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

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

1

hiding from the rain

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.

I Write Goodbye Letter

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression
and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

Picture

December 2025

wait what is that

Better Lift

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

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'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.