I've just recently been to the doctor, a couple of doctors, actually, as I continue to deal with the issues of changing over to Obamacare combined with changing to a new doctor entirely, combined with the issue of my destroyed voice. In truth, I have been to a LOT of doctors over my life. I've had a complicated life.
I studied to be a doctor, in college, until one day I realized that this was not the proper direction for me. My memory has always been flaky and poor, and above all else, I cannot stand gore or pain or suffering or dead things... and these are all things doctors have to face. I don't have the personality for medicine, no matter how much I might learn. So, I went artist.
That said, medicine is still there, in some part of me, and physicians occupy some portion of my identity-space.
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T H E C O N V E R S I O N B U R E A U :
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Dr. Thyme Linseed, Newfoal GP
By Chatoyance
"How you say your name, doc?"
Mr. Johnson had been out of the Bureau only a month. He had come with his daughter, a tangerine filly with her deep teal mane done in dreadlocks and ribbons. There must be a unicorn in the family, for that kind of work, but it was not Mr. Johnson. Johnson was a surprisingly portly earthpony.
"Lin...seed? Like it's spelled?" Thyme motioned with a hoof for Mr. Johnson to stand on the low examination platform that took the place of the exam table used in human clinics. Johnson needed a little help getting onto the platform because of his bulk. He seemed tired, which was very unusual, even unheard of, for an earthpony. Earthponies were nearly tireless.
"No, I mean your first name. Thigh-um? Tie-mee? Thim... mee?"
The unicorn doctor blinked. "Thyme... TIME... the herb?" Johnson's eyes remained round and empty. "There... was an herb, once. A plant. Before the Collapse. It was one of the first medical herbs. Infusions of it were both antibacterial and antifungal. It was used for binding wounds."
Johnson nodded, then looked away. "So, not your real name then?" Johnson shuffled his large hooves on the platform. He wasn't exactly fat... he was bloated, with a great deal of water retention.
"It is my real name, Mr. Johnson. I chose it when I went pony. About a year ago now. What seems to be the problem?"
Johnson's daughter spoke, annoyed, excited and having too much fun all at the same time. "HE CAN'T POOOOOOOO!" The filly's grin was sunshine itself. She must have been biding her time, just waiting for the opportunity to say her pre-rehearsed line.
Mr. Johnson turned his head and shot his daughter a gruff look. The filly shrank slightly, but it was clear she still thought she was the funniest comic in two universes.
"LaShaniqua... she ain't wrong, doc. Truth is I'm plugged up tighter than a drain after a haircut. I don't feel too good, and I haven't for a while now."
The filly stomped a hoof on the tile floor. "MY. NAME. IS. SUNSHOWER!" She snorted and flapped her little wings. "I make rain in the daylight, that's a SUNSHOWER, an' that's my NAME!
Mr. Johnson tried to turn around on the platform, but decided his bloat made that uncomfortable. He curved his neck and stared hard at his daughter as best as he could. "Why you be takin' that damn fool pony name, instead of the name your own momma done gave you?" Johnson puffed with frustration, children could be muffin trouble at the worst of times.
"Well, maybe BECAUSE I'M A PONY!" LaShaniqua / Sunshower turned and faced away, unconsciously flicking her tail at her father in annoyance.
"Mr. Johnson..." Dr. Linseed levitated the cuff of a pony-adapted sphygmomanometer to the stallion's left front foreleg "can I get your blood pressure please?"
"Call me Evin. Short for Evinrude. Sure. Do whatch'a need to do, Doc."
The cuff wrapped itself gently around Evin's leg, the neoplastic tube hovering out to terminate in a bulb-like device. Thyme pumped the bulb with his hornfield while simultaneously sending a small glob of his telekinetic force into an artery in the large stallion's neck. The small field allowed the doctor to feel the flow of blood as it passed through, and to count the pulse of each beat of Mr. Johnson's heart. The rush of corpuscles and the occasional larger leukocyte tickled Thyme's field. It felt like squishy, soft, wet grains of sand sliding by, after a fashion.
"Hmm, well your blood pressure is a little on the high side, which is unusual, especially for an earthpony." The cuff removed itself and floated over to the counter, where it neatly coiled just before Thyme withdrew his hornfield.
"So, what's wrong with me, Doc?" Evin Johnson looked a little worried, as he stood on the platform.
"A little too early to tell, yet... Evin." Thyme gave the pony a professional smile. "I have an idea, though. Tell me, what do you eat?"
"Doc?"
"Your diet, tell me what you typically eat in a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner, snacks. That sort of thing." Thyme had read about a patient once, when he was skimming the hypernet. It was the basis of his hunch.
"All we eat is those SWIRL rations! Only time I get decent food is when I stay at Feather's house. Ponies in the street always givin' me hoofouts 'cause they know what I face at home! Rations! You a fool, and now you payin' for it!"
"HUSH YOUR MUZZLE, FILLY!" Evin Johnson was not a happy stallion. "I done told you about that sass of yours. I'm your cinnamon swirlin' father. Respect, filly!"
"Respect is earned, an' you ain't earnin' none tryin' to shove gov'ment rations down our necks!"
Dr. Linseed tried to keep a professional attitude. "Is this true, Mr. Johnson? Do you mostly eat standard rations?" It was exactly like the case he had read about. "You don't eat any pony foods?"
"So it's 'Mister Johnson' again, is it? That tells me everything - no, I don't eat no hay, or grass clippings or what-the-muffin else they got in those bins down in the market. Maybe the occasional carrot, nothin' wrong with a carrot now and then, but rations were good enough for me when I walked on two legs, and they're good enough for me now!" Evin bent his neck to stare at his filly again. "And they're good enough for you, too! I don't like you eating all that pony stuff, it ain't natural!"
Thyme stifled a laugh. "Actually, Mr. Johnson, Evenrude, it is government rations that aren't natural. They are nanoreconstructed waste, you know that, don't you? Standard rations come out of nanofactories, they are as artificial as... artificial can get. You are a pony, Mr. Johnson. A stallion. You are now an Equestrian, through and through, and Worldgovernment rations aren't healthy for Equestrians. You can't properly digest fake food anymore." The doctor ambled over to his low swivel office pillow and sat down. "Have you ever even tried a proper pony diet, Mr. Johnson?"
Johnson looked at the floor, as if it held important answers. "Yeahhh... I've eaten some. After my Conversion. In the Bureau, before I got out."
Thyme noted Johnson's daughter stepping forward. "You liked it then! You rolled your eyes and we practically had to pull you outta the cafeteria! You done begged for thirds and fourths!" The little muzzle wrinkled. "Then we get home and you go all funny. 'I may look like a pony, but I'm still a man, I won't eat no chocolate cheesecake animal feed..."
"You watch that muzzle of yours, girl. I didn't raise you to talk like no gutter pony. I don't got hands, but I can still swat that flank, don't you doubt it!"
"What's made you all crazy, poppa? Why you go all 'H-L-F' on us when you a straight-up pony? Huh?"
Thyme sat and listened. Sometimes patients heal themselves.
"Sometimes... sometimes girl, I... I don't know where I fit, you know? We still livin' in the same apartment, we still got the same stuff, and the same neighbors, and the same everything, only now its all ponies, we're ponies, I'm... a... a pony... and... it just doesn't make sense somehow!" Evinrude almost seemed like there were tears in there, somewhere, deep down.
"Poppa, eatin' nasty food ain't gonna make nothing make sense. That only makes things crazier. It makes you crazier, and it makes you all fat and puffy and grouchy 'cause you can't take a dump! Ain't nobody happy who can't take a dump!"
Dr. Linseed stood up and nodded at little Sunshower. He turned to her father. "No truer words were spoken, Evin. Your daughter is a smart one."
Evinrude Johnson looked up and sighed. "Yeah... she's always had a mouth on her, but that's because she had a brain behind it." The large stallion smiled.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to give you a prescription for a laxative, you can claim it at the desk on the way out, courtesy of the Diarchy Of Equestria. Which, I would like to remind you, you are a citizen of. You stopped being a citizen of earth, of the Worldgovernment, the day you changed species. You aren't human. You are Equestrian, like just about everypony in this city now. You have to live as the creature you are - and that means you have to stop trying to eat government rations, and you have to eat only fresh, real, actual food. There isn't a balcony or a roof left that isn't a garden now - Mr. Johnson, I am giving you a medical order: eat your veggies."
Johnson noted the slight smile on Dr. Linseed's muzzle and returned it with a grin. "It does taste a swirl of a lot better. I can't deny that."
"About MUFFIN time!" Sunshower stomped her hoof and looked disgruntled.
"It isn't like I didn't have a clue! I guess I knew it wasn't workin' eating rations an' all, but... It still doesn't fix the reason I was eating them." Mr. Johnson scraped his hoof on the exam platform edge.
Dr. Linseed sat down again, on his office pillow. "I read about a case like yours. That's how I knew what to ask. There was a pony, 'bout a year ago or so, who did pretty much the same thing - ate rations, got constipated... it was a much more serious situation for them, though. They required surgery. That can happen, by the way. I want you to keep that in mind.
"Basically, this other pony, they... had found their relationships with all the other people around them had changed. They had defined themselves, and their life, by how they were treated. That was their place in society, and when every soul in their city went pony, the social rules changed. For the better, of course, but they changed. And change itself was the problem - good, bad, change is stressful just because it is different. Sometimes ponies find strange ways to cope with that stress.
"I don't think 'change' is something I can prescribe a pill for, Evin. It takes recognizing that even changes for the better are still changes, and change itself is almost always disturbing. I'm a medical doctor, psychology isn't my area, but as a person, as a pony, I think that it wouldn't hurt to find somepony to talk to about how Conversion has affected you. How it has affected the way you perceive yourself and the world around you. Is there anypony you can talk to about such things?"
Mr. Johnson nodded. "Uh... yeah. I suppose so. I just haven't... wanted to." He thought for a moment. "But I will. I will, doc."
"Well halle-muffin-lujah! 'Bout time, pops. I tell you doc, some parents, you know?" Sunshower tried to look exasperated, but she was having too much fun doing it.
"Here... is the prescription..." Thyme levitated a slip of paper in the air, it was taken by little Sunshower, who tucked it under a wing. "Take one dose before bedtime. It's from Equestria, it's imbued, so expect it to work extremely well, early in the morning. You probably won't need a second dose... unless you go back to bad habits.
"Food is very... powerful. Food helps define culture, circumstance, even identity. What we eat can affect our mood, and, obviously, our health. I can understand why you might choose to cling to human rations, but it is not a good choice. Once you start eating what you are built to eat, and after tonight, I think you will find your weight going down, the bloat reducing, and you will feel a lot better. Try to focus on that, if you can. Feeling good can be a powerful ally when dealing with changing behaviors."
Evin stepped off the platform. "Thanks, Doc. I guess I'm more of a mule than a pony, huh?"
Thyme rose and briefly laid his neck over Evin's, the standard pony 'handshake-and-hug'. "No, not a mule, just coping with a very strange new world. We all are. There has never been a more profound change in all of history. Probably, anyway. It would be very odd if nopony had troubles with it all. Your particular manifestation of stress might be unusual - most ponies can't get enough of fresh food no matter what else is going on - but the impulse is actually very common. You are not alone, Evin.
"We smile and laugh and help each other and have fun, because that is what ponies do, and we are ponies now. But inside, deep down, we are still who we were before we faced Conversion, and that isn't going to go away or change. We each have to come to our own terms about what it means to be a former human from a very troubled world. That doesn't go away when we trade hands for hooves, or machines for magical abilities. Give yourself time - and permission - to find your own terms to deal with it all. That... and eat real food."
Evin laughed. "Yeah. A big bale of hay for me, I guess."
