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
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
brb i will read and reply sincerely
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
it is hopeful
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
in a post. I want to be remembered
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.