and the fake qualifier

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

1

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

really i want the internet

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.

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.


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

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

IWGD

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Can I see

i see a website

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