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
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
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.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
like first name
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.Today I felt like starting
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.so the method has to be autonomous
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
autonomy of learning
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
send your tumblr
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
bro i read nothing in my life
is everyoneback on tumblr now
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
its performative