kind of mythopoesis
Thank you, Jack
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.
its good short few pages
thank you
i have read not even 1 book
like magnets
no i haven't really read anything
your feed looks like my tumblr
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
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.
lol
no longer writing in the third person
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
as in
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.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate