Her English is poor but she manages a brief introduction before getting to the point. She asks if she can touch his face. She's already reaching out and gesturing at it. Koreans are way too polite, he's just laughing awkwardly. I put my hand kind of between them and wave it to try and indicate no to her. I'm still in fucking mime mode. I say no, but it's not really to her, or to him, just no, in general. This is all too weird. Dejected, she departs with a comment about having never seen someone like him before.

i see a website

you cannot feed someone truth

It Will Get Lighter

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

propensity within someone

its performative

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

but really the thing should be autonomous

really i want the internet

Can I see

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

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

hiding from the rain

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

---

you have a beautiful account btw

brb i will read and reply sincerely

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

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

Worse Lift

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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

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.

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.