He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

Picture

IWGD

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 in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

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

it is hopeful

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

It Will Get Lighter

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

currently

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

isaac newton

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

have you read

sorry i am texting like a slav

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful