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
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
its performative
really i want the internet
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
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.
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.
was it worth it
i really havent
no i haven't really read anything
...
no like which do people call me
and the fake qualifier
all that is to say
like magnets
god being the centre magnet