January 11th 2019
Today I had mortgage documents arrive to sign and return and Sparrow's Christmas present, which is also a document of another sort, finally arrived. Paper still stands as the carrier of gravid information, unnecessarily, superfluously. It's because, I think, we like the idea that it exists and will exist continue to exist outside us reading it, that unlike electronic storage we'll bequeath it to the ages. We won't, of course, it will pass as we do and as the acid breaks it down.
That's okay. There's nothing else to do but light a "spark of meaning in the darkness of mere being". All words are, therefore, good. It's all words, and it's all good.
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