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.

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

autonomy of learning

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

all that is to say

we can only engage in such a way

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

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

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

Can I see

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.

not their contents

Better Lift

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

brb i will read and reply sincerely

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.