The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Better Lift

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

lol yea

yeah

propensity within someone

and the fake qualifier

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

feel you

is everyoneback on tumblr now

we need to be deconstructing our identities

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

fw

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

like first name

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

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

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

your feed looks like my tumblr

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

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

its performative

yeah