i see a website

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

hello reader,

13, H, grate

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

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?

Slug

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

2 (actually index). two is company

not so on: yvf(wthw)

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

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

...

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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

was it worth it

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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

no longer writing in the third person

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

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

wait what is that

December 2025

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

you cannot feed someone truth

propensity within someone