We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
division of reality is straying away from it
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
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.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
kind of mythopoesis
hiding from the rain
Today I felt like starting
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
no longer writing in the third person
i see a website
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
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
it is hopeful
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.