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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.

I am below everything.

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

Picture

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

it is hopeful

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

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

lol

so an active mazelike process

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

much more tactility

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.

no longer writing in the third person

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos