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.
we want to live the knowledge too live the content
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
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.
i see a website
I am below everything.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
Lift Analysis
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
"Put a blanket."
brb i will read and reply sincerely
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.