update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/toledot/launch/launch/Codrin-castor/002.md

@@ -96,7 +96,7 @@ Ey sat before the cairn so that it came up to eye level, and watched the long, s
 
 Perhaps it was regret or guilt, perhaps not. The fox had attacked the idea of leaving, of truly leaving the L<sub>5</sub> System and leaving no fork behind, with a ferocity that even Dear's partner admitted was somewhat unusual, as though it had *needed* to leave, to escape something.
 
-And then it's story, building a ascetic cult until it had been killed by its followers. Did some of that ring true to the fox? Did it feel that it had a cult following? Did it feel as though there were some risk of being destroyed by the thing that it had built up? Did it feel like an ascetic who had taken too many liberties?
+And then it's story, building an ascetic cult until it had been killed by its followers. Did some of that ring true to the fox? Did it feel that it had a cult following? Did it feel as though there were some risk of being destroyed by the thing that it had built up? Did it feel like an ascetic who had taken too many liberties?
 
 "I'm overthinking this," ey mumbled.
 

writing/post-self/toledot/launch/launch/Codrin-pollux/001.md

@@ -43,7 +43,7 @@ Systime: 201+25 1014
 > 
 > **Codrin:** Did you have other reasons for transferring?
 > 
-> **Dear:** A few, though they are less easily put to words. If you remember the Qoheleth business, there is some of that involved. I been unable to forget what he said, and beyond the very literal sense that it was couched in. If we are doomed to forever remember everything, then the only way --- or perhaps one of the only ways --- to relegate something completely to memory is through inaccessibility. If I-- if all instances of Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled were to quit, then there would be no more objective instance of myself for others to remember.
+> **Dear:** A few, though they are less easily put to words. If you remember the Qoheleth business, there is some of that involved. I have been unable to forget what he said, and beyond the very literal sense that it was couched in. If we are doomed to forever remember everything, then the only way --- or perhaps one of the only ways --- to relegate something completely to memory is through inaccessibility. If I-- if all instances of Dear, Also, The Tree That Was Felled were to quit, then there would be no more objective instance of myself for others to remember.
 > 
 > **Codrin:** I would prefer that you not.
 > 
@@ -51,7 +51,7 @@ Systime: 201+25 1014
 > 
 > **Codrin:** Perhaps you could say that you would go from being someone who is remembered to someone who is missed? Does that sound like a fair assessment?
 > 
-> **Dear:** [excited] Yes. Yes! That is it precisely. If we are doomed to forever remember everything, than the closest we can get to being forgotten is to turn memory into longing.
+> **Dear:** [excited] Yes. Yes! That is it precisely. If we are doomed to forever remember everything, then the closest we can get to being forgotten is to turn memory into longing.
 > 
 > **Codrin:** You mentioned a few more reasons. Do you have others?
 > 

writing/post-self/toledot/secession/phys/Yared/002.md

@@ -26,7 +26,7 @@
 >
 > One of these representatives with whom I have been speaking is one of the lost. I know that the collective conscious moves quickly, and it's a lot to ask it to keep in mind a single incident from nigh on twelve years ago, but they are important. They were among the lost, those unlucky few trapped within their own minds and exocortices by the whims of tyranny, and when they were returned to our shared existence from their solipsistic one, they were among the voices campaigning for change from the very political systems who failed them and many others. As one of the lost, their experiences were integral to the creation of the System, and have been a part of it from the inside for almost a decade.
 >
-> Their memories are real
+> Their memories are real.
 >
 > Their life is real.
 >
@@ -84,7 +84,7 @@ Still frowning, Yared stood, nodded to the woman who had prepared the coffee and
 
 The man set the tray of coffees on the roof of the car, removed one and set a slice of himbasha on it, before opening the back door and handing the tray and other slices to the person inside.
 
-So incongruous was the context that Yared did not recognize him at first. The man was dressed much as he was, in loose white pants and a white shirt, but the clothing was much finer, with an elaborately embroidered neckline on the shirt, and spotless pants where his own where dusty and overdue for a wash.
+So incongruous was the context that Yared did not recognize him at first. The man was dressed much as he was, in loose white pants and a white shirt, but the clothing was much finer, with an elaborately embroidered neckline on the shirt, and spotless pants where his own were dusty and overdue for a wash.
 
 Still, the face was unmistakable. "Councilor Demma?" he asked, voice small.