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

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
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.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

no longer writing in the third person

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

13, H, grate

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

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.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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