Picture

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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.

It Will Get Lighter

in a post. I want to be remembered

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

Rain, starting

it is hopeful

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

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

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

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Can I see

sorry i am texting like a slav