a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
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
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
...
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
bro i read nothing in my life
Lift Analysis