It Will Get Lighter

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

you have a beautiful account btw

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

Better Lift

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

hiding from the rain

no longer writing in the third person

it is hopeful

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03