with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext
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.
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
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.
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
I am below everything.
kind of mythopoesis
no longer writing in the third person
but i respect your search
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Better Lift
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
yeah
isaac
so the method has to be autonomous
magnetises a pin
lol