Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
I am below everything.
in a post. I want to be remembered
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
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.you have a beautiful account btw
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59
kind of mythopoesis
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
i see a website
really i want the internet
send link
no longer writing in the third person
i really havent
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
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.