"Celestia's Socks, pop... I think we can do better than that. How about pizza? Artichoke and garlic and pesto sauce? We could all go eat at 'Nuvola's' tonight! Yeah! Come on... he's a pegasus too, like me, and he makes great pizza and..."
"And you think mister fancy Italian-word-for-'cloud' is handsome. I know your games, girl." The look on Mr. Johnson's face was priceless - a mix of indulgent adoration and endless frustration. "But, games or not, pizza sounds pretty good. I forget, sometimes, that Equestrians like their food just as fancy as we... as those... humans... did."
Dr. Thyme Linseed nodded at that, and gave a short salute with his hoof. "Be sure to pick up your prescription at the desk, on your way out."
"Thank you for fixing my dumb 'ol poppa, mister doctor!"
Thyme smiled and nodded. "That's my job, Sunshower. Good day!"
Evin grimaced at the use of the pony name for his daughter, and then shrugged with his ears. "Come on... Sunshower... let's get that bottle of poop medicine and see about a pizza."
As they walked out, Thyme made ink-pen notes on Evin's patient file. Everything was done on paper now. Computers and magic did not mix.
For a few moments, Dr. Thyme Linseed spun slowly on his swivel pillow, and then stopped to look out over the city. The sky was blue now, thanks to diligent pegasai, the roofs and balconies of every skyscraper covered in lush, green gardens. The city looked like mountains of glass and metal and stone, covered in verdant foliage. The city looked like a green canyon, from before the Collapse, from before the ecodisaster.
Everything was different. It could never be the same. And one day, soon, it would all be gone.
"Nepenthe?"
The muffled 'Yes doctor?' could not hide from pony ears.
"Would you send in the next patient please?"
I can't believe I'm going to say this, but... the moral of the story is when you eat crap you can't crap. Well, if you're a pony anyway.
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It's true for humans too! Crap craps up your crapper! True fact!
... and in the end he turned out to be a most regular pony.
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*Facehoof*
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allmystery.de/i/t1c0324_1350688593976.jpg
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Of course the human medical equivalent is a bit more technologically intensive:
"Go, go, gadget - go gadget!"
(Edit: You have no idea how many years I've waited to use that joke!)
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You both do realize... this story isn't really about poop, at all, right? I didn't totally fail here, correct? I don't need analysis, just... reassurance?
In any case, thank you for reading my short story.
6034830 Setting aside the "tyrant sun" versions of TCB, it seems like newfoals accept their new life and everything is sunshine and lollipops. It's nice to see that there can be newfoals that have issues transitioning from human to pony. Of course, children would make that transition easier because they aren't "set in their ways" as it were. Adults, on the other hand, would have more issues. It was refreshing to see a newfoal trying to revert back to their human ways because it shows that the process isn't perfect. But it doesn't mean all hope is lost. With some help we can all be set back on the right path.
On the other hand/hoof, no one can pass up a good poop joke.
I hope that makes sense, it's 1:40am here. TL;DR yes, I know it's not about poop.
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As the old chess maestro once said, the threat can be stronger than the execution.
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Yeah, my inner 12 year old never tires of poop jokes.
Strictly speaking, any story with Celestia as a tyrant cannot properly be a true Conversion Bureau story. It would be following the Three Rules.
Huh. I can only think of one, maybe two stories like that, both done as comedic pieces. The whole point of Bureau stories is to explore how transformation affects dramatically people in complex and existentially difficult ways. Aside from one comedic short-short involving the brief period of euphoria that occurs immediately after Conversion, that focus would be the entirety of my work.
I've written novels and short stories about how ponification impacts religion, ethics, gender, politics, identity, personality, values, society, nature versus nurture, culture, and more, and all base their drama on the conflicts and problems that occur to ordinary humans as a result of such dramatic transformation.
You know, I can't think of a single, real Bureau story that fits the 'sunshine and lollipops' implication of everything being devoid of problems. If you know of such a story, let me know. I could actually use a really happy Bureau story like that. Seriously. I need a good cheer up right now.
