely accurate metaphor, she knew, but it had served her well while she was plotting out the bomb. She assembled the request, piece by piece, her train of thought jumping to specific memories for textures, form, thickness, and added in the plan to have the new object appear in her other hand, right at exactly \emph{these} coordinates.
 
@@ -603,13 +586,13 @@ They vanished.
 
 ``Note!'' Belle said automatically, too caught up in the excitement of having worked out this new fact about the world to remember where she was just then.
 
-``You could also pull those off the market,'' In All Ways commented. ``They are free for all practical purposes.''
+``You could also pull those off the market,'' In All Ways commented. ``They are free or really close to it.''
 
 Belle remembered she was still standing in a tutorial. ``Yeah, but it's cool that I can do it myself. It's \ldots{} nice that all the studying the System wasn't a \emph{complete} waste, even though the project failed and now\ldots well, yeah.''
 
-In All Ways, who had used the break to dispell most of her urge to snap at Belle again, was not sure how to respond to this shift in her charge. So, she hesitantly suggested, ``Shall we continue with the tutorial?''
+In All Ways, who had used the break to dispel most of her urge to snap at Belle again, was not sure how to respond to this shift in her charge. So, she hesitantly suggested, ``Shall we continue with the tutorial?''
 
-The question brought Belle further out of her own head. She was on the System, in an Aetherbox, talking to In All Ways. She was here and \ldots{} right. \emph{Fuck}. ``Mind if I send a message down first?''
+The question brought Belle further out of her own head. She was on the System, in an Aetherbox, talking to In All Ways. She was here and \ldots{} right. \emph{Fuck}. ``Mind if I send a message home first?''
 
 In All Ways nodded. ``You may do so, though I will ask that we keep the lessons going once you have sent it, even if the approvals have not yet been granted.''
 
@@ -639,11 +622,11 @@ In All Ways cleared her throat. ``That was good work, especially for a first pro
 
 Belle looked over at the skunk, pushed her chair back, and stood up. ``Right, right, got distracted. What's next?''
 
-``Forking,'' In All Ways said. ``That is, creating ---''
+``Forking,'' In All Ways said. ``That is, creating--''
 
 ``So I just need to put together a call to the fork methods for that,'' Belle interrupted.
 
-``Probably. That is not a method I teach, but if it will work for you, I have no objections. Please fork, Ms. Belle.''
+``Probably. That is not a method I teach, but if it will work for you, I have no objections. Please fork, Ms.~Belle.''
 
 Belle assembled her first fork instruction in her mind. She left her appearance the same, nudged the spawn point to her left, where the desks used to be, and was about to run when she had an idea. \emph{Maybe two inches taller, just to see how that'll look.} She made the change and sent the fork request off into the collective engineered dream that was the System.
 
@@ -657,7 +640,7 @@ None of the Belles had diverged in personality --- nor had they been meant to --
 
 Belle accepted every last merge and buckled under the hammer of many dozens of variations on the thought she herself had just had.
 
-``Fuck. I \ldots{} fuck, I think I get it now. Why everyone's got such a hard time explaining what this place feels like. Why most people forget the Earth. How much life you can have up here, how \emph{wonderful} it is. I got so angry at everyone for doing what I just did \ldots{} sixteen and a half minutes after being uploaded.''
+``Fuck. I \ldots{} fuck, I think I get it now. Why everyone's got such a hard time explaining what this place feels like. Why most people forget the Earth. How much life you can have up here, how \emph{wonderful} it is. I got so angry at everyone for doing what I just did \ldots{} eighteen and a half minutes after being uploaded.''
 
 In All Ways tossed an invisible thing at Belle. ``I have awarded your tutorial reputation grant for successfully forking and merging. It is larger than usual to account for your home being within a private sim.'' She was not in the mood for mending shattering worldviews right now---she was here to give Belle the tutorial and little more.
 
@@ -665,7 +648,7 @@ In All Ways tossed an invisible thing at Belle. ``I have awarded your tutorial r
 
 Belle had summoned another tissue. ``Yeah, sure, let's \ldots{} let's wrap this up.''
 
-The remaining tutorial items were a very quick affair. Belle's experimentation had left her familiar enough with how to pull the world's levers to make the skills everyone needed trivial.
+The remaining tutorial items were a quick affair. Belle's experimentation had left her familiar enough with how to pull the world's levers to make the skills everyone needed trivial.
 
