She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

It's

dusk

no longer writing in the third person

hiding from the rain

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

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

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

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

IWGD

13, H, grate

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