but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

"Put a blanket."

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

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.

really i want the internet

no longer writing in the third person

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.


i see a website

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

Today I felt like starting


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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt