it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

but really the thing should be autonomous

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

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.

i see a website

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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.

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me. The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

really i want the internet

Thank you, Jack

I am below everything.

13, H, grate

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.