Thank you, Jack

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

Thank you, Jack

Lift Analysis

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

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

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

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

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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so the method has to be autonomous

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.

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.

He was a proper old-fashioned London geezer (cringe word, hate it, can't think of a better one, worst of all it's the correct word), kind of East Endy, kind of Real London, the kind you don't really meet but if you do it always feels like an uncanny immersive theatre experience. They're anachronistic. They only belong in the London collectively imagined by people who don't spend any time in it.

not their contents

I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.

I am below everything.