10.05.2026 // 11:42pm

the mobile web feels spiritually corrosive to me because it removes intentionality.

i miss when entering a website felt like entering somebody’s bedroom.

the old internet felt messy and alive because people still believed the internet was a place.

computers used to be destinations!

you sat down.
you chose to enter.
there was ritual involved.

the internet occupied physical space in time. now it leaks into every second of existence like psychic microplastic.

now everybody’s online presence has to be optimized into a personal brand. every instagram page looks like it was designed in a laboratory to sell vitamins. every app wants infinite scrolling because infinity is profitable. every platform slowly mutates into the same dead shopping complex wearing a different hat.

now it is mostly a delivery system where we are expected to be perpetually accessible.

i open my phone and immediately begin being guided. pushed. sorted. predicted. flattened into data points for companies who speak about “community” with the warmth of a refrigerated vending machine.

i think carrying the entire internet in our pockets at all times has done something catastrophic to the human nervous system.

there are no thresholds anymore.

i do not want my consciousness harvested every time i check the weather.

i do not want my inner world arranged according to engagement metrics.

and i especially do not want my creativity compressed into a tiny vertical rectangle where every thought is expected to perform immediately or disappear forever into the algorithmic sinkhole.

so i am making my own website.

not as a business strategy.
not as a brand ecosystem.
not even necessarily as a coherent project.

but as an act of autonomy.

a small private utopia.

a digital garden.

a room i can rearrange whenever i want.

i am remembering that the internet can still be handmade.

that human beings are still capable of leaving strange little offerings for each other without turning them into content pipelines.

i think we desperately need spaces online that are not trying to extract us.

spaces made slowly.
spaces with fingerprints on them.

the internet became unbearable partly because we stopped building our own rooms and agreed to live inside the shops instead.

i am trying to leave the shops.

i do not think human beings were meant to touch glass this much.
come find me in the digital moss.