And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

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

It's dusk in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox. It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache. I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

kind of mythopoesis

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.