Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

hiding from the rain

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

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

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

kind of mythopoesis

abrar?

but really the thing should be autonomous

all that is to say

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet