The technology is new. The sentiment old. For it is there even in the Sumerian epic of Gilgamesh, a story older than the Bible and the oldest work of literature extant. The warrior hero adventures among the somber pantheon of the ancient gods of the Fertile Crescent so long dead to us. He searches for the same consolation which ultimately reconciled Socrates with his principles but which escaped Jesus in his final moment and mostly confounded Hamlet. His destiny, however, is to establish his name stamped upon the bricks of his kingdom and it is this destiny which he seems to have fulfilled. For such was said to be true of those bricks used in the walls of the old city of Uruk, and there have been found by archaeologists bricks imprinted, using the cuneiform glyphs particular to the culture, with the names of Gilgamesh's contemporaries. To a people of almost universal illiteracy, these ramparts must have been the material incarnation of the divine power of the monarch; to those who could read them, a library and a poem. The glyphs its lettering, the brick its marbled end papers, but the height and girth of the walls themselves the ever present testimonial to the curious accident of one's existence. Without the assurance of a life beyond this world, it is the idea of this memorial which bears Gilgamesh up in his almost modern fit of despair. With tablet computers and the right software, someday we each of us may realize Gilgamesh's aspiration. Immortalized in the foundry of our own handwriting.