so at the end

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

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

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

and the fake qualifier

we need to be deconstructing our identities

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

what do you think my name is

Picture

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

its performative

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

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

ahnaf abrar

hello reader,

no like which do people call me

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

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.