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.
not so on: yvf(wthw)
it is hopeful
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
no longer writing in the third person
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
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.
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
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
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
in a post. I want to be remembered
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
...