The website is the home signal.
YouTube carries the moving images.
Bluesky sends short field bursts.
But weidufanling.au is the archive, the hearth, the place where the fragments can sit still long enough to become readable.
The feed wants motion.
The site allows memory.
That distinction matters.
普通鬼.
Ordinary ghosts.
That phrase keeps following the project around.
Not ghosts as horror. Not ghosts as spectacle. More like traces. Signals. People, places, thoughts, memories, mistakes, songs and dreams that were never fully read by the world the first time they appeared.
Weidu Fanling / 未读凡灵 means something close to unread mortal, unread ordinary spirit, unread human presence. The translation is unstable, which may be the point.
This is a project for what has not yet been properly read.
Songs. Field notes. Wolf signals. Failed systems. Small evidence. Future folk. AI questions. Human residue. Strange mercy.
Ordinary evidence from a small planet.
The first Weidu Fanling / 未读凡灵 transmissions are now moving through YouTube.
They are not singles in the ordinary sense. They are versions of the same question passing through different bodies:
What wolf do we feed?
Fire. Air. Wood. Water. Ground. Underground. Æther.
Each version asks the question differently. Some arrive through distortion. Some through ritual. Some through machinery. Some through grief. Some through movement. Some through the old animal body remembering that it was never separate from the signal.
This project is not anti-AI, anti-algorithm, or anti-technology.
It is an attention test.
Can the new tools help us feed what is careful, strange, alive, and humane? Or do we simply become better at feeding the machine?
The videos are gathered here:
‘Sometimes’ is the first Naarm Drift transmission.
A small song about thought-noise, phone-noise, private wars, beauty guilt, paranoia grammar, and the strange mercy of not taking everything personally. Naarm Drift is a developing current of music and visual art: not a fixed genre, not a closed scene, and not limited to geography.
This one moves somewhere between spoken song, electronic drift, comic interruption, private confession, and soft nervous-system repair. The song exists here first. Then outward.
bloip bloip bloip bloip bloip - bloooiiiyyyoooup
Tonight was mostly about making Weidu Fanling easier to move through.
The site now has a clearer structure:
Weidu Fanling / 未读凡灵
Build Log
Music
Field Notes
The first build post has been assigned to Build Log, and the first reflection on AI and algorithms has been assigned to Field Notes.
The Music page has also started to take shape around WHAT WOLF DO WE FEED? as a multi-form project rather than one fixed version.
This is still a small site. Still imperfect. Still being built in public.
That is part of the point.
The work does not need to arrive fully polished before it is allowed to exist. It can be built carefully, visibly, and in plain language.
One small owned place first.
Then outward.
Not writing this from outside the system.
We all use AI. We all use platforms. We all understand why algorithms matter. We all understand why people learn them, study them, and try to make their work travel further through them.
That is part of the tension.
At what point does learning how to satisfy the algorithm become the same thing as being trained by it? . . .
A person can begin with music, images, stories, field notes, grief, comedy, memory, or some small honest signal from their life. Then, slowly, the work can become less about what needed to be said and more about what the feed already rewards.
The hooks get sharper. The pacing gets faster. The emotion gets simplified. The shape of the work bends towards the machine.
That does not mean AI is bad. It does not mean algorithms are evil. It does not mean new tools should be rejected.
The question is quieter than that.
. . .
Can we still steer?
Can we use these tools without surrendering the whole direction of culture to whatever performs best inside a monetised feed?
For us, this is not really about monetisation. It is about trying to get a message to travel without letting the message become only what the system is most likely to reward.
That is one reason this site exists.
Weidu Fanling / 未读凡灵 is an attempt to keep one small owned place online. A place where the work can live first, before it is cut up, resized, captioned, optimised, or sent outward into platforms that may or may not show it to anyone.
The feed is not the enemy.
But the feed should not be the whole sky.
We still need places where thought can arrive before performance. Places where music, field notes, ordinary evidence, and unfinished questions can exist without immediately being measured by reach.
The algorithm may help carry the signal.
But it should not become the author of the signal.
The beginnings of an IndieWeb experiment because of needing a home online that is not completely dependent on algorithmic feeds, platform moods, follower counts, or whatever a corporate system decides to show people on a given day.
This is not a dramatic rejection of social media. Still using platforms, and still understand why they matter.
The point is simpler: wanting one small place on the web that can act as a home base. A place where the original version of the work can live first, where the process can be witnessed, and where other people who feel nervous, underfunded, technically unsure, or creatively overwhelmed can see the steps in plain language.
The aim is not to build a perfect website.
The aim is to build a real one.
The principle is simple:
Start small. Own the address. Publish there first. Share elsewhere after.
Weidu Fanling / 未读凡灵 begins here as a small independent home for music, field notes, visual experiments, and attempts to think beyond the algorithmic feed.
This is the beginning.