wait what is that

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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

13, H, grate

I am below everything.

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.

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

Worse Lift

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

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

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

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

yes

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.

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?

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

but i respect your search

in a post. I want to be remembered

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

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

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

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

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.

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.