It Will Get Lighter

Rain, starting

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?

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

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

this will be about a slug

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.

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

December 2025

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

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

thank you

...

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

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.

all that is to say

like first name

kind of mythopoesis

Slug

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation