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Worse Lift

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

kind of mythopoesis

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

It Will Get Lighter

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

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

it is hopeful

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.

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

idk

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.

It Will Get Lighter

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

much more tactility

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

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

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!