Jo.wellread
The air is ash and woodsmoke. Hot, the shadows wait. Every breath more pain. Hear the rustling leaves. Forever. Lonely humming, lasting light. Flames rise, rise, rise, turn into joyous static tickles. Under the trees lingers the smell of death and plastic.
[now I know how joan of arc felt as the flames rose to her roman nose and her walkman started to melt]
This website was called into existence in summer 2024 and since then, had many iterations. I'm hoping this is going to be it's final form. Not holding back the weird or uncanny. Enjoy Chappell Roan in armor, listen to "there is a light that never goes out" on repeat, become exasperated over the transcription of an unreadable 13th century manuscript in gothic minuscule. Charlemagne is eating a cheeseburger. The world is burning but at least somewhere a knight is doing a backflip. Is this the the sound of rustling byrnie or chains? The creature is waiting on the doorstep.
[27.4.2026]