update from sparkleup

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

@@ -61,7 +61,7 @@
 <p>Was it something to do with the clade? The Odists had been around long enough &mdash; what had Dear said? After Secession? 2130 something? Still almost two centuries &mdash; that there was certainly enmity between the various factions, perhaps there was some regret there.</p>
 <p>Ey sat before the cairn so that it came up to eye level, and watched the long, slow sunset begin.</p>
 <p>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&rsquo;s partner admitted was somewhat unusual, as though it had <em>needed</em> to leave, to escape something.</p>
-<p>And then it&rsquo;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?</p>
+<p>And then it&rsquo;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?</p>
 <p>&ldquo;I&rsquo;m overthinking this,&rdquo; ey mumbled.</p>
 <p>All the same, eir frustration had burned itself out, and all that remained was exhaustion and worry. Ey would forever worry about Dear, seeing how brightly the fox flared, that some of the madness that it had said plagued the Odists, whether from age or from something before uploading, surely dwelt within it as well.</p>
 <p>As the sky purpled, Codrin sighed and stood up once more, stretching and beginning the long walk home. Ey could just arrive there, but the walk felt necessary to process so many strangely-shaped thoughts.</p>
@@ -125,7 +125,7 @@
 <p>The questions would wait. It was time to just be.</p>
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-                <p>Page generated on 2021-11-06</p>
+                <p>Page generated on 2021-11-17</p>
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writing/post-self/toledot/launch/launch/Codrin-pollux/001.html

@@ -37,11 +37,11 @@ Systime: 201+25 1014</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> Is there an aspect of being the first to do something involved?</p>
 <p><strong>Dear:</strong> Perhaps. I am not against being something other than the first, but I do like it when I am.</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> Did you have other reasons for transferring?</p>
-<p><strong>Dear:</strong> 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 &mdash; or perhaps one of the only ways &mdash; to relegate something completely to memory is through inaccessibility. If I&ndash; 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.</p>
+<p><strong>Dear:</strong> 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 &mdash; or perhaps one of the only ways &mdash; to relegate something completely to memory is through inaccessibility. If I&ndash; 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.</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> I would prefer that you not.</p>
 <p><strong>Dear:</strong> [laughter] I have no plans on it. If exploring this strange mystery were a project, then I would not be served by not being around to complete it. The launch gives me a chance to do that very thing.</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> 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?</p>
-<p><strong>Dear:</strong> [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.</p>
+<p><strong>Dear:</strong> [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.</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> You mentioned a few more reasons. Do you have others?</p>
 <p><strong>Dear:</strong> Even less easily put to words. I like the idea of relativity. The faster we go, the more our perception of time will drift. I like the idea of the ever-increasing transmission times. Already, we are losing seconds and minutes to distance. I am interested to see what will happen to the population of a system that will no longer be receiving new uploads. Will we relax the taboos on finding ways to merge separate personalities into children? That would mean that we would be even closer to a new species, as the tired rationalizations go. Would the taboo of incest remain, and we will continue to frown on generating new minds from in-clade personalities? There are many questions to ask during this journey.</p>
 <p><strong>Codrin:</strong> And we will have time to do so.</p>

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

@@ -27,7 +27,7 @@
 <p>Humanity is, as ever, a race of cynics-at-heart, yet this approaches such a low as to turn the stomach. You would afford dogs and cats greater rights than those who we know for a fact can think and talk and feel and know. We know this because they <em>are</em> us.</p>
 <p>Without compromising their identity, I can say that I have received a letter from two representatives of the Council of Eight, the leadership within the System, and on this we agree. They are alive, and because they are alive, they deserve the rights guaranteed those who are alive. They are individual, and so those rights must be individual. They can feel happiness, they know what it means to be free, and they are completely dependent on this one necessity, and so those rights afforded us must be granted them.</p>
 <p>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&rsquo;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.</p>
-<p>Their memories are real</p>
+<p>Their memories are real.</p>
 <p>Their life is real.</p>
 <p>Vote for the granting of rights. Vote yes on <em>referendum 10b30188</em>.</p>
 <p>Yared Zerezghi (NEAC)</p>
@@ -57,7 +57,7 @@
 <p>By way of answer, the man smiled, not unkindly, and said, &ldquo;My passenger has read your post from this morning and was most impressed. Please, you may stand outside the car if that would make you feel better.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>Still frowning, Yared stood, nodded to the woman who had prepared the coffee and let the man in black lead him to the car.</p>
 <p>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.</p>
-<p>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.</p>
+<p>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.</p>
 <p>Still, the face was unmistakable. &ldquo;Councilor Demma?&rdquo; he asked, voice small.</p>
 <p>&ldquo;Mr. Zerezghi! The very one. Please! Come in and sit with me, and we can drink our coffees. They smell delightful.&rdquo;</p>
 <p>Yared stood at the door a moment longer, feeling the cool air against his face. His mind had gone blank. Any thought of the coffee, of the message earlier, was gone, and all he could think was, <em>What in the world does Yosef Demma want with me?</em></p>