Since I have left the University and TheStrip, I have become invisible...more like out-visible. I am now a digital voyeur, keeping up with the discussion within the emails and gawking at the growth of a child that has become more a part of me than ever imagined. TheStrip was my first love in a thing that had nothing and everything to do with who I am. I have never said goodbye to the colleagues that created this, nor have I said goodbye to the thing we created.
"Well, it's rather difficult to define...perhaps I'm just projecting my own concern about it...I know I've never completely freed myself of the suspicion that there are some extremely odd things about this mission."
We all decided to ignore what could happen has happened. Many of the finest scholars that I have met during my education, my friends, built this thing. It changed us, molded us into people of a different kind. A growing species of a type of primate, a hexadecimal Hylobatidae, that has more sophisticated tools. Many of us have moved on and realize that we must disconnect the thing we created. It was just as dangerous as it was useful. Many of us have channeled our love of academics to exploration in cyberspace, to computers, to bytes and bits only to remember a time when the monolith wasn't settled on the moon, but on the quad. We have all watched Frank drift into the void.
>login: Dave
>password: Discovery
"Hello Dave…How are you today?"
/home/dave>cd /
"What are you doing Dave?"
"Nothing."
"Stop, Dave. I'm afraid."
/>rm -R *
… … … … … … …
The death of TheStrip should not be considered a loss, but a simple resolution. One resolution to a problem that my friends and I still contemplate: where do we go from here? We have been to Jupiter and back and lost and gained many things on the way. We will continue to admit, "My god, it is full of stars."
