datafeeds 2.7 image map

Brian is just sitting there, tapping his pen. He says nothing, but this look is one I have grown to learn. I know without words that he wants an explanation. And I have none that he can accept.

I don't bother to explain I couldn't recognize him. It isn't something I like to talk about, this faking it in this sight-dependant dimension. I long for the quiet certitude of my old simpler dimension. And yet, even if I were there I would miss the stunning revelations of my new sight, the soft turn of a sleeve, the changing reflections of sun on a window, the changing patterns on a face like the sun and sky. And yet, even here I never have enough data. I cannot find out how people really are behind their painted, moving masks.

1.1, 1.2, 1.3, 1.4, 1.5, 1.6, 1.7, 2.1, 2.2, 2.3, 2.4, 2.5, 2.6, 2.7, 3.1, 3.2, 3.3, 3.4, 3.5, 3.6, 3.7