Barley tea with half a caffeine pill is my new thing. Supposedly it doesn’t stain teeth but it’s a little hard to believe. It looks almost as dark as coffee.

Even though no one really visits this blog anymore, I still do quite a bit of self censorship. I wish I could be more free, but it would be reckless. So why not write in private then? I still like the idea that someone can stumble onto this at some point and notice. It’s also kind of … not romantic… what are better words for it… defiant, yet futile self-preservation? The idea that even as the internet dies and becomes more of ghost town then it already is, that my human non-AI imperfect reflections and thoughts live somewhere where they could be discovered. That as I age and eventually fade out of existence, that there might be a shadow of my self that glimmers electronically for a little while longer. Maybe when I’m truly near the end there will be a mechanism to keep this blog online like a cryogenically frozen head.

I think what drives my melancholy at the prospect of losing my existence is the loss of experience. I love the novel things about life. Death is the ultimate FOMO trigger. I would take immortality in a second if it meant I could keep my wits and maintain at least a minimally comfortable life. I’m jealous of the future generations that are likely to solve aging and disease. Fuck you guys. I was here first, and it’s not fair.