She takes a break, imagines herself in self-exile, wondering about such things as nihilist of data analysis.
It's theNetwork that thinks of her in terms of ballet, not transmitting beyond the buffer mode of the staged, sheltered regret, never past skeletal forces of dance strains, pretending innocence from her own thoughts.
She is all of a sudden aware that every observable quantity is viewed by a different matrix.
She should, she is certain, tell herself that this continuous query is someone's idea of showing up at a content garden in hopes of being noticed, that they had literally hoped to be part of something they perceived as growing heavier and larger, and yes, slower--a danger of being self-fulfilling.
She tries to engage, to be a part of the willing, the aggressive.
Yes. She tries.