Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

        13       |
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you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

autonomy of learning

...

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?

so the method has to be autonomous

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

2 (actually index). two is company

not their contents

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

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

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

i see a website

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

Thank you, Jack

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

hello reader,

I Write Goodbye Letter

all that is to say

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

Overall meaning: The dream seems to explore vulnerability, unspoken emotion, and the tension between connection and isolation. It suggests you may be processing intense feelings of longing or missed opportunities, and your subconscious is guiding you to acknowledge, release, or transform them.

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.