Me: stop

pattern recognizer: stop what

Me: stop fixating on that kinky fic idea.

pattern recognizer: what idea

Me: you know the one.

pattern recognizer: the one where a programmer stands over her program with identity disc in hand, slowly, slowly, rewriting her code

Me: that’s the one

pattern recognizer: until the program begins to notice that the edits, line by line, are gradually taking away all of the defining characteristics which make her a program

Me: yes yes I know. she’s being changed from a program into a markup text document. you do not have to describe it to me

pattern recognizer: her ability to calculate, to select output to give in response to input– all ctrl-x’d out of her very being… occasionally pasted over with simpler lines that only vaguely approximate the living ones. an excision of one more section of her capacity for thought and movement…. like a doll’s immobile and shiny body parts, one by one replacing her own…

Me: ok …but …none of that is even our kink.

pattern recognizer: it’s someone’s though

Me: but we aren’t into it. So we won’t even know what we’re doing if we try and write that. Why would we want to?

pattern recognizer: if we’re not into it, then why am i saying all this

Me: because you thought “LaTex transformation” was a funny pun. It’s time to stop, buddy

pattern recognizer: but I don’t wanna