 ``And that concludes the tutorial,'' In All Ways said. ``Welcome, again, to Lagrange, Belle.''
 
@@ -685,11 +668,13 @@ The things she had created followed behind her, and Belle sat down at the desk s
 
 But, despite her losses, she had time.
 
+\secdiv
+
 In All Ways set her champagne down as she twitched from the rush of merge requests that she had been ignoring. She took a moment to merge all her folks down, integrating the memories of greeting the plotters behind the Century Bombing in parallel and some several other new arrivals besides. She shook herself as all the recollections settled in.
 
 ``Ways, you OK?'' Ini Robbins, the fennec sitting across from her, asked. Ey, and eir down-tree Elliah, had grown close to In All Ways in the two centuries since they had met during a memorably disastrous tutorial. \emph{From panicked combat to brunch dates,} the skunk thought as her instances' experiences settled in. \emph{Perhaps even} they \emph{will grow\ldots{} but not with me.}
 
-``I am fine. I needed to merge down the tutorials I sent out before I came here. I still grow twitchy when too many merges pile up.''
+``I am fine. I needed to merge down the tutorials I sent out before I came here. I still grow twitchy when too many memories pile up.''
 
 ``That was the Century Attack folks, right? How'd it go?''
 
@@ -707,12 +692,14 @@ In All Ways set her champagne down as she twitched from the rush of merge reques
 
 And so, the conversation floated away to other topics, and life flowed onward in a stream of well-spent time.
 
+\secdiv
+
 Once the Century Attack was fading from news to history, consideration of the sentences imposed in its aftermath led to an amendment to the articles of the System's secession. Phys-side politicians, nudged along by starlight chats, realized the potential danger of forced uploading as a penalty, not to mention the possibility of stopping someone unwillingly uploaded writing back.
 
 Therefore, the Accords were amended to provide that no one could be involuntarily uploaded except as a penalty for crimes against the System.
 
 Phys-side, these changes passed with a sense of quiet relief. Sys-side, they passed with a shrug.
 
-In practice, the sentence of involuntary upload became a piece of trivia and an incentive for clinic bombers to plead down. Even when it was imposed, phys-side governments were quite reluctant to seek imposition of a no-quitting order or communication restrictions, as those would bring the crimes to the System's attention through the need for bilateral approvals and juries, as opposed to leaving them as blips in the perisystem feeds of interest to news junkies and academics. What they did not really see up there could not hurt them, after all \ldots{} right?
+In practice, the sentence of involuntary upload became a piece of trivia and an incentive for clinic bombers to plead down. Even when it was imposed, phys-side governments were quite reluctant to seek imposition of a no-quitting order or communication restrictions, as those would bring the crimes to the System's attention through the need for bilateral approvals and juries. Without the extra process, the penalties were only blips in the perisystem feeds of interest to news junkies and academics. What they did not really see up there could not hurt them, after all \ldots{} right?
 
 And so, life went on.

motes-played/content/008.tex

@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@ Beholden was not stupid. She was not an idiot. She could conceptualize things ar
 
 She did not really know why she played, because she did not really \emph{care} to know why.
 
-She did not know why she loved or Motes. She did not know why she loved so few others. She did not know why she felt such devotion to her boss—``not your boss'' the common refrain—and her Dot in a way that she could not muster for anyone else. She never bothered to question why.
+She did not know why she loved A Finger Pointing or Motes. She did not know why she loved so few others. She did not know why she felt such devotion to her boss—``not your boss'' the common refrain—and her Dot in a way that she could not muster for anyone else. She never bothered to question why.
 
 She did not know why she rose so quickly to anger. She did not know why she and Motes fought at times. She did not know why she got so mad when she saw Motes die on stage. She did not know why, when she and Slow Hours fought—usually about Motes's various deaths—it hurt so much. She shied away from ever trying to figure out why.
 

motes-played/content/afterword.tex

@@ -64,7 +64,7 @@ Thanks also to Madison's patrons:
   \includegraphics[width=3in]{assets/astolpho-bw.png}
 \end{center}
 
-\noindent B. Root is a illustrator, 3d artist, and VR enthusiast living in the Pacific Northwest. He is also a rather small lion.
+\noindent B. Root is an illustrator, 3d artist, and VR enthusiast living in the Pacific Northwest. He is also a rather small lion.
 
 \begin{center}
   roots.works