Since the dawn of the human civilization, individuals have struggled to immortalize the interactions with their peers and the nature around them. Cavemen drew in walls what they believed to be their most valuable accomplishment: hunting the wild animals who provided the fuel for their families to survive. Fast forward a few thousand years and, in forgotten monasteries across the old continent, monks were copying thousands and thousands of pages of the manuscripts that contained the knowledge gathered throughout the millennia. Centuries later, their work would significantly be eased by the breakthrough of a single man, Gutenberg, who provided the human race with the most beautiful of concepts: machines making the world’s knowledge available to virtually everyone. In the meantime, letters were traveling the world, sent between lovers, family members, friends, enemies, strangers. Simple pieces of paper that contained the most raw of human emotions, kept like small treasures that immortalize a moment in time.
Then came the digital revolution. Suddenly, the envelopes that carried such dear words were being replaced with meaningless numbers, series of ones and zeros traveling across a web of pipes, jailed in the crushing complexity of the computer. Overwhelmed by the possibility of losing such important pieces of history, some people wondered what those monks would have done had they knew the contemporaries of the digital age, relying on the godly nature of the mighty computer, would throw to waste the years they put into typing all those lines of text. Would they still have done it?
Consequentially, posing as an inverted Gutenberg, a machine was built that takes those meaningless numbers and puts them as and where they should be: words on a piece of paper. Like letters in an envelope, emails in a book. Memeoirs, your emails, in a book. To make sure the words you crafted to your loved ones are kept for as long as the black of the ink beats the yellow of the paper.
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