The Scribe has re-entered his loft after many months of living, working, drinking, and coding at a real job. He still does all those things, but swears to put his doppleganger to work so that he may press on here. Wouldn't want to get so caught up he forgets why he came in the first place.
It may take some time, but soon this modest abode shall flow with something fuller than bare white pixels. Perhaps he'll even wander into the deep cellar to find writings from the past. Sadly, he can't promise anything shall be found after so much neglect: humidity and magnetobugs may have rendered them lost.
Until then, the Scribe recommends a music interlude from David Bowie, to whom the name of this site and blog owe much gratitude.
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Until then, the Scribe recommends a music interlude from David Bowie, to whom the name of this site and blog owe much gratitude.
The Scribe wishes the Wayback Machine longevity and prosperity: It seems the cellar wall caved in, destroying all previous records of the site. But Brewster Kahle's legacy copied the text and images from afar. Expect almost-perfect replicas soon.
And remember: You can never back up too soon. At least do so before installing software with the potential to send GINA into a petulant, high-alert, noone gets anything for a thousand years because I've been compromised fault mode.