so the method has to be autonomous
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
no longer writing in the third person
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
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.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
...
much more tactility
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
wait what is that
its good
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
magnetises a pin
no i haven't really read anything
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
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
isaac newton
feel you
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?
He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
so an active mazelike process
is everyoneback on tumblr now