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 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.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

i really havent

Lift Analysis

the site i am dreaming

Slug

confused - is it the tide or its absense? I still like where I was going with it. anyway, real reader know this site is the note.
and so on. not wanting the rhyming / clanging

...

send link

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

I am below everything.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

It Will Get Lighter

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

I Write Goodbye Letter

        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
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One of the birds shoots out of the tree.