update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/idumea/full.md

@@ -1180,7 +1180,7 @@ And above was the sun which was also The Dreamer who dreams us all.
 
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-<!-- Maybe this is just an interlude as she comes down from overflowing and not actually part of the tasks. -->
+<!-- Maybe this is just an interlude as she comes down from overflowing and not actually part of the tasks. That way it can keep its place. -->
 
 When at last The Woman returned home, she performed a new ritual. She performed a ritual of mourning.
 
@@ -1258,7 +1258,7 @@ We know this, you and I. We know this because that is the story that I have been
 
 The Woman was too much herself, and becoming ever more so always. With each day, each hour, each minute and second, she was becoming ever more herself. She did not just become older — and, dear ones, you remember, of course, that we are *very* old — though she also became that — but she became yet more The Woman than she had been before. My clever readers will remember when I said: I think she would say that she was *too* full, too much, too alive. Those readers will remember when I said: she is too much herself, too human, too embodied within her vessel as it spirals out of control, too stuck in her mind as it twists in on itself. And, yes, those same readers will remember when I said: It is hard to experience peace, hard to experience joy when one is too much oneself, is it not?
 
-Do you see now the connection?
+Do you see now the connection? <!-- God, what the fuck is this line from... -->
 
 If you sense within The Woman's words and actions a haste to find some joy, some way to unbecome, before some unknown future calamity, I do not think you would be wrong, but neither do I think you would be wholly correct. I think there is a haste within all of us to do what we will before death. Even those of us who live with what we had assumed was functional immortality have found that there is calamity in our lives, for we have now lived through death. No one who uploads even this very day will not remember the calamity that was the Century Attack, the way that a virus had been loosed within Lagrange, within the System in which we dwell, and crashed every single instance. No one who uploads even this very day will not know what terrors we have lived through, the grief of losing one percent of a society 2.3 trillion strong.