The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
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.
no longer writing in the third person
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.
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
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