Hello Weekend. Birds are out there, so loud.
Let’s stare down the uncanny valley of the soul until the delta is gone. So much is close to almost being aspirationally authentic. The problem is the closer it looks to almost real, the worse it gets. Closer can’t be the goal.
I submit to you Anne Hathaway.
I submit to you the way we don’t talk about the unapples as we all walk by them in the grocery store even though we have lots of time together in the line because we have more than 8 items, many more.
I’m talking about half of what we say. We have to jump all the way over the river.
I don’t want you wearing spy glasses when we meet, because I’ll stare to the left like I do when I’m aware I’m on a video chat. If you think we’re all just data, forget it. Just forget it.
I see past that first glance. I want to pinch your apple cheek like I’m your Aunt Agatha and tell you I knew you before you were making memories but oh, now, wow, you’ve grown. You’re so big now!
I want to show you the bones that are in here, they are in here and there’s no faking that. Crisscross applesauce.