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

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Better Lift

It's

dusk

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

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 am below everything.

kind of mythopoesis

Style

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

yeah

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.

isaac newton

what do you think my name is

i understand

sorry i am texting like a slav

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

i really havent

ahnaf abrar

you have a beautiful account btw