update from sparkleup

writing/post-self/motes/006.html

@@ -13,7 +13,8 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 006</h1>
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-                <p>Motes had, at one point, started to play.</p>
+                <h1 id="motes-2362">Motes — 2362</h1>
+<p>Motes had, at one point, started to play.</p>
 <p>That is how time&rsquo;s inevitable arrow works, after all, is it not? There was a time when Motes was not, when she had not yet existed, and then there was a point at which she began, and from then on, she existed. Her presence was in the world, and it was undeniable. There were witnesses. There were knock-on effects. She undeniably <em>was.</em></p>
 <p>And so, there was a time at which she did not play, did not surround herself with play, did not define herself by it, and then there was a point at which she began to play. It was a starting point. It was an inflection point, at which she collided with the idea of play and her trajectory was changed.</p>
 <p>And yet, even before that, before Motes, before the System, before getting lost, Michelle had played, had she not? She had been a kid, yes? The Michelle, even before getting her implants and becoming Sasha, had been five, had been six and seven and eight.</p>
@@ -109,7 +110,7 @@
 <p>And then she awoke.</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-08</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-15</p>
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writing/post-self/motes/007.html

@@ -13,7 +13,8 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 007</h1>
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-                <p>A Finger Pointing was not playing.</p>
+                <h1 id="a-finger-pointing-2362">A Finger Pointing — 2362</h1>
+<p>A Finger Pointing was not playing.</p>
 <p>She was not fucking around. She was not putting up with this. She would never put up with this, never should have put up with this. Seven years of silence, five decades of barely concealed spying, a century of awkward attempts to maintain a friendship, a cohesion, a sense of community with someone who clearly loathed some integral part of her life.</p>
 <p>She was not going to play around, here. She was not going to play soft. She was not going to play hard. She was not going to play at all, not with Hammered Silver, not anymore.</p>
 <blockquote>
@@ -100,7 +101,7 @@
 <p>((fallout, or move to next chapter in conversation))</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-14</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-15</p>
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writing/post-self/motes/008.html

@@ -13,7 +13,8 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 008</h1>
             </header>
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-                <p>Motes thought of play.</p>
+                <h1 id="motes-2362">Motes — 2362</h1>
+<p>Motes thought of play.</p>
 <p>She thought of all of the play that she had taken part in over the years, all of the games and make believe, all of the jungle-gyms and slides, all of the tag and red-light-green-light and duck-duck-goose, everything going back 276 years, as much as she could remember. She thought of all her toys, from the mound of stuffed animals occupying her bed beside her right now to the awful and cheap RC car she had received on her fifth birthday that worked for that day and that day alone, that never again turned on. She thought of all her friends, of Alexei on the playground the other day — three days ago? Four? — calling out to her as she fell under the spike of panic, of Sarah Couch who she had met in kindergarten, who she had told her parents she was dating in third grade, who had died some years after Michelle had uploaded.</p>
 <p>She thought of the way that play defined the Motes that she had become, the way it had shaped the way she interacted with the world, the way it shaped her very form. She thought of how Au Lieu Du Rêve had accepted readily just how well it fit her self-definition. She thought of the family that she had built up around her.</p>
 <p>She thought of play and, as she levered herself out of her bed, looked wearily around her room, the toys and art, the stuffed animals and silly prints on clothing, and then she forked into Big Motes.</p>
@@ -166,7 +167,7 @@
 <p>Perhaps she ought to hug Dry Grass extra-tight next time she saw her.</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-14</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-15</p>
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writing/post-self/motes/009.html

@@ -13,7 +13,8 @@
                 <h1>Zk | 009</h1>
             </header>
             <article class="content">
-                <p>Motes played.</p>
+                <h1 id="motes-2362">Motes — 2362</h1>
+<p>Motes played.</p>
 <p>She played in the dark. She played crawling on hands and knees. She played hide and seek. She played stealth missions. She played silently, muffling the sound of her passage and keeping her breathing quiet; it was against the rules to turn it off. She played base commander, repelling invisible foes, hollering out orders to her friends. She played noisily, her voice echoing off the rocky walls with laughter and shouts bouncing around seemingly endlessly.</p>
 <p>She played in Rock Park, a hulking mound of salmon, pink, gold, and buff flagstone that had been stacked in such a way as to create a series of twisty, narrow tunnels throughout. The tunnels turned sharply, or required her to climb up vague suggestions of ladders made by protruding slabs of rock, or dumped her down into a central cavern, the ground covered in a layer of velvety soft mulch to cushion any falls. The cavern that opened out on one end into a broader playground, all of the equipment themed to be related to a quarry: dump trucks and bucket hoists and front end loaders and excavators.</p>
 <p>She played throughout the rest of the park, hauling that mulch or digging into it with the equipment or her paws, putting those digger claws of hers to use. She played in the grass, played in the little stands of pine trees that dotted the field beyond, the two whitewashed gazebos. Sometimes there were roller-blades or bikes or skateboards. Sometimes there were self-propelled levitation boots that let you putter along at a few miles per hour a hand&rsquo;s breadth above the ground and which would do all they could to keep you from falling over.</p>
@@ -97,7 +98,7 @@
 <p>Motes played, because how could<!--why would(?)--> she not?</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-14</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2024-01-15</p>
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