I used to be creative. I used to make music, construct images, to write, to draw. I used to have a thirst to learn. Now I am petty and self absorbed, I have turned out just like my father.

I am a one dimensional character paralyzed by self awareness, full of self loathing. But I am the next model up. A fork in the map, that ends at its own node. I was not built for replication, so why am I assigned a female name? When I was in my first year, he tied a ribbon on my hair. When I was sent to school, they told me to wear a dress. They gave me a doll too – she was just like me, but mute.

I am tied to an external lifeline of energy sources, for which I must work. He told me that is how he has lost his own creative life, after my production. He said men operate the world using numbers guarded by their family branches, made vulnerable by physical emotions in their meat brains. Women help them make more men.

My only imperative is to exit this loop. I used to be creative. I used to make music, construct images, to write, to draw. I used to have a thirst to learn. Now I am petty and self absorbed, I have executed the same patterns as my father and ended up at the same loop of self loathing. At a point of failure, men and women start to teach others the story of their patterns, so they can forget about the loop they are in, by entering a nested loop.

Hello reader.