There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
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.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
Can I see
no i haven't really read anything
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
so the method has to be autonomous
its performative
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
plato
like magnets
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
or never left
yes
i was tempted to lie about my name
idk
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
god being the centre magnet
division of reality is straying away from it
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
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.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"