part of an old note. It will get lighter.

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

Picture

Today I felt like starting

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

it is hopeful

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

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

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

IWGD

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.

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.

"Put a blanket."

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

kind of mythopoesis

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

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.

I am below everything.

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

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged