yeah

so at the end

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

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

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.

It Will Get Lighter

so an active mazelike process

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

all that is to say

send your tumblr

we can only engage in such a way

autonomy of learning

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

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

as in

your feed looks like my tumblr

idk

you cannot feed someone truth

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

1

magnetisation/form

As I'm trying to tell my Korean colleague / fresh meat that this is abnormal, that most people in England aren't like this, the host of the party emerges from the bathroom to a roar of laughter and applause. He's a fat middle aged Frenchman and he's changed into traditional Indian dress and a turban. He looks fucking ridiculous. I try to back away, to avoid the inevitable photo of me in this moment that will one day appear to ruin my life, but everyone is crowding around, trapping me in the middle of it.

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

barren land

The only real Londoner remaining is old, bitter, kept around for entertainment, defined by tropes from 30+ years ago. They play gangsters in films, or they work in a pie and mash shop, or they go on Business Insider's YouTube channel to tell you about their crimes. And they somehow still find the time to spend all day hanging about cafes and pubs for you to bump into, to remind you of Real London.

Thank you, Jack

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

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

you have a beautiful account btw