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.

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

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 got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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

Thank you, Jack

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

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

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.

i see a website

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.