You're sad. Then you forget. Then you're sad again.

My colleague-friend died two nights ago, under mysterious circumstances. It was random, and came as a shock.

It wasn't like he was sick or unhealthy, or approaching the end of his years. He and I exchange an email to get together and demo his new product two weeks ago. To this day. We talked about working together on his platform, after POC and MVP and next rounds and the future. He had his whole life ahead of him and now he's. Just gone.

As I write this I'm worried about what people will think. Maybe what they'll say. Just because that's what we live in now, a place of permanence in our words and actions. Persistence. Of gestures, thoughts and words. We've achieved persistence and it is unknown. By it I mean, how the human condition will handle it. But I say these thoughts and they're not unread or unsaid when they're public and known. Until people forget. And then they remember again.

But I may be lucky and stay unknown to folks who I wouldn't want to know me. Anyone not a friend or family, even if they're a stranger. Staying unknown to everyone else is quite fine. Maybe a subnet or subculture, of only the folks who do like, or would like mutually.

I want to say something funny. Like, I want to make laughter as a panacea. Laughter is the medicine of the gods. I wonder what my last words will be and laugh thinking, "I wish I would have creeped...more scope." It's not a very funny joke, but it's a joke.

I guess I'm writing because I miss my colleague-friend. And I want to remember him, which means remembering now. Because I'll forget, and go on and continue living and doing the things I live and do. I'll forget about him some day. And if I write it down and read it, I'll remember. Be sad again. And then forget.

My friend was a really intelligent, sharply acerbic witty fellow. He was kinda cool in the FinTech/Product quirky ways. He came to our holiday party in 2015 and had a group of folks around him, laughing at his jokes.

Our things, like our thoughts and our words and gestures, and our phones and our toys will last longer than we will. Only houses were like that. Maybe pyramids. Things aren't meant to last longer than people. That's a weird place to be. It's a compounding set of memory. Space is a datastore and our actions in it are like a billion rogue A.I. And we weren't meant to create a memstore, at least longer than our perceived awareness, and certainly weren't meant to persist it for thousands of years... we were just supposed to process.

I'm getting off topic about my friend. He's still there, which is good. I hope he is happy and safe wherever he is.

This article is my 39th oldest. It is 482 words long