I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

1

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.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

hiding from the rain

i really havent

I Write Goodbye Letter

the site i am dreaming

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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.

no longer writing in the third person