09 December 2009
06 December 2009
...the only way it really can begin: at 3 in the morning. It's always bothered me that the details of our lives tend to steal away into the Land of Forgotten Things just as easily and inconspicuously as lonely socks disappear forever and without explanation from the laundry basket. These dust bunnies of the individual's memory go unacknowledged despite their infinite abundance. Without each of these transient moments, however insignificant, our history is slightly less complete. In a way, we ourselves are slightly less complete. At 19, I already fear the impending dilapidation of my own mind. By scattering my thoughts in a net of other minds and machines, I hope to escape the unreliability of human memory. Hence Blog.