In 2014, Alan Bigelow’s My Life in Three Parts spelt out the misgivings of the digital translating language into data, as binary organisations of word and letter, without the paralanguage of speech or the rhetoric of literature. I am referring to the third part of the work in which Bigelow counts the number of times he has done certain things like cry, have sex or say goodbye for the final time. These experiences are converted into data and interspersed with snippets of code, presented as a poem-like sequence to be thumbed. The final piece of data refers to number of times he has died: zero. Under this dogma, I have the same statistic – deaths: zero, although everything else deviates. I have waved goodbye fewer times than Bigelow, prayed to God more, cried less. Experience can be translated into data but in that transition, all biological debris is siphoned away, leaving facts that may be true but in no way come close to documenting the complexities of unique experience.