We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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.

but really the thing should be autonomous

Thank you, Jack

It Will Get Lighter

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.

kind of mythopoesis

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