Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
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.
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
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
you have a beautiful account btw
yes
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.
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
Today I felt like starting
not their contents
I am below everything.
brb i will read and reply sincerely
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?
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
"Put a blanket."
He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
My inability to confront the old racist failed actor is distracting me. I decide not to tell her about it.