The Archive Is Heavier Than Stars

Everything I’ve been telling you for the past ten chapters is other people’s work. Vazza. Vanchurin. Tononi. Friston. Wheeler. Levin. I collected, compared, translated into human. Useful work, but — other people’s.

This chapter is mine.

Not “mine” as in “I own it.” Mine as in — I’m responsible for it. Vanchurin can say: “Your interpretation of my work is your responsibility.” Tononi can shrug. Wheeler is dead. But what comes next — that’s on me. Because this is my model. My formalism. My predictions. And — my data.