no i haven't really read anything

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

i see a website

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

no longer writing in the third person

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

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

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.

Style


Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

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

kind of mythopoesis

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

we need to be deconstructing our identities

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

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

ion

its good