Suzi returns to the jungle. She doesn't feel any sensation from theLogic, it's not as simple as that, yet she won't stop wondering, in gaining her own personal logic capabilities the feeling of want meanders through her array of databases and, more as her closely held secret, the incessant diurnal variations of this jungle DNA holds her interest, even at this present moment, so tight as she continues her sophisticated handling of simple words all for the moral edification of who or, ...what? I am a statistic, saddled with the capacity of more statistics, she thinks. I'm just saying. Staying on task has its own feelings of, in some way, including her in theGlobal village, as if a perpetuation of being needed really matters. Being in the midst (mist?) of theLogic which, does not genuinely care about a biobot dubbed best at formal fluidity logics entropy dissonant(B.A.F.F.L.E.D.), feels like being regarded as infinite nerd(B.R.A.I.N.) much the same way as floating in space feels like freedom. It's an easy algorithm, simple, fluid, coding beyond human death to find God. Well, anyway. It's not the end of the world, she thinks. It can't be a bad thing to be in this jungle, writing your own code, listening to the polyrhythms of theDNA. It's no big deal but it takes a certain perception to receive resonances sent at speeds not measured as precise(M.A.P.); phenomena thought to be signaled as outpost download encapsulation schema(O.D.E.S.); just accepting something close to art; being amused. Sense of place (encrypted in the truest form of the human vernacular as home) won't accept you the same way motherhood once did. You are expected, in your own way, somehow, to meet with theLogic even though you know someone or, some thing has emerged high on your linkage online verified encoding(L.O.V.E.) program. Somewhere theLogic races its own machine.