Worse Lift

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 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.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

I am below everything.

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

in a post. I want to be remembered

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

kind of mythopoesis

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

all that is to say