okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

much more tactility

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

Lift Analysis

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

its performative

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

brb i will read and reply sincerely

Worse Lift

we can only engage in such a way

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

currently

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.

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

IWGD

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

like first name

we need to be deconstructing our identities

god being the centre magnet

no like which do people call me

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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

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

feel you

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.