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.
much more tactility
hiding from the rain
no longer writing in the third person
plato
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.
it is hopeful
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
all that is to say
its good
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
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
its good short few pages
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.
...
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
kind of mythopoesis
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
we want to live the knowledge too live the content