kind of mythopoesis

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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.

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

"Put a blanket."

so at the end

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

autonomy of learning

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

division of reality is straying away from it

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.

its performative

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

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.

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

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

...

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

feel you

and the fake qualifier

its good

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?

isaac

its good short few pages

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you

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

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

i was tempted to lie about my name

in a post. I want to be remembered