like magnets
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.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
but really the thing should be autonomous
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
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
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
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
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
kind of mythopoesis
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful