Nothing real specific here. The human. Made from nothing but milk and love. And the player was a new human, never alive before, made from nothing but milk and love. The atoms of the player were scattered in the grass, in the rivers, in the air, in the ground. And the player began a new dream. And the player awoke, from the warm, dark world of its mother’s body, into the long dream. Shush. Sometimes the player created a small, private world that was soft and warm and simple. And the player was a new program, never run before, generated by a sourcecode a billion years old. The (...)