None of it, ultimately, matters

The urge to collect and archive
To keep, to index, to cling
To save for posterity in the fantasy of an endless future
The greater pleasure is to purge, wash clean, delete, destroy
With a ruthless eye, strip them all out, the vanities and vapidness
From the cleansing fire emerges some fewer somethings
Things worthy of some small interest;
Though in the end it all comes down to dust, even before the end of the Long Now
And none of it, ultimately, matters
And this is freedom!