There is not yet so much, but so many ways, I can say about my life. I can craft a story a million times until the core is smooth, the form lucid, and the presentation, fragrant. That's what I can do with my sheer hands and mind. But more and more I'm realizing that I am not the only one constructing the narratives. Beyond me there is no god (as far as I am concerned), but version control: an honest reflection of things that might not be deemed valuable at the time, but, once kept, start to shine.
The site is two-folded:
The first: I produce proses, poems, thought. I write them down. They are from my conscious mind, even when I am drunk. Sometimes I create forms to present them, of which I have no idea when I start. Like plots, they only emerge as I continue to live with my characters. The medium is something that I am still discovering, something flat, dark and requires both intelligence and diligence to get fluent at, just like I would with watercolor or clay, something called the web.
The second: The glimpse of a thought, of something intangible, passing, neglected, yet recorded with precision, timestamped and revertible. How come I wrote something that said
translation is a time-based mechanism for a commit message I could not possibly remember. It was a fleeting second, but in the silence of the night, respects could only be paid by delivering something into the space. A space that does not respond or consume, but takes, patiently, every little word you sacrifice.