Is losing things online the only way to make them matter?
Single hyperlink emails are the web’s version of meme-sharing – sudden, out-of-the-blue gestures of comradeship, and one of my favourite bonding rituals. On May 14, I received one of them:
That’s it. What a beautiful email. Gian, who sent it, is a master of formats. Earlier this year, he mailed me a handwritten letter on paper that would make Patrick Bateman jealous – finished with a wax seal stamped with his family crest. Gian leaves no detail unchecked, which is why the brevity of the email was deliberate.
As for semipermanent.com, I hadn’t heard of it, but the name alone was enough to make me click. The short description guaranteed I’d remember it the way I remember my childhood friends’ phone numbers.
Semi Permanent landing page
The site loads with a welcome message reminiscent of childhood video games – soothing, like a cup of tea on a winter evening. But the coziness fades quickly. As a chronically online person, I don’t need yet another manifesto telling me how terrible technology is. Luckily, I noticed a burning fuse icon in the corner and kept reading until I found the final note, left a bit like Steve Jobs’ famous catchphrase “one more thing”:
P.S. The first issue self-destructs in 30 days.
It turns out that Semi Permanent is relaunching as an online magazine where each edition disappears after a month. Perfection. 10/10. A++.
Yes, cynics will say it’s just artificial scarcity, a gimmick. And sure, anyone could download the articles or save them to the Wayback Machine. But I prefer to see it differently – as poetry. In a digital culture obsessed with permanence and efficiency, the act of letting something vanish becomes an invitation to pay closer attention. If you want it afterwards, you’ll need memory and effort.
