...

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.

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.

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

Picture

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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

in a post. I want to be remembered

13, H, grate

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

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

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

I am below everything.