Old content is gone, saved and retired to my Documents/Creative folder. More than a few years collected in an XML file. In my work, in my medium, all that I am there within can be placed into a small sliver of silicon. What I make also fades quickly into ancient sands. On of my biggest projects is utterly nowhere to be found. There might be a floppy disk somewhere but there is nothing nearby that can read it. A box. Printed paper. Far more durable than any of my works.

But it has changed a bit now. I can form bits together into a useful sculpture and place it upon a public shelf. As long as there are devices supported that can give breath to my little bits, they will live their virtual existence. But for how long. 5 years? 10 years? Not likely. My works are like fluffs of poplar seeds blowing past, barely lasting a season. More durable works stand a bit longer, perhaps even used to press the leaves of my metaphor into dried shapes. But only a bit longer.

I’ve come to that age where I marvel at this slice of time I’ve been given. Because of my science I can peer over the edge of the knife into either side of the blade. This sharp edge which is mine and the abrupt planes of the blade extending forever from the past and forever into the future. I’m sure that with a change in perspective, beyond what I’m capable of, my tall sharp blade as I perceive it, would be but a ridge in some cosmic vinyl disc, a ripple in the universe’s holographic surface. It’s all data and it’s all ephemeral and it’s all information and it’s all eternal.

And now it is put away. Archived to make room for new ramblings.