13, H, grate

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

in a post. I want to be remembered

It's

dusk

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

IWGD

currently

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

I am below everything.

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

really i want the internet

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

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.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?