Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

1. Lift and confinement – The crowded, immovable lift represents feeling trapped or constrained in real life, either by social expectations, relationships, or internal emotions. The inability to speak in front of others suggests suppressed feelings or fear of judgment.
2. Unexpected confession – The girl saying “I think I might love you” could symbolize longing for connection or recognition. It may reflect unacknowledged desires, vulnerability, or anxiety about intimacy.
3. Forest and snow – The transition to a snowy forest signals escape into the subconscious, a place of solitude, reflection, and emotional processing. Snow often represents purity, stillness, or emotional coldness, while dusk points to transition or uncertainty.
4. The fox – Foxes are traditionally symbols of cunning, intuition, and guidance, but here it’s more ethereal: its bites are gentle yet noticeable, suggesting a confrontation with subtle truths, small regrets, or lessons that must be acknowledged. The unspoken apology indicates things left unresolved or feelings that cannot be expressed.
5. Death or dissolution – Dying in the dream often doesn’t mean literal death; it represents transformation, the end of a phase, or surrendering control. It can indicate letting go of fear, old habits, or emotional blockages.

Thank you, Jack

Worse Lift

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at 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.

He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.

I Write Goodbye Letter

I'm sat out the front of a cafe in Hatton Garden. I've just eaten a brie and bacon panini, and I'm rolling a cigarette. Feeling very London. An old man comes up to me and asks for a roll-up. I oblige.

Picture

He was cast as the guy who gets picked up and thrown out of the poker game to set the scene before the main characters arrive. Out of Real London and into real London, a discarded prop, at this party, chatting to me.

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

Mon, 01 Dec 2025 23:38:15

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.

Her English is poor but she manages a brief introduction before getting to the point. She asks if she can touch his face. She's already reaching out and gesturing at it. Koreans are way too polite, he's just laughing awkwardly. I put my hand kind of between them and wave it to try and indicate no to her. I'm still in fucking mime mode. I say no, but it's not really to her, or to him, just no, in general. This is all too weird. Dejected, she departs with a comment about having never seen someone like him before.

I'm getting bored and he can tell, so he shifts the topic towards me. He tells me he'd spotted me chatting to a girl earlier, a black girl, and asks what I thought of her, if I liked her. I mimed affirmatively.

no longer writing in the third person

all that is to say

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

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

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

IWGD

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

The studio designs some piece of media to perpetuate the marketable concept of Real London, while the real London is hollowed out by hollow bankers or whatever. Not pulling on that thread. But the yuppies don't mind because they're free to iterate on Real London without any competition from real London because it's too concerned with its slow eradication. And there's nice flats to live in now or whatever. The yuppies can begin to inhabit their Real London.

autonomy of learning