She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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 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.

i see a website

It Will Get Lighter

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 textwall is as much for me as it is for you

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

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

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

...

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

I Write Goodbye Letter

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

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

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

Today I felt like starting