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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
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<p>The designated meeting point was the prairie in front of Dear's house. Ioan was confused as to why they didn't just meet in Qoheleth's sim, until ey realized that many members of the clade had not met in years or decades, or, in the case of up-tree instances, ever.</p>
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<p>For a family reunion, it was quite stiff, formal and tense. <em>Probably not the best of circumstances to regather the clade,</em> Ioan thought.</p>
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<p>The designated meeting point was the prairie in front of Dear’s house. Ioan was confused as to why they didn’t just meet in Qoheleth’s sim, until ey realized that many members of the clade had not met in years or decades, or, in the case of up-tree instances, ever.</p>
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<p>For a family reunion, it was quite stiff. Formal and tense. <em>Probably not the best of circumstances,</em> Ioan thought.</p>
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<p>Ey focused on eir job as amanuensis.</p>
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<p>Ey was surprised at the variety of the cladists. It made sense, of course, for a dispersionista clade, but it was the direction in which the differences headed which intrigued em. The most notable difference was the species presentation ratio. Many of the cladists were still human, mostly short woman with dark hair.</p>
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<p>"Fewer foxes than I had imagined," Ioan observed.</p>
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<p><em>"Hmm? There's me and Serene, yes."</em> Dear dragged Ioan over to meet her. Serene was quite similar to Dear, though with natural coloration rather than the iridescent white fur that Dear maintained. Dear gave her a tight hug and introduced her to Ioan as the one who had designed the landscape of its property.</p>
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<p>Ioan liked her at once.</p>
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<p>“Fewer foxes than I had imagined,” Ioan observed.</p>
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<p><em>“Hmm? There is me and Serene, yes.”</em> Dear dragged Ioan over to meet her. Serene was quite similar to Dear, though with natural coloration rather than the iridescent white fur that Dear maintained. Dear gave her a tight hug and introduced her to Ioan as the one who had designed the landscape of its property. Ioan liked her at once.</p>
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<p>Of those that bore forms other than fox and human, Ioan could not tell. Ey supposed that ey would do some research after the fact to try and place name to species and species to line in the Ode. Perhaps there was a pattern, and perhaps not.</p>
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<p><em>"You must understand that while uploading was attractive early on to those with an interest in explroing the differen shapes a body could take,"</em> Dear had explained. <em>"Few were able to accomplish that on initial upload. Many furries uploaded, few wound up looking like their avatars in the sims of the past. You wind up looking like how your brain pictures itself on some level more fundamental than merely preference."</em></p>
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<p>Ey nodded. "I look much how I did before, yes, though I've made a few changes."</p>
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<p><em>"Changes require forking, though, yes? And if forking is expensive..."</em> The fox trailed off, shrugged.</p>
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<p>Ey supposed it was due to the individual preferences that each long-lived fork had gained in its time away from the root of the clade once forking became cheaper. The remaining Odists who had not changed --- or who had changed very little --- even after the cost had come down were the ones who Ioan suspected Dear referred to as "conservatives".</p>
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<p><em>“You must understand that while uploading was attractive early on to those with an interest in explroing the differen shapes a body could take,”</em> Dear had explained. <em>“Few were able to accomplish that on initial upload. Many furries uploaded, few wound up looking like their avatars in the sims of the past. You wind up looking like how your brain pictures itself on some level more fundamental than merely preference.”</em></p>
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<p>Ey nodded. “I look much how I did before, yes, though I’ve made a few changes.”</p>
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<p><em>“Changes require forking, though, yes? And if forking is expensive…”</em> The fox trailed off, shrugged.</p>
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<p>Ey supposed it was due to the individual preferences that each long-lived fork had gained in its time away from the root of the clade once forking became cheaper. The remaining Odists who had not changed — or who had changed very little — even after the cost had come down were the ones who Ioan suspected Dear referred to as “conservatives”.</p>
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<p>And yet they were only similar. No two were identical. Each had picked up some of their own distinguishing characteristics, whether through intentional mutation or through accident and acquired experience. It was an interesting artifact of the dissolution strategy: fork, fork often and be deliberate about it, but do not let the self dissolve completely.</p>
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<p>Michelle herself was notably absent, though Dear assured the historian that she was still very much alive. <em>"She said that, if anyone should remain behind, it was her, as she had started this whole damn thing."</em></p>
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<p>"And how do you feel about that choice?"</p>
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<p>Dear shrugged, unsmiling. <em>"Her choice is her own. I would have preferred that she be here, but then I would have preferred everyone be as invested in this as I am, and we know that not to be the case."</em></p>
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<p>There were a few tag-alongs aside from Ioan, as well. Folks immediately identified as out-clade. A few friends. A few partners, singular and plural. Some who ey suspected were like emself: historians and helpers, here to witness and record. The 'catalogers, feelers, and experiencers' Dear had mentioned. One of the conservatives (at Ioan's guess, at least) had even brought a reputation analyst along with her, a slight Asian gentleman who introduced himself as Qián Guōwēi.</p>
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<p>Michelle herself was notably absent, though Dear assured the historian that she was still very much alive. <em>“She said that, if anyone should remain behind, it was her, as she had started this whole damn thing.”</em></p>
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<p>“And how do you feel about that choice?”</p>
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<p>Dear shrugged, unsmiling. <em>“Her choice is her own. I would have preferred that she be here, but then I would have preferred everyone be as invested in this as I am, and we know that not to be the case.”</em></p>
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<p>There were a few tag-alongs aside from Ioan, as well. Folks immediately identified as out-clade. A few friends. A few partners, singular and plural. Some who ey suspected were like emself: historians and helpers, here to witness and record. The ‘catalogers, feelers, and experiencers’ Dear had mentioned. One of the conservatives (at Ioan’s guess, at least) had even brought a reputation analyst along with her, a slight Asian gentleman who introduced himself as Qián Guōwēi.</p>
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<p>It was an interesting move, bringing along someone whose job was that of market analysis to perhaps the strangest family reunion in history. This Guōwēi did not speak much to anyone at all, and few spoke to him in return. It seemed to be some unspoken agreement that the reputation expert remain aloof, somehow above those whose reputations were at stake.</p>
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<p>And then it was time. Dear announced that the party would be leaving in five minutes.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-04-24</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-05-24</p>
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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
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<p>Qoheleth is a patient man.</p>
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<p>I have time. Enough time, at least. I know I'm gone. My memory, split as it is across an archive and nearly thirty exos, is a millstone around my neck. It drags me down. It drowns me even in plentiful air. I can feel the way it crams up against every recess of my skull, demanding to be let out. The Name, the Ode, every act since uploading as so many that Michelle took --- that <em>I</em> took --- before that. It drags me down. It nips at my heels. It fogs my vision.</p>
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<p>There are no metaphors that clearly show just how horrifying the inability is to forget, and so I find myself reaching for every analogy that I can find.</p>
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<p>I'm a lost cause, but much of the clade still has their faculties about them. I think so, at least. I hope so. So long as they act within the decade, we'll be here. Any longer, and we'll risk further degradation, further madness.</p>
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<p>It's been two weeks since I pinged Dear --- lovely Dear --- and although it had tried to contact me several times, and pinged countless more, I never responded. I did my part. I called them, got them fighting, got them interested, and I think I got them invested.</p>
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<p>That's all I need, is for them to be invested.</p>
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<p>I have time. Enough time, at least. I know that I am gone. My memory, split as it is across an archive and nearly thirty exos, is a millstone around my neck. It drags me down. It drowns me even in plentiful air. I can feel the way it crams up against every recess of my skull, demanding to be let out. The Name, the Ode, every act since uploading and so many that Michelle took — that <em>I</em> took — before that. It drags me down. It nips at my heels. It fogs my vision.</p>
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<p>There are no metaphors that clearly show just how horrifying the inability to forget can be, and so I find myself reaching for every analogy that I can find.</p>
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<p>I am a lost cause, but much of the clade still has their faculties about them. I think so, at least. I hope so. So long as they act within the decade, we will be here. Any longer, and we will risk further degradation, further madness.</p>
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<p>It has been two weeks since I messaged Dear — lovely Dear — and although it had tried to contact me several times, and pinged countless more, I never responded. I did my part. I called them, got them fighting, got them interested, and I think I got them invested.</p>
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<p>That is all I need, is for them to be invested.</p>
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<p>Now, hopefully they will come.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-04-24</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-05-24</p>
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<p><span class="tag">writing</span> <span class="tag">novel</span> <span class="tag">chapter</span> <span class="tag">fiction</span> <span class="tag">scifi</span> <span class="tag">post-self</span> <span class="tag">qoheleth</span></p>
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<p>"Time is a finger pointed at itself," AwDae informed Priscilla. This Priscilla. Not the real one, no. The one ey created. The one ey dreamed. "That it might give the world orders. The world is an audience before a stage where it watches the slow hours progress."</p>
