We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slaver... to a pattern.Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?The human father has to be confronted and recognized as human, as. Hirsch replies.He leaves me to ponder the implication of his words."You mean she wasn't real?" I say in a loud voice."The machine was all too real, a development model for researching advanced digital emotion." Dr. Hirsch informs me."Fuck me. What kind of inhuman experiment have I been a part of?" I say trembling with anger."This is as much as I may divulge at present," he says. "Tomorrow I will send a friend of yours to explain much more," he says calmly.Another tomorrow arrives, and it has. More

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