I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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.
hiding from the rain
Today I felt like starting
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
isaac newton
Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:
you know who you are. no more time, not like
1
. way too specific.bro i read nothing in my life
...
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
as in
kind of mythopoesis
much more tactility
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
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.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
its performative