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.

isaac

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

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

like first name

plato

kind of mythopoesis

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

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.

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

i was tempted to lie about my name

thank you

we need to be deconstructing our identities

isaac newton

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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.

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos