I stand on a river bank, the swirling waters beckon. A bright yellow circle, two eyes, a mouth, no nose, rushes by. The original, the prototype, the progenitor, the first smile. More neon flavors follow, faces slicing the virtual current. What symbol is my avatar, my vessel, my surrogate? Shall I posit myself in a signal to take a dip? No nose. A sensible dinosaur would grok the waters first, Olfactory to the headwaters: stream, tributary, river. The resurrection is a sooted flurry of ancient plankton. Trilobites repurposed: Clear-cuts and strip mines in the Taiga. A new frontier where fights over oxygen are common. Some may try to re-grow limbs, swim back upstream. If the sea becomes anoxic, does it matter to an anaerobe? This path does not support cumulative knowledge. I will remain here at the terminal, put a taproot down.
