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.

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

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.

1

really i want the internet

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.

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

not their contents

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

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

i really havent

no like which do people call me

plato

hiding from the rain

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

and the fake qualifier

13, H, grate

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.