no longer writing in the third person
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
kind of mythopoesis
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03
Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08
"Put a blanket."
you have a beautiful account btw
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
Thank you, Jack
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
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?
you cannot feed someone truth
magnetisation/form
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls
so the method has to be autonomous
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.
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.
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
or never left