the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

but i respect your search

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

so the method has to be autonomous

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

i see a website


have you read

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

god being the centre magnet

not their contents

thank you

like first name

barren land

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

magnetisation/form

i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason

feel you

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

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?

i was tempted to lie about my name