They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

abrar?

i want to do that too

division of reality is straying away from it

idk

its good

no like which do people call me

was it worth it

i dont understand magnetisation

i was tempted to lie about my name

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

        13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

its performative

that looks like my instagram account

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

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.

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

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

Thank you, Jack

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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