We are at that point in life where we can begin to erase history and rework it as our own. It’s a terrifying and alluring idea. I just spent the past half hour reworking Moby Dick‘s famous opening lines—call me [emptiness]. What’s mesmerizing is the gradual fade of words that leaves behind a residue of letters, and those letters increase in meaning as they dwindle. Perhaps less is more, but then again, to achieve that, you need sacrifice. So how do we decide what should stay or go? How do we trust ourselves to delete the world? More importantly, what happens when it’s too late and the words are gone and the blank slate is reborn?