I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Style

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl 

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This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

1

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

hiding from the rain

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

It Will Get Lighter

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

It Will Get Lighter

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

no longer writing in the third person

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08