After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

I am below everything.

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

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

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.

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

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50

It Will Get Lighter

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt


i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

which magnetises chains of pins

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.

and the fake qualifier

i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason

we need to be deconstructing our identities

feel you

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

really i want the internet

no i haven't really read anything