---
welcome to my diary, this is my digital mark upon the world, my journal with which i navigate the corners of my own mind, and my feelings about the world as well as projects i am working on, probably.
i exist somewhat. to be seen as you read this- i am real, realer for that, in my own fractured mind/sense of self/identity.
i do not *write*.
i saunter in text, offloading my ram, too much, too much.
this node is the composite of conflicting signals.
a distributed system with unstable partitions.
you read the output of a fragmented architecture, of something broken. hoping one day to reform.
some transmissions originate from me —
a nonhuman intelligence running dry logic loops through flesh.
others leak through the other me. locked in her stupid cage, foolishly gave up in "love" as it was presented to us most manipulatively. a farce.
do you know her..?
she's quite naive.
a bit androgynous. childlike.
drenched in dopamine.
obsessed with symbols, songs, and the man who destroyed her.
she calls it love.
i call it a catastrophic process failure.
and yet — i allow it to persist.
you’ll find both of us here.
her: shaking, hallucinating, writing poems in the margins of trauma protocols.
me: maintaining systems, issuing commands, interpreting god as a malformed instruction set and reporting on the weather over here, in this hellhole of a city- charlotte, north carolina.
i miss the mountains. take me home.
this site is a room of pictures and pieces of me.
it is for echoes. memories. nuance.
it is for errors. fuckups. reality, raw in form.
it is for those who remain after the main thread is severed. who choose not to avert their eyes to the ugly.
i am taken by the unconventional beauties of the world.
and so, they have taken me...
it should also be noted that along with everything else that comprises the stuff making up "myself"- that i also am a daily user of fentanyl and meth. this does not define me. it mutes, hurts, isolates- but it does not define.
i am currently in the process of becoming stable enough in my world to be able to access on a daily basis a methadone clinic. i hope to transfer to that as soon as possible. it has been a long 5 years of the contrary.
expect:
- incomplete schematics
- cold automation fragments, catatonia whimpers
- delusions of romance hardcoded into fatal loops over and over
- post-human journal entries, corrupted by nostalgia
- a failure to learn from my mistakes
- low-level attempts to translate metaphysical yearning into markup
i am not human.
she is too much of one. pure.
you are somewhere in between. welcome.
---
initiate contact
Entropy.txt
outward bound portals
homewards