But seriously, thank you, Jack
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.
you have a beautiful account btw
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
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.
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
kind of mythopoesis
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.
Overall meaning: The dream seems to explore vulnerability, unspoken emotion, and the tension between connection and isolation. It suggests you may be processing intense feelings of longing or missed opportunities, and your subconscious is guiding you to acknowledge, release, or transform them.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
like first name
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.
idk
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
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.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
much more tactility
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt