with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
in a post. I want to be remembered
"Put a blanket."
kind of mythopoesis
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
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.
...
hiding from the rain
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.
is this you as well
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?
your feed looks like my tumblr
i understand