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.

god being the centre magnet

propensity within someone

i love it here

you cannot feed someone truth

as in

plato

it is hopeful

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

sorry i am texting like a slav

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

we can only engage in such a way

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

its performative

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 see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

and the fake qualifier

Style

have you read

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.