I was chatting with Silvia today, and she told me what putting memories in eternity is very intimidating.
It is indeed, we need to extract them as we take out meet from a crab: first, dismember the corpse and then suck in.
Memories tend do hide. They like to stay in the shadows. They like privacy.
I love Internet. It makes privacy Universal.
I feel excited, looking at the blank field of my new post.
It reminds me Genesis. My fingers over 28 letters of familiar alphabet are the one of a creator. If I perform a little magic and put them together, the lines of symbols on the screen will transform into something else. It has a message in it. It is like a DNA string:
How we encode our life is entirely our responsibility.
A rich life you can’t put in a few words. There are just to many things to say. So what I think is: important is not where to start, but to start writing. There is no such thing as importance, actually. All the memories and dreams are equally important.
Boris,
Far too deep! Even I couldn’t write this much philosophy in English, even if I were a missionary with an agenda.
But I did forward this to a friend.
Regards,
Kai———- Forwarded message ———-
So I decided write simply about what I feel like writing now, not have to.
I remember I’ve read once a book. It didn’t have the end and the first 50 pages were missing. So I could learn only about the middle of the story. I could just guess it’s beginning and possible end. I still don’t know the title and the name of author.
My life is such a book.
I actually remember myself like this:
Memorycemetery is also such a story, but with many storytellers. Let’s just type in whatever we like in this space, like in a game where you write something, fold the paper and pass it on around friends to make a tale.
Boris Kislitsin
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