Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
currently
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
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
Can I see
you have a beautiful account btw
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
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
brb i will read and reply sincerely
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.
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.