There is a manner in which certain things ask to be written, not so that they may be found, but because to exist in silence, for too long, eventually becomes insufficient. It is not urgency. It is something closer to a necessity that makes no noise, waiting patiently until it discovers the proper form. This archive was born in such a way.
Not as a diary. Not as a blog. Not as something that is updated merely for the sake of appearing alive. It is a place where certain thoughts come to rest, those which do not dissolve, those which return, those which insist with the silent obstinacy of things that truly belong to you...
everything is connected until somebody asks you to draw the connections # Economics / domino effect. I spent tonight trying to understand why one institution failing can create trouble elsewhere...
size and permanence are apparently unrelated concepts # When things that seemed enormous collapse, everybody suddenly acts as if the cracks were obvious all along. This happens with companies, relationships,...
monday is approaching and apparently the financial world has chosen drama # Tomorrow, again, but completely different from last Tuesday’s excited tomorrow. News this weekend has been full of financial...
small is not the same thing as meaningless, fortunately # Feeling too small is easy this week. Twenty seven kilometre particle accelerator. Universe. History. Seven years since something watched by...
seven years since the day everybody remembers where they were # Seven years since September 11, 2001. I was seventeen. That’s what strikes me now, not because seventeen makes the...
goodnight milan. goodnight cern. goodnight tiny things moving ridiculously fast. # Protons in circulation, last post because apparently four entries in one day is where even I admit obsession. Today...
the night before a machine does something it was built for # Tomorrow. I am trying not to make this sound like humans are landing on Mars again because first...
two sleeps until beam day, which is a sentence i never expected to write # Waiting for protons. There are already protons everywhere, obviously, including in me, so technically waiting...
apparently distance becomes romantic as soon as somebody puts acoustic guitar under it # Five hundred miles. Distance again. Country and folk songs have infected the measurement system in my...
five days until somebody sends protons around a very expensive circle # Ten September is written on a scrap of paper beside my computer like I personally have an appointment...
midnight is either very late or ridiculously early depending on what you’re doing # The hours of the night have different personalities. Midnight is social. Midnight on Saturday barely counts...
some songs stop being songs and become coordinates # There are songs I like and songs that have somehow attached themselves to years so completely that hearing the first few...
Why?
Because every thought leaves a trace. If something moved you, disturbed you, softened you, or made you think, leave it here, quietly.