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

hiding from the rain

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

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

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.

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

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

really i want the internet

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

but i respect your search

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

It's

dusk

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

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.

yes

But seriously, thank you, Jack

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.