sorry i am texting like a slav

kind of mythopoesis

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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

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

no longer writing in the third person

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

I am below everything.

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

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

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

but really the thing should be autonomous


Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl