your feed looks like my tumblr
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
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.
Lift Analysis
propensity within someone
not their contents
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
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
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.
yes
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
hiding from the rain
but really the thing should be autonomous
it is hopeful
no longer writing in the third person
barren land
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
and the fake qualifier
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.bro i read nothing in my life
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
its good