It Will Get Lighter

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.

I am below everything.

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.

it is hopeful

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

Thank you, Jack

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

kind of mythopoesis

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

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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