[ … ] these are moments of my life, somehow. All plagued by noise, blurred nearly beyond recognition, but familiar in a way that makes my mouth dry, my stomach lurch, my blood run cold. Images of memories I thought lost to the decay of history, ashes of time coalesced on these pages, packed face to face and back to back in these boxes. My timeline compressed to a ream of laser-burned paper, shut in cardboard, caked in dust, hundreds of floors beneath a building both somewhere and nowhere in Washington State, USA.