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

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

in a post. I want to be remembered

It Will Get Lighter

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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

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.

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