In every behavior I no longer see the woman but the cold and monolithic forces of biological genetic sorting. It's like an alien force and we are merely iterative games bring played in a gigantic sorting machine. We are something less than individuals. We are pieces of a meta organism designed to survive and thrive in constantly changing environments. The woman is a Venus fly trap. Her lips, her face, her voice, her shape. It's not "her" that cost these forms for herself "it" chose them. I can't get this inhuman horror out of my kind it infects life and it's on the surface of everything human