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.
you cannot feed someone truth
i am quite illiterate on producing technology
really i want the internet
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.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
Thank you, Jack
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
but i respect your search
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
in a post. I want to be remembered
propensity within someone
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
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting