There were days, sometime in the distant past, when I used to write and write and write and not care about what goes on in the Matrix. Then those words start to fade in the wind, sucked by turbulences of life. Then quickly replaced by sparse images captured by whatever random lens I could get my hands on. Today a little of that olden memory rages to resurface. I know not what to write, but I know that I shall anyway and not leave this space destitute another decade longer. So here’s to a new beginning, whatever that means, whether it will remanifest, or not. Time will tell.