Huh, I always have the opposite problem—On the rare occasions when I eat junkfood it turns me into a corprological firehose. I did really well when I lived exclusively on Soylent for a month earlier this year, though. A+ would subsist entirely on sludge again.
Alas, isn't it all
I liked these characters and the AAVE-inflected dialog; it's something too many people don't even think of including. It was nice to see more ponies with genuine psychological and emotional issues and reactions to their situation, too—It makes them seem a lot more real and believable than if it's all just smooth mental sailing from here on out, or rather it's nice to see that this is something that can persist and fester, awaiting its cathartic moment for who knows how long.
Making it a poop metaphor just made it all the more relatable, and of course tied it directly into the new body that's the very source of his concerns.
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Re-reading that sentence, I think the 'sunshine and lollipops' part shouldn't have been there. I've read a lot of your work so I know that it is most certainly not all sunshine and lollipops for everypony. More than likely I was trying to be sarcastic with it and text doesn't convey that well.
Actually, I'm pretty sure that there isn't a story that is all sunshine and lollipops. That would be a real short story. Basically: blah blah blah, potion, blah blah blah, happy pony land, the end.
*sigh*
Sorry. If it helps, it really makes me happy when I see that you've posted new work.
This... Well, I've had worries and fears like this. I can empathize greatly here. I hope you feel better soon, Chat. We worry about you.
Also? You haven't lost your touch one bit. I could easily see this as a short series in itself. A spin-off, as it were. Reading your work is like being wrapped in a fluffy blanket with a mug of cocoa in my hooves, and I wouldn't trade it for all the bits in Equestria.
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The story is about poop? How unrelated to my real-life experiences. I... Wait a sec...
(Female voice shouting in the background.)
"Yes, dear? What it is?"
(More shouting.)
"Yes, I tilled the horse manure into the vegetable beds."
(Shouting, then laughter.)
"Ayup, tell Cathy we'll take more shxx!"
Where was I? Oh, yeah. Poop has nothing to do with my life right now. Nothing at all.
Few things in life are as underrated as taking a good dump.
Too bad the Doc didn't go with Linseed Oil. That's a perfectly good human name as well.
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I love the Two Ronnies! It's been so long!
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You just made my day. Thank you.
The next morning in the bathroom, there was an explosion so powerful that it broke the pull of the earth's gravity and sent its projectile through outer space.
Yes, I know, but it is so fitting due to the Freudian pairing of anal retention to aggressive stubbornness. Personally, I don't understand his attachment to an idea when everything that is gone was bad. Aside from the rations, the poisoned air and dirt have been cleaned up and... This guy hasn't even moved, life just got better around him, and... he is unhappy with this? His neighbors have become friendly as opposed to hostile, its safe to go outside, the weather should make him feel healthier since it now contains 90% more oxygen, yet... He's uncomfortable because his life isn't shitty any more? … No, I can't sympathize with this. I can only think of a few life changing experiences where things got better for me and I met them each with zeal while bouncing up and down with joy. Not only can I not sympathize, I am actually angry with this character for denying the gift that was given to him, so in the end, like many of the commenters, my mind keeps slipping back to a simple description of the events presented: this guy is full of shit.
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Naught but truth, my dear friend. I actually just re-read it because I've missed your writing so much.
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Yes, it does help! Thank you very much. Such kindness means everything to me.
I really loved this story. The Conversion Bureau is still my favorite universe, so it's great to see another one set in that universe from you.
This one was really good too. Three newfoals, in a fairly ordinary situation, for this universe anyway, but it also tells much about transition that is happening.
I also like that you mentioned neoplastics as the clue they were still on earth. I had to pause at that.
All in all, thank you sincerely for writing it.
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Thank you for reading it!
Knew this wasn't about poop. Didn't even know. Still, I had my Comprehensive Advance Revised Bristol Stool Chart (2013) out just in case. It's in my desktop wallpaper rotation. What? I ate 2 bags of combos and and drank three glasses of pink lemonade. Had a bad time. Got to stick with real food.
Change is scary, but it's part of life. The body is constantly cycling through new material, unstoppably moving from past to future, crossing a new Rubicon with every eyeblink. The only true stasis is in death, and barring hard vacuum, even that leads to new life. Trying to hold onto the past is as painful and unhealthy as acute constipation. Dr. Linseed prescribed more than one laxative here, and while one will be far more fast-acting than the other, both will take effect, and healthy movement will take place.
Nice use of pastel ponies to explore the human condition, Chat. Always good to read more from you.
6153938 You're welcome, thanks for typing these after all!
As for this chapter, I think most others have said more enough than my late night tired mind can think of.
...err oh wait, I do have a little something even if it's not really anything substantial and as in-depth or thought provoking: it's rather nice to see some slice of life pieces in the daily lives of the newfoals, as great big adventures and grand schemes and plots are good and awesome, but sometimes I just need a break from epic scaled planar shattering events!
And some well-crafted cheesy pizza served in a cozy brick cottage sounds preeeetty good right now...
I read this entire story just on the edge of my seat waiting for it to cumulate in an absolutely horrible pun.
Interesting statement, from programmer. No, I mean, I probably can imagine why such conclusion surface ..like as with me: if _all_ scientists in relevant in my life field turned out to be ..less than adequate, much below acceptable line (there are..two, I think, formally scientists who are still my friends, yet they different from those specialized in dolphins/cetacea, and one of them quite _actually_ {by act, not just word} disagree with basically anti-compassionate core behind biological sciences) - then whole scientific enterprize quite fast lost all attractiveness. So, if computers (and some other technology) considered irremovable part of old world, part of problem-generator, then yes .... Or may be computers just considered unnedded anymore, if every scroll by definition can function as very advanced hand (hoof?) writing surface.
I don't think writers (anyone who heavily work with written symbols) will drop possibility to edit their 'texts' (runes? hieroglyphs?) relatively easily. Yes, writing by pen or similar device much more personalized than same-font-for-all computer-aided text. Sometimes to the point nor writer nor reader have effort to spare for essentially-long hand-written texts ... with quite negative consequences .... Yet, you see, more mature computers take complex graphical input, and even can turn some symbols from handwritten form into more standartized representation. Modern Internet too big for having _all_ or even many of its users as friends or even important enough beings in one's life - we have only that much time to think about someone, and write/read or otherwise communicate. But ability itself to 'see' someone from far away might be very useful. So, I argue while 'computers' might be stylized as magical scrolls - their most important functions will be around, not supported by traditional (for today!) technology, but still.
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Or maybe magic simply has electromagnetic effects that don't play nice with the computers' tiny circuitry.
If that's the case, then I suppose if someone invented a magic equivalent to a transistor/processor (something with runes/crystals/etc. maybe?), the next trick would be transferring everything from the old electronic systems to the new magic computers. Maybe an optical connection (electricity to light, light through fiber, light to magic signal), or if that's no good, then maybe some method related to punchcards and paper tape.
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In my Bureau story universe, thaumatic energy has a specific effect on our reality - it completely destroys quantum uncertainty. The reason is because Equestria, in my stories, is an artificial pocket universe created by terrifying beings of higher dimensional spaces, and the entire pocket universe is essentially like a sort of holodeck. I say it is like a holodeck, but it is far more than that - the system literally creates a reality within itself, made out of not atoms, but tiny 'Dweons', cubical projections of extradimensional force. Because it is itself a computational cosmos, there is no uncertainty, and no quantum effects of any kind.
This is why earthly life perishes in contact with Thaumatic force - all earth life depends on, and utilizes, quantum uncertainty to function. Examples include the efficiency and function of chlorophyll, the function of microtubules in cells, the function of mitochondria, and so forth. In electronics, quantum effects are a constant part of how things work - whether it is the function of an LED, or the natural electrical properties of diodes.
Thus, magic - really the energies of an artificial 'Krell machine' pocket universe constructed by a species a billion years more advanced than humanity - and electronics do not mix... either in a machine, or in a biological machine, such as us.