"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
whats your name?
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
division of reality is straying away from it
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
was it worth it
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 site i am dreaming
theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine
send link
autonomy of learning
Today I felt like starting
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
so at the end
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
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.