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

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.


yes

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

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

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

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

in a post. I want to be remembered

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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.

but really the thing should be autonomous

Rain, starting

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Lift Analysis

you have a beautiful account btw

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

no like which do people call me

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

what do you think my name is

i love it here

i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason

i was tempted to lie about my name