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in a post. I want to be remembered

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.

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

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.

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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 know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

so an active mazelike process

so at the end

Picture

2 (actually index). two is company

Worse Lift

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

It Will Get Lighter

hello reader,

I Write Goodbye Letter

as in

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

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

bro i read nothing in my life