i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

really i want the internet

Can I see

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

brb i will read and reply sincerely

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

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

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.

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

Thank you, Jack