I'm reluctant to embrace sensation over creation, although some part of my heart knows this is where I ought to go. I also crave legacy, definition, something solid for grasping, to say this is it. But what is it (is it?) is the ongoing sensory moment, which at the top of my game I could observe for the rest of my life.

When people disappear from the internet I suspect they've mastered it, that they're out there living instead of thinking and documenting the living. But then again documentation is an act like any other. As we look around our gaze can come to rest on ourselves, as much a part of the world as anything else.

I've felt the force of time lately pressing me back, making it hard to catch my breath. The documents are how I find my bearings in the stream of everything.