Iron Mountain: Difference between revisions
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{{a|g|[[File:Ironmountain1.jpg|thumb|left|A [[Lehman]] employee yesterday]]}} | {{a|g|[[File:Ironmountain1.jpg|thumb|left|A [[Lehman]] employee yesterday]]}}{{Quote|You can’t run away forever, but there's nothing wrong with getting a good head start. | ||
:— Steinman J in {{casenote|Bad|Goode}}}} | |||
Ahh, the good old days, when the [[abyss]] stared resolutely back into you. | Ahh, the good old days, when the [[abyss]] stared resolutely back into you. | ||
It is your destiny. It is your final entropic repose. However youthful, beautiful, exuberant or ambitious you are; however wild your crazy dreams, however impregnable your business case. However ingenious your pitch. Time’s arrow hurtles toward it, drawn by its irresistible gravity. The cosmos may enlarge, but every one of us converges. | |||
Eventually they will come for you. They will come with a cardboard box. It will not bear your name, because, by then you won't have one. It will bear are your destination: your last resting place. The infinite inertial lock: the Iron mountain. | |||
They will gather you up and all your belongings and all your precious things and every remnant that you were ever there. They will wipe the record clean of you. They will expunge you. Your saintly works, the Xanadu you made, the temples that you built: they will break them, brick by brick. The trophies on which they etched your name they will scratch and dent and melt for scrap. Your legacy is dust. | |||
On that day they will come for you, collect your worldly things and consign them to that cardboard box that bears the legend of your destiny. The Iron Mountain, the place from which no one returns. | |||
We are but dust. | |||
{{sa}} | {{sa}} | ||
*[[Apocalypse]] | *[[Apocalypse]] | ||
Revision as of 10:59, 31 May 2021
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You can’t run away forever, but there's nothing wrong with getting a good head start.
- — Steinman J in Bad v Goode
Ahh, the good old days, when the abyss stared resolutely back into you.
It is your destiny. It is your final entropic repose. However youthful, beautiful, exuberant or ambitious you are; however wild your crazy dreams, however impregnable your business case. However ingenious your pitch. Time’s arrow hurtles toward it, drawn by its irresistible gravity. The cosmos may enlarge, but every one of us converges.
Eventually they will come for you. They will come with a cardboard box. It will not bear your name, because, by then you won't have one. It will bear are your destination: your last resting place. The infinite inertial lock: the Iron mountain.
They will gather you up and all your belongings and all your precious things and every remnant that you were ever there. They will wipe the record clean of you. They will expunge you. Your saintly works, the Xanadu you made, the temples that you built: they will break them, brick by brick. The trophies on which they etched your name they will scratch and dent and melt for scrap. Your legacy is dust.
On that day they will come for you, collect your worldly things and consign them to that cardboard box that bears the legend of your destiny. The Iron Mountain, the place from which no one returns.
We are but dust.
See also
