i really havent

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

you cannot feed someone truth

and the fake qualifier

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

but i respect your search

brb i will read and reply sincerely

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

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.

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

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

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

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.

IWGD

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

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

as in

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.