Picture

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

Can I see

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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.

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

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

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

autonomy of learning

i see a website

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

division of reality is straying away from it

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

no longer writing in the third person

Lift Analysis

kind of mythopoesis

Better Lift

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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.

The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.