Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

i see a website

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

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

Lift Analysis

Can I see

Worse Lift

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

I am below everything.

"Put a blanket."

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

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

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

kind of mythopoesis

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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?

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

no longer writing in the third person

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.