Writing for posterity is nonsense today. Insects and reptiles do not read. Plants do not read either. Lest one is willing and able to invoke extraterrestrial archeology, a couple of million years from now, every stab at the truth is a mere gesture. That last straw is nevertheless appealing, and perhaps necessary. Thus I welcome you, fellow wanderers, for my species cannot harm you any more. The pointers I will have left for you will hopefully fill you with a sense of pride: “Behold—a glimpse of faith!” Thucydides inbound, as it were. The Mediterranean tragedy in the focus once again.

Addendum I (February 22, 1994)

The longing for my fellow wanderers may have led me toward my symbols, my boards of symbols, my books of symbols and crude representations of distant worlds? The longing may have led me to divine a way to commune with my fellow wanderers, at the cost of my own comprehension of our communion? A pathetic hypothesis, to be sure, but a hypothesis worth exploring.

Addendum II (February 7, 2015)

Wonderful, this. Writing for posterity was nonsense even thirty years ago or so, let alone today. This civilization is on its hind legs, for sure. What with climate change and the concomitant World War III, the return of illiteracy is a question of centuries. But invoking extraterrestrial archeology strikes me as far-fetched as this stage of my life. The longing for my fellow wanderers is perfectly understandable, and perhaps even laudable, but it still smacks of youth. And innocence. The solution to the riddle is obvious by now, though. For crying out loud, I am the vaunted posterity! The posterity entire, no less. And I can still read and write, as witnessed by yet another addendum to this fabulous piece. Fellow wanderers are for the birds.