It's

dusk

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

"Put a blanket."

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

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

idk

the site i am dreaming

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

we can only engage in such a way

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

magnetisation/form

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

bro i read nothing in my life

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.

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.

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate