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.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
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
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Better Lift
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
thank you
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
your feed looks like my tumblr
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
is this you as well