rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,


This guy collects parting screen shots of dead web sites. Most of them are from dotcoms which went bust, though some are from noncommercial web sties. He has posted dozens of galleries of them. It's an unusual hobby, to be sure, but I've no doubt there are many that are far odder, and I don't sense any sort of digital ghoulishness in this memorialization of failure and surrender. He lets the screen shots speak for themselves. There is a sameness to these farewells, as might be expected. Failure is one of the few things that truly is one-size-fits-all. After perusing the site for a while, I began to feel the sort of melancholy sadness that one feels walking past a deserted graveyard on a gray day, with the empty wind whistling around the headstones. It's an archive of digital dust to digital dust, as it were. All those bright dreams, gone, and not even the rank odor of decaying flowers to commemorate their passing, but only this series of silent images, like a vanished family's album lying discarded in a thrift shop.

The clouds have not returned, and all night the waning moon has cast its light to reveal the tree bones, and the specks of ice which glint at the tips of grass blades like tiny reflections of the stars. I'm not expecting January's sun to have the power to warm this air more than a few degrees. At least there is a good chance of more blue sky today, if I wake early enough to see it. To sleep, and piles of blankets keep the winter at bay!

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty-Two

    Friday evening I finally got around to baking that frozen lasagna, and even made some (underdone) garlic toast to go with it. It was quite tasty, and…

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty-One

    The last of the not-extremely-hot days, Thursday passed uneventfully, as most days do now. There was no nap, and though I didn't feel especially bad…

  • Reset Twenty, Day Thirty

    Wednesday was delightfully mild, and toward evening the fluffy white clouds that had been scattered about the sky all afternoon began to gather…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.