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.

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.

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

Better Lift

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

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

kind of mythopoesis

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

no longer writing in the third person

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

and the fake qualifier

i really havent

isaac

its good short few pages

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue