Every space that exists online – and there are some and there are none – reminds me of myself and my preoccupations and my ideas about myself and my ideas that I created by myself without the internet without anyone just me and that's the authentic and autonomous and identifiable me and not any other one. Since I've been here – in this place the place where I am – I've been missing people and since I've been here and not there, not where you are #notonfacebook not on your streets not in your way not in your breath not in your hands, people have been missed. I see me and not you in my place, where I am and you aren't, where I am and you never were or couldn't be, where perhaps we were or could have been but where you are no longer. Since I got here (and since it's about me), time, my time, is measured by my progress, and since I got here and since time is mostly mine, some time hasn't passed for some people, some people haven't been measured by time, and some people have passed. I wrack it up, I measure it, not in a lonely style (although I'm not unlonely), but because there's no other style, because I measure it because I have only the measure I have, and so I note the passing and I pass the notices only #notonfacebook. If only friends and family wrote obituaries in dead formats, in blogs and myspace, then I could understand, I could consume the dead or death of a friend or friends like a browser. All these deaths that are outside from the inside. If everybody would talk about every death that matters to me online all of the time somehow, I would curate or polish or populate or breed or milk or make a living stream of the deaths of my friends until the day comes – and it is not so far from now, in this time – that the internet and the electricity are only now available for the acutely and richly and eminently possessed, the eminently-credentialed bereaved, with the best customer service apologies for the hold-up to the rest of you in limbo, in waiting, in suspense, in grief and whose lives are on pause, who are buffering, who are selected for pre-buffering thanks to our competent algorithm which measures how close you were to the deceased. We can see from our lookup tables that the death of a disco dancer or a young dot is not a death that's personal enough to you to warrant instance access, and we're sorry we feel you we're serving you this lovely video from a mattress company to remind you that all living intimacy is a thing you can buy with confidence from a lovely website.