you have a beautiful account btw

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

kind of mythopoesis

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

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

i see a website

1

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

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.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

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.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

Worse Lift

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 struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

really i want the internet