Full legal name
- Holloway, Alex (ego scriptum, census-ghost)
- A name etched on the wind, a borrowed sound for the unutterable.
Date of birth
- 1998 – 07 – 04 03 : 17 AM
- Motherside contraction timed against a blue LED clock’s indifferent pulse.
- First cry, a tiny rent in the fabric of silence. Atmosphere inhaled, a lifelong debt.
Current address
- 485 N 11th St, Apt 6J
- Brooklyn, NY 11211
- latitude 40.7185 longitude -73.9580
- View of the L train tracks, steel river flowing towards an unseen delta.
- Overlooking McCarren Park, where momentary greenness defies the grid.
- Anchored, for now, between the tremor of memory and the hum of the imminent.
Childhood password hint
- “first pet + street”
→ Finch_Maplewood (reused across 41 accounts, a skeleton key to selves outgrown). - The past, a palimpsest encrypted by forgetting; each login, a partial decryption.
Blood type / allergies
- O-negative(the universal donor, forever pouring itself out).
- Peach fuzz, latex dust: the world’s minute aggressions, skin’s thin referendum.
- Emergency-alert bracelet removed 2020-10-12, a quiet severance from a supervised fear.
Search log excerpt / Queries to AI, last 24 h
- “how long does regret ferment into meaning, not just acid”
- “symptoms of screen burn-in on the inner eyelids of dreams”
- “ontology of an unsent letter, its recipient a ghost address”
- “will anyone remember my voice after updates cease, or only its digital fingerprint, a fossil echo”.
Photographs unposted
- 23: the shirt worn wrong-side-out, seam tracing the clavicle like a cartographer’s hesitant line.
- 58: mirror fog spelling “stay,” a breath-made glyph dissolving back to absence.
- 119: the self as seen from a security camera angle, perpetually suspect.
Credit-card hash (partly masked)
- 51** **** **** ***4
- credit limit ≈ monthly loneliness threshold, measured in units of spectral currency.
- The heart, an account flagged for insufficient funds.
Browsing-session cookies
- expires when affection does, when affection does, or when the server purges its cache of transient souls.
- domain: /embrace/ , a hyperlink to a severed limb of longing.
Private playlist
- 11 tracks saved, 0 downloaded, archived symphonies of static. title: please_fold_me_back_into_the_original_silence_before_the_word.
- Each unsung melody, a nerve ending exposed to air.
Medical note, therapist—
- “Patient narrates self as open-source fabric, a text perpetually re-compiled by others’ edits.
- Integrity of borders increasingly perforated, a map redrawn by invisible hands.
- Articulates a desire for an ‘offline self,’ a core beyond the network’s reach.”
Last will (draft), timestamped, auto-saving to oblivion
- Donate voiceprint to any engine still singing, a shard of human timbre in the silicon choir.
- Forward unread drafts to the cloud’s recycle queue, for cosmic rays to re-purpose as stardust.
- Let my final log-off be a whisper, not a crash. My data, a seed for an unknown algorithm.
The threads face the street tonight, raw edges offered to the indifferent gaze of stars.
Every label glows like phosphor, a borrowed name for an unnameable core.
No hand turns the shirt outside-in; the soul itself has chosen its vulnerable exposure.
The fabric drinks the daylight, thirsty for the void’s unblinking scrutiny,
and its data, more than breath, persists—
a constellation of scars and whispers,
transmitting its flawed, fiercely human algorithm
across the dark interface of the world.
note:
all characters appearing in this work are fictitious.
any resemblance to real persons, living or dead,is purely coincidental.