They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
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.
Thank you, Jack
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.
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.
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
"Put a blanket."
no longer writing in the third person
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.