It is very hard to do things. Even the internet is
Impulse to make everything purposeful. Is the internet a thing or a place
Imagine it to be a steel structure (street sculpture) out front of a state
library com art gallery
So many tabs open. Each one a hole in the sieve monitor
Even history is no guarantee against
Too much com nothing at all
Header picture moves in and out of focus with the strokes of my finger. It’s my favourite thing about twitter so far. This new beginning has got me anxious about profile as poem. I keep thinking about password strength. Was it subliminal symbolism? Did I mean to reference love or my dog? My emails and passwords since dial up seemingly have had connection to sublime love. I keep thinking about a friend who spent two days fucking a heart she broke first. Maybe I should sleep with someone instead of making private powerful passwords.