but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
but i respect your search
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls
magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you
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
you have a beautiful account btw
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
autonomy of learning
but really the thing should be autonomous
so the method has to be autonomous
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
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
not their contents
all that is to say
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
you cannot feed someone truth
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
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?
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.