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<p>“Time is a finger pointed at itself,” AwDae informed Priscilla. This Priscilla. Not the real one, no. The one ey created. The one ey dreamed. “That it might give the world orders. The world is an audience before a stage where it watches the slow hours progress.”</p>
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<p>The cat purred to em.</p>
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<p>It was wrong to instruct a cat to be anything other than a cat, so, despite the dreamscape's submission to eir whims, Prisca remained Prisca. There was no influencing felinity.</p>
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<p>Similarly, it was wrong to puppet one's friends, and so AwDae had remained in silence, in solitude. No puppet of Sasha telling em that ey was stuck. No need: if there were any doubt to the fact, it was dashed upon meeting the bug which had trapped em here. That porcelain-faced daemon who need not guard the entrance for the entrance had been destroyed.</p>
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<p>No, not destroyed; its very existence had been negated. It had never been. There was no going back because there was no going, and there was no back. This was the world as it had always been. This is the world as it will always be. And yet...</p>
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<p><em>"You seem kind of frozen, kind of stuck, in a few ways."</em></p>
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<p>It was wrong to instruct a cat to be anything other than a cat, so, despite the dreamscape’s submission to eir whims, Prisca remained Prisca. There was no influencing felinity.</p>
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<p>Similarly, it was wrong to puppet one’s friends, and so AwDae had remained in silence, in solitude. No puppet of Sasha telling em that ey was stuck. No need: if there were any doubt to the fact, it was dashed upon meeting the bug which had trapped em here. That porcelain-faced daemon who need not guard the entrance for the entrance had been destroyed.</p>
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<p>No, not destroyed; its very existence had been negated. It had never been. There was no going back because there was no going, and there was no back. This was the world as it had always been. This is the world as it will always be. And yet…</p>
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<p><em>“You seem kind of frozen, kind of stuck, in a few ways.”</em></p>
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<p>Was ey stuck? Perhaps, yes. If so, then so be it. Ey would sleep. Ey would dream.</p>
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<p>And ey would make. Ey would create. Ey would forge, not hone. Ey would build the world ey would live in, if this was they world ey was to die in. Ey would have it be precisely as ey would want. <em>And why not?</em> ey told emself. <em>In this end of days, I must reach for new beginnings.</em></p>
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<p>So ey created.</p>
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<p>The far wall of eir London flat was gone now, opening out onto the open space behind eir childhood home. The comfort of one home leading directly out onto the comfort of the next. The smooth hardwood floor, worn almost to softness by decades of use, transitioned smoothly to shortgrass prairie. Ey could sit at eir desk chair --- remolded to accommodate a fox's tail --- and watch the turbines turn laconically in the breeze.</p>
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<p>When ey slept, and ey did, ey would bring about sunset. Had the day been clear, clouds would move in. Not many, but enough to pick up a riot of colors as the light dipped from white down through yellow, orange, red, salmon, purple... And then the sun would be down and ey would sit on the threshold of the two worlds, of the two times and two universes, and enjoy the scents and sounds that night brought em. Dream senses. Heightened senses as a fox might have.</p>
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<p>The far wall of eir London flat was gone now, opening out onto the open space behind eir childhood home. The comfort of one home leading directly out onto the comfort of the next. The smooth hardwood floor, worn almost to softness by decades of use, transitioned smoothly to shortgrass prairie. Ey could sit at eir desk chair — remolded to accommodate a fox’s tail — and watch the turbines turn laconically in the breeze.</p>
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<p>When ey slept, and ey did, ey would bring about sunset. Had the day been clear, clouds would move in. Not many, but enough to pick up a riot of colors as the light dipped from white down through yellow, orange, red, salmon, purple… And then the sun would be down and ey would sit on the threshold of the two worlds, of the two times and two universes, and enjoy the scents and sounds that night brought em. Dream senses. Heightened senses as a fox might have.</p>
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<p>And then ey would bring back into being the wall between the worlds and sleep. Ey would find eir room the perfect temperature. It would be cold enough that ey would need blankets, but not so cold as to be uncomfortable. And Prisca would come curl up next to em. And ey would pet her while she dozed. And ey would sleep without dreaming.</p>
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<p>Ey would wake again however longer later and walk the world. Who knew how long ey slept. Who cared? What meaning had time? Had ey been lost for days? For years? Ey did not count. Did not keep track in some tally carved in stone, for ey was not trapped. Ey was completely free. <em>We are the motes in the stage lights,</em> ey promised emself. <em>Beholden to the heat of the lamps.</em></p>
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<p>Ey would wake again however longer later and walk the world. Who knew how long ey slept. Who cared? What meaning had time? Had ey been lost for days? For years? Ey did not count. Did not keep track in some tally carved in stone, for ey was not trapped. Ey lived for hundreds of days in there, for dozens, or mere hours. Ey was completely free. <em>We are the motes in the stage lights,</em> ey promised emself. <em>Beholden to the heat of the lamps.</em></p>
