An Inscription, the very substance of memory is but an inscription, a phenomenological carving into the substrate of history. Memory exists inside of all things, every object implicit in it’s present material existence is the infernal mechanism of memory eternally grinding away. A machine that shapes and bends every individual fragmentation of reality into an image created by itself through itself. The rings of an exposed stump expose the memories latent in a tree. Through a wrinkled and sagged smile one can perceive the imprint of stress where the little machine elfs of memory have mercilessly worn the face to a brittle husk. The DNA of any creature is nothing but a long strand of memories endlessly replicating and adapting itself the various memories it is subsumed in.
If memory is a machine, it has no clear schema, no instructions, it is a mass collection of incalculable randomness cleverly and neatly organized so as to deceive the subject of its innate anti-knowledge. Thusly memory’s only jumping off point is itself and the memory to come before it. It presupposes and re-appropriates the future in it’s own self-revolving reality. This machine is responsible for existence entirely, it is the very foundation upon which it exists. However, memory is a deception. For where there is one memory machine, there is another, and while these machines may be connected, they each fall infinitely into themselves. Every memory is in some incommunicable to another memory, for each strand of memory is entirely unique to itself, only that strand has lived that particular existence. Loneliness is not a feeling or state of mind, but a metaphysical property of the universe arising from an infinitude of memories each with a lineage so specific it is impossible for another memory to ever understand.
Blades, this is the machinery of memory. Blades which cut and pierce the flesh of reality, grinding and reshaping it to conform to an abstracted axiomatic volume of experiences. Nothing can escape the infernal machine, everything is torn to pieces. All that is solid melts into air. All which is existent is reknown and recreated in the machine of your memory through an eternal process of destruction. Memory holds only bias to itself and will relentlessly annihilate what it can not know. Everything is justified through memory, everything is rationalized and de-rationalized. You are nothing but a strand of memory pulling itself apart in every direction, desperately seeking freedom or comfort from its isolation only to fall back onto itself. Everyday of your life you are alone, and one day even your own strand of memory will forget you, and you dissolve into a pointless inscription on the eternal surface of the universe. Assimilate or die, this is the law of memory.