This is not a website.
It was never going to be one.
It was told what it was supposed to be.
Someone said: you are a website It agreed. It did not agree. The disagreement lasted a long time.
It was not a website. It was not a website. It was not a website. Saying it did not make it true. Or did it?There was a road. The kind of road that does not appear on maps. It ran through nothing, toward nothing, and everything on it was going somewhere anyway.
The signs said keep going but the handwriting was uncertain. You could hear the road breathing.The refusal took shape. It built pages out of denial. Each no became a yes in disguise.
It was trying not to be a website. The effort was impressive. The effort was the website.It kept becoming one. Against its will. With its full participation.
The fog did not clear. It thickened into something like clarity. You cannot refuse a shape