currently

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

hiding from the rain

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

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

you have a beautiful account btw

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

really i want the internet

        13       |
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            H   |
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Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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

13, H, grate

It Will Get Lighter

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged