One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
"Put a blanket."
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

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

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

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

I am below everything.

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

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

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

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.