Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
really i want the internet
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?
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
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
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
not their contents
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
I am below everything.
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
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 know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
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.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
magnetises a pin
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
feel you
we need to be deconstructing our identities