welcome!

i see you've also fallen into this rabbit hole. come, let's stay a while.

the interface is a timeless drug, an endless addiction with no relation to real past and real future, let alone what we might venture to call actual purpose.

what went wrong?

actually, I want to go back...

can't you see that?

you're too far gone.

perhaps, we all are.

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It does not know it glitters
It does not know it flies.
It does not know it is this not that.

And, more and more often, agape,
With my Gauloise dying out,
Over a glass of red wine,
I muse on the meaning of being this not that.

Just as long ago, when I was twenty,
But then there was a hope I would be everything,
Perhaps even a butterfly or a thrush, by magic.
Now I see dusty district roads
And a town where the postmaster gets drunk every day
Melancholy with remaining identical to himself.

If only the stars contained me.
if only everything kept happening in such a way
That the so-called world opposed the so-called flesh.
Were I at least not contradictory. Alas.

What Does it Mean - Czeslaw Milosz

(author's note; not really done yet i'm not really sure how to continue this page rn :""D check back soon for more !