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Sunday, April 8, 2018

Frog and Toad are Friends

When Big Think got sour, Babe Snake would fantasize about being one of Make Do’s machines. A compressor, an injector, a devestibular regulator. She’d imagine the mechanics getting fussed over her, cleaning her, soothing her joints, applying her receptive pads to the unregulated bodies of humans. She’d never feel cold or hot, and if she ran either, she’d get calibrated. She’d never dig a grave or dig up a grave. She’d never solve the equation execution =/>/< relocation. She’d might produce an algorithm, but she’d never lie awake thinking about it. She didn’t know Frog back then, but she’d seen him around. His hands, both large and delicately articulated, steady then, a cradle into which she’d have liked to place her head. She saw him speak in 08. Electric Sentience in the Mirror Neuron. She made a looking glass joke and Rabbit laughed companionably. She wishes she’d stopped being a person that day, that laugh, that generous orbit lit hers, found its return. 

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