Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

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.

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

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.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

currently

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

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.

hiding from the rain

Slug

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology