Can I see
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
but really the thing should be autonomous
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
really i want the internet
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
hiding from the rain
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
no longer writing in the third person
It was about a crazy lady who lived above his flat in Pimlico. She would let pigeons into her flat so she could feed them. Apparently she didn't want her presence in the flat to interfere with the natural behaviour of the pigeons, so she would let them nest and shit in there and she wouldn't clean it up, because it wasn't natural to do so. The pigeons would die, but apart from the smell and the sludge and the gas, the corpses weren't really a problem. It was the rats that came to eat them. The rats would eat the rotting pigeon corpses mixed in with the rotting pigeon shit and they would get ill and die too. New rats that came through wouldn't mind though, and they'd start to eat the mass, only to get sick and die in it later on. The population grew steadily as more pigeons and rats came from in the cold, to live naturally. They fed the mass further.
i was tempted to lie about my name