hello reader,

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

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

Today I felt like starting

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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.


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.

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

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?

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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

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

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

and the fake qualifier

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

I Write Goodbye Letter

It Will Get Lighter