In 150 zines, I construct a history of three generations of midwestern, middleclass Americans with the snapshots and documents they left behind. The zines span the twentieth century, starting with the birth of my mother’s father in 1918 (the end of WWI) and finishing in 2003 with the death of my mother. Each zine is meant to be an intimate short film ordered around small cuts of time. They range from eight to one hundred pages. The zines are often cinematic memories of my mother, but there are also flickers of her father, her mother, her brother, my father, and me. Each instance recorded in the zines—even those before her birth—point to my mother’s passing and the aftermath. One captures a faded day with my mother’s father and his family in the 1930s. The zines preserve these decaying moments while pointing to the archive’s own crumbling future as a piece of ephemera. Time keeps moving forward and falling apart.