I’ve always appreciated the word blog. It feels honest and informal; a small, functional word from the early web. Blogs were, and still are, places to share links, notes, ideas, and to find others doing the same. That spirit of exchange still matters. [See blogroll.org]
Lately I’ve been thinking about what it means to write on a personal site. Not as performance or publishing schedule, but as a way of keeping something. The internet moves quickly; memory does not. So instead of thinking of this site as a blog, I want to reframe it as a memory space. Not in name, but in spirit.
A blog documents what’s new; a memory holds what endures. Much of what I share is still in progress — projects, experiments, thoughts — but I like the idea that it all becomes part of a lasting digital archive. A self-contained record that lives here, not buried in the feeds or vaults of social media.
This shift isn’t about nostalgia for old internet habits, though there’s affection there. It’s about recognising that writing online can be quieter, slower, more intentional. I don’t need to publish to perform. I just want to build a body of work that remembers where it came from.
Each entry here is an act of keeping — something read, seen, built, or felt. Some memories are full essays; others are fragments. Together they form an archive of attention; not a timeline but a trace.
Call it whatever you want; a memory, a memex, a wiki, a journal, or a blog. Record your thoughts. If only for your own recollection.
This thought was inspired by Elliot and Bernadette.