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.

Better Lift

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

It's

dusk

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.

"Put a blanket."

Better Lift

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

It Will Get Lighter

it is hopeful

currently

sorry i am texting like a slav

its good

plato

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

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

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

magnetises a pin

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

much more tactility

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.