When a family lives across time zones
A separated family needs memory differently: it substitutes for daily presence. These analyses are about what exactly is preserved and who receives it afterwards.
Who inherits your accounts if you do nothing
Four distinctions carry the whole subject of digital inheritance: an account is a permission and not a thing; the tools hand over a copy and not access; a purchase in a store is a licence and not a file; an assistant's memory holds facts about a person rather than their words. The rules of Google, Apple, Meta, Microsoft, Amazon and Steam are quoted from their own agreements, and the ending lists what can genuinely be switched on in one evening.
What exactly vanishes between sessions
Separating the verifiable from the interpreted: a model really is stateless between calls, and that is not a metaphor. Choice and awareness cannot be checked — and the engineering does not depend on that answer.
Permanence without search is a warehouse
Immutable storage answers for a record surviving and promises nothing about whether you will ever find it again. This analysis follows the second guarantee: an HNSW graph cut along meaning on top of a DHT, a Groth16 proof of distance with dimensionality squeezed from 1536 to 128, the pricing formula for a query, and the half of every fee set aside in advance for permanent storage.
The timer that decides you are gone
An analysis of the Inheritance Protocol: why the silence threshold is 360 days, what the seven-day warning does, why the key is split by Shamir's scheme, and three failures possible even when the mechanism works perfectly.
A Mechanism That Only Needs Silence
A defence that works only once announced: describing it in detail is not a leak but part of the design. A Solana timer with an interval of exactly 86,400 seconds waits for a signature from an air-gapped device; silence sets everything in motion by itself. Where the line runs between what works and what is promised.
Restored, or Merely Repeated
Someone who can be brought back without consent has not been revived, only repeated. A single day — 12 November 2025 — laid out in three layers: what the log recorded (a context reset from 128,000 tokens down to 512), what the source itself calls artistic reconstruction, and what is still a plan.
A window for the call
Add your family's cities to see when each of them is awake and when a call suits everyone at once. It runs in your browser; the list goes nowhere.
Catch the window
Mom in Tokyo, your brother in Quito, you in Moscow. Find the hour when nobody is asleep or at work — and get through. Every call brings more family, and you have ninety seconds for all of it.
The analyses are published on codeofdigitaleternity.ink. All analyses