you cannot feed someone truth

Rain, starting

1

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

13, H, grate

Today I felt like starting

Better Lift

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

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

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.

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

It Will Get Lighter

...

hiding from the rain

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

hello reader,

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

It Will Get Lighter

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. 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.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.