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<p>Ey would wake and walk the world. Ey would walk the valley in that prairie. Ey would fall to all fours and dig eir fingers into the soil. Ey would poke eir snout into the tickling stalks of grass and breathe the scent of life. Dear the wheat and rye under the stars.</p>
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<p>And the sun would rise.</p>
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<p>Ey would dream emself into a new shape. Ey would dream emself beyond this amalgam of human and fox, and there would be no rising from all fours. Ey would be a fox, then. A fennec out of place and time. Displaced to here, in the middle of North America, displaced to now, this meaningless moment. Ey would be a fox and scamper between the tussocks. Ey would come across a stream and drink of cool water. Ey would lift eir gaze to find an old-growth forest of oak and maple. Old-growth! Imagine. Ey would scamper between the trunks and through the humus and moss, for those were things that must be in a forest.</p>
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<p>Ey would dream emself into a new shape. Ey would dream emself beyond this amalgam of human and fox, and there would be no rising from all fours. Ey would be a fox, then, and eir name was unspeakable by those who walked on two legs. A fennec out of place and time. Displaced to here, in the middle of North America, displaced to now, this meaningless moment. Ey would be a fox and scamper between the tussocks. Ey would come across a stream and drink of cool water. Ey would lift eir gaze to find an old-growth forest of oak and maple. Old-growth! Imagine. Ey would scamper between the trunks and through the humus and moss, for those were things that must be in a forest.</p>
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<p>And then ey would break through the forest and come upon a pebble-strewn beach. A beach! Here! In the middle of the continent. What wonders dreams held.</p>
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<p>And then ey would rise to two feet once more. Ey would be AwDae once more. Short, lithe, a memory stronger in so many ways than that of RJ. A slim two-legged fox clad in a cornflower blue skirt trimmed with embroidered dandelions. And why not? Why not be clothed in something comfortable and soothing?</p>
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<p>And then ey would rise to two feet once more. Ey would be AwDae once more. Short, lithe, a memory stronger in so many ways than that of RJ. Who was RJ? A vehicle for AwDae? AwDae, a slim two-legged fox clad in a cornflower blue skirt trimmed with embroidered dandelions. And why not? Why not be clothed in something comfortable and soothing?</p>
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<p>And ey would walk the beach in the summer heat, teasing the tide line with eir steps. The water, cool, would lap against eir feet playfully, leaving the fur damp and clinging to eir skin. What was missing, hmm? Ah yes, gulls. There, above em, gulls dreamed along with a breeze tinged with the salt-tang of the sea. Cry, gulls, cry.</p>
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<p>And perhaps the sun would grow too hot, for was that not what the sun did on beaches? But look! There in the distance, pebbles faded to sand and, towering above that sand, shady palms. Ey would sit and look out over the ocean, and there, dreaming above the waters, a squall line crossed.</p>
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<p>And maybe ey would go home. Maybe not. There were no obligations. What mattered time, after all? "If I walk backward, time moves forward," ey reasoned aloud. "If I walk forward, time rushes on. If I stand still, the world moves around me, and the only constant is change."</p>
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<p>And maybe ey would go home. Maybe not. There were no obligations. What mattered time, after all? “If I walk backward, time moves forward,” ey reasoned aloud. “If I walk forward, time rushes on. If I stand still, the world moves around me, and the only constant is change.”</p>
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<p>And perhaps the world was moving around em. What cared ey? Had ey been able to influence that world, to enact any sort of change, perhaps ey would have. Had ey been able to share this knowledge of viruses and routines, of stolen votes and stolen lives, perhaps ey would have.</p>
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<p>But ey could not. All ey could do was dream.</p>
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<p>Dream spires of color rising from the sea in graceful arcs. Dream the rattle of dry grass. Dream the scent of new rain. Dream the sand beneath eir feet. Dream the names of all things. Dream a slow descent into fractal madness.</p>
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<p>Page generated on 2020-04-24</p>
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/007.html">Ioan 007</a> — Mustering the Odists</li>
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/015.html">RJ 015</a> — deduces meaning of getting loss</li>
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<li class="rejected"> Chapter: <!--<a href="Carter/011.html">Carter 011</a> - makes it to RJ, gets mirror rig in place, gets attacked, Caitlin fights mooks while Carter dives in.--> (REJECTED merged with next chapter)</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/004.html">Qoheleth 004</a> — Qoheleth is patient</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/008.html">Ioan 008</a> — Ready to head out</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/016.html">RJ 016</a> — going crazy, bending world to eir whim.</li>
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/004.html">Qoheleth 004</a> — Qoheleth is patient</li>
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/008.html">Ioan 008</a> — Ready to head out</li>
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<li class="done4"> Chapter: <a href="RJ/016.html">RJ 016</a> — going crazy, bending world to eir whim.</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/005.html">Qoheleth 005</a> — Qoheleth gets Dear’s ping</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Ioan/009.html">Ioan 009</a> — Qoheleth gives his speech, is assassinated</li>
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<li class="done3"> Chapter: <a href="Qoheleth/006.html">Qoheleth 006</a> — Assassinated</li>
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