1

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

Rain, starting

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

Can I see

Better Lift

Style

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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.

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

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 

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Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

no longer writing in the third person

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

kind of mythopoesis

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.

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

plato