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.

that looks like my instagram account

Rain, starting


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

so the method has to be autonomous

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

you cannot feed someone truth


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

as in

not their contents

its performative

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

i was tempted to lie about my name

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

what do you mean

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

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

it is hopeful