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

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?

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

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

"Put a blanket."

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

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.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

I am below everything.

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

hello reader,

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

brb i will read and reply sincerely

really i want the internet