"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
in a post. I want to be remembered
what do you think my name is
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
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
but i respect your search
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
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
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
Lift Analysis
but really the thing should be autonomous
kind of mythopoesis
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine
really i want the internet
brb i will read and reply sincerely
god being the centre magnet
division of reality is straying away from it
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
ahnaf abrar
no like which do people call me
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.
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
autonomy of learning
we can only engage in such a way
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
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
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.