Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

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.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

hiding from the rain

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

Can I see

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting