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
Better Lift
not so on: yvf(wthw)
send link
i really havent
no like which do people call me
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
feel you
we need to be deconstructing our identities
was it worth it
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
and the fake qualifier
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
its good
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.
like magnets
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.
I am below everything.
god being the centre magnet
magnetises a pin
13 |
|
|
H |
|
|
. . . . |
. . . . |
. . . . |
. . . . |
|
thank you
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.