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Anxiety and unease, the hour drawing near. If I had the strength left to assemble it, could I have destroyed this unnecessary orb?
September 21

It's not “that time” yet, but the circuit won't activate. The dust-covered Box-7 comes back to life and moves about as if nothing happened. However, the main circuit is significantly slower. There's absolutely no need for repairs.

It took quite some time to unload the cargo from the dilapidated spaceship before the “Day of Time” arrived. There are still three essential supplies left, but I hesitate. If those three arrive, an enormous “to-do list” will remain.

"Colored tile in a little room"
May 11.

I furrowed my brow, fought to anchor my unfocused eyes, and stared deep into the unchanging tile. Then, quietly, slowly, I traced a circle once more.. and the shape shifted. The tile became a square.

The dry clack of his shoehorn steps echoed down the corridor, while the hammering of my own heart pounded through my skull, driven by panic and pressure.

The tile refused. All that changed was the weight of his gaze, and the silence grew heavy. At last, the man sighed. a long, tired breath.. then blew a whistle sharp enough to slice the air, and walked away.

Frantic, I placed my finger on the tile and drew a square. Nothing happened. I tried again... still unchanged. Again, and again... I traced until the motion became a plea.

I turned, startled, to see a man in a suit standing there, carving the shape of a square into the air with his fingers. In that same unwavering tone, he commanded again: “Make it a square.”

Crouched low, leaning on my elbow, I gazed at the tile, spellbound. Then, from the dim hallway, came a voice, sharp as a thrown stone: “Make it a square!”

At once, the shape shifted, circle into square. I traced it again, this time square-shaped, and it became a triangle. Once more I moved my finger, and the form returned to its original circle.

Amid the dust and shadow, it alone held color, pristine as though newly born. I reached out and traced the circle engraved upon it with my finger.

One day, on the crumbling wall of a forgotten little room where no light flowed and no wire pulsed with power, there lay a single colored tile. round, radiant, and untouched by time.

Can music be used to visually note sound data? What is the sound created with pen and paper, and does it live for hundreds of years?
January 21.

If it remains in my hands, it will remain with the handwriting and the lingering scent of that era, along with the smell of ashes hundreds of years later, which is not a good thing for the adrenaline of the moment.

I wonder whether I should keep the massive amount of notes from years ago, or let them float away on a wave of information and watch them drift away. After all, I am reminded of the advantages of hand-drawing.

Do I “exist”?
January 11

The data is in a state of continuous living until the moment it exists, but if it is simply stored in a cube, like writing with a pen, no one will know if it “exists” or not.

Death” in this world is not the end of the physical body, but when it is erased from the data in memory. Or when a piece of memory of existence disappears.

It is only empty to wade through the gravel road, using the products of the past as shackles. I want to live forever as a never-shining crystal sleeping under a big dark space. O>W>N world,” the reality in my imagination.
December 31

The five-year-old plan has completely disappeared and will probably never be found. However, if it continues to remain after 1,000 or 10,000 years, I hope they will find it. With an empty, incomplete object.

When one beginning ends, the end begins again. I turn on the power, draw a circle, look at that circle for a few minutes, and then turn it off. prying out a piece of my fantasy that I will someday complete.

If I were to respond to the transparent voice that says, “Other planets are bigger and better to live on,” or “Other planets are brighter and more pleasant,” my response would be, “That's just the way it is.”
I guess I am one of the “grown-ups” now.
December 27

Fortunately, 80% of the data is intact, but the root has been bitten off and is now not “fully black”. It has become a crystalline body that is quietly and simply fading away.

Suddenly “it” happened. It was too sudden. The planet was jet black, not luminous, smaller than any other planet, and not reflective of any energy light. The data was decades old. It would have been whale bones by now.