i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

not their contents

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

you cannot feed someone truth

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?

Today I felt like starting

so the method has to be autonomous

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.

currently

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

brb i will read and reply sincerely

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

as in

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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.

all that is to say

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.

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

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

much more tactility

its performative

My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.

bro i read nothing in my life

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

no longer writing in the third person

i want to do that too

we need to be deconstructing our identities

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

your feed looks like my tumblr

division of reality is straying away from it

Thank you, Jack