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

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.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

It Will Get Lighter

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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

brb i will read and reply sincerely

in a post. I want to be remembered

Rain, starting

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

13, H, grate

I am below everything.

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.