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
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.
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of 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.
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.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.