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 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

but i respect your search

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

i see a website

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?

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

brb i will read and reply sincerely

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

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

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

kind of mythopoesis

in a post. I want to be remembered

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.

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.

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch