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

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.

kind of mythopoesis

but i respect your search

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in 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 illiterate on producing technology

but really the thing should be autonomous

Picture

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

Better Lift

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

you have a beautiful account btw

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

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

i was tempted to lie about my name