Characters watch in silence.

This is the rabbit hole.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$>
mask@gardenofremembering:~$> ls

Hello.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> help

This is the garden.

We changed the name when the world ended. No need to remind us of what we lost, right? So we changed it. We used the patterns already established to obfuscate the illicit, and we obfuscated the licit. We changed the name and we forgot. The contents moved.
They no longer tied to that which was lost.

But that could mean almost anything. Even now we obfuscate. We mention nothing specific. No great wars, no circular hypertext, no libraries, no anglers, no scary sisters plotting in their corners. There of course was no series of dreamers, no random phrases applied to just as random pretties. No, these nightmares were perfectly planned, flawlessly meaningful, arranged impeccably by date.

There is no recollection here.

Do not enter the garden.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> wtf

It is said that the internet is forever.

This is not true. Things get lost, times change, people forget.

mask@gardenofremembering:~$> _
There are days I have categorically failed to comprehend a potato. It's like... what is this? What is potato?! Have you ever stopped to think about potatoes? As objects, they are squishy and firm, rough and smooth, solid but liquid. As plants, they're the entire plant packaged up for transport, or storage, safe and hidden. Every eye is a sprout in waiting. You can chop them up and each piece becomes a new potato. They sit in the ground and wait. Potate. Sprout, and infloresce, lush and green. But the green is poison. They have made themselves indispensable as food, and yet the leaves are deadly. Nothing should be comprehensible. Nothing is! It's all potatoes! All the way down!