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

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

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.

I am below everything.

"Put a blanket."

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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.

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

but really the thing should be autonomous

...

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book