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

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Thank you, Jack

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

"Put a blanket."
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

13, H, grate

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

really i want the internet

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

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

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

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

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

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.