i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

i see a website

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

it is hopeful

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

kind of mythopoesis

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Worse Lift

Picture

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

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

I am below everything.

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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
"Put a blanket."

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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.

no longer writing in the third person