40 lines
2.1 KiB
Markdown
40 lines
2.1 KiB
Markdown
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---
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path: "/posts/wayback"
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date: "2016-06-20T23:19:51.246Z"
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title: "Wayback"
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type: "blog"
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note: "test"
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---
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An image, captured by the wayback machine from 2009,
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of a website I made in highschool containing
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now defunct links to songs I recorded in my family house's
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closet (also containing the internet router and cleaning supplies),
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along with some
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geometric broken image links from the album art I photo-shopped together from
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heavily filtered images of things around my house:
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[](https://web.archive.org/web/20090323231502/http://www.maximusfowler.com/maximusproductions/Music.html)
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My freshman and sophomore years of high school I didn’t have many friends — I spent a lot of time next to
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the router making angsty electronic music. I kept a small MIDI keyboard and microphone on a fold-able table in
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the closet.
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I made hundreds of songs, and used iWeb (apple’s WYISWYG website maker) to make a website to ‘publish’ the
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music to. I spent hours photographing my dog, and random plants and photo-shopping the images together into
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album art. I put all the songs and album art onto <a href="http://maximusfowler.com">http://maximusfowler.com</a> and
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didn’t share the website or music with anyone.
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This last spring I looked up maximusfowler.com on the wayback machine and found three entries:
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I clicked through to Music.html and found the following remnant of a page from 2009:
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[https://web.archive.org/web/20090323231502/](https://web.archive.org/web/20090323231502/http://www.maximusfowler.com/maximusproductions/Music.html">https://web.archive.org/web/20090323231502/http://www.maximusfowler.com/maximusproductions/Music.html)
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Scrolling through the blue letters on the dark background, thinking about echoes of a memory, of looking out
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the window of my bedroom at night, and an even more distant memory of barefoot stepping on a firecracker and
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crying, of diving into a lake and passing through an unexpected cold patch of water.
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Perhaps these dark blue letters and empty boxes reverberate my childhood to me more deeply than if all the
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pages of the site remained.
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