Having Been Human
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Mon Jul 9 23:59:13 2012
Signs on Closed Doors

Every time I make a decision to close a door in my life, I like to leave notes for myself as to why I did it; elaborately cross-referenced, documented, and with an analysis of any new course this will set me on or what it will remove. I have found, as the years go by, that otherwise I forget these things; forget that people ever existed, that opportunities were decided against. I might doubt a decision I no longer understand, or recollect a time period without an important element, were it not for this memory, this institution of memory, the statues of fallen friends and untaken paths.

Sometimes I manage to remember people who fell away without my having realised they were gone, or things I have forgotten to describe, and I am left wondering if I should try to weave them back into my written memories.

My written self is an extension of my RL self and my network self; bigger than either, but in an endless sleep.

My written self could die in a fire that left me alive, or could die when there is no longer anyone left who can pull together my multilingual, me-thought notes. I am talking to the other versions of myself far more than I talk to any other person, and that talk is the substance of my skin.