They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
in a post. I want to be remembered
This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
I am below everything.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
kind of mythopoesis