i have read not even 1 book

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.

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

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

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

i really havent

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Lift Analysis

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

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

I Write Goodbye Letter

and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

i love it here


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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

Style