Thank you, Jack

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

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.

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

It's

dusk

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

no longer writing in the third person

I am below everything.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

hiding from the rain

13, H, grate

currently

"Put a blanket."

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

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

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

kind of mythopoesis

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt