Non-generative writing

0X/04/2025

Whilst writers-blocked

Write without proper structure and filled with mistakes to stand above AI's supposed perfection.

Write, draw, sing, and more for your own amusment and desire. Don't second guess if it's readable or understandable for the wide margin. Don't articulate yourself as if you want to suck up to everyone.

As long as your feelings are in there (or not). As long as you can connect to yourself two minutes into the future. And as along as each others Qualia are the same, even for a moment, then you've writen something that a company spends billions to recreate.

staircase with a curve going downwards. On it's walls graffity reads, 'ACAP' and with a Tag. Night shourds the dimly orange hue that envelops the walkable parts of the staircase. It's left to imagination what could be behind the stairs.

The renaissance arrupted cause artist got tired of the past dictations on what the norm should be. They wanted to rise from the old norms and create their own. In this era we're forced into reinventing ourself out of our norms to combat that which intrudes in our field. Now, more than ever, writing what is considered "proper" is completly unimportant than writing human.

In this era now, for the first time ever, the most important element of writing is, if I can tell if a sentence is writen by a human.


"Write me a love poem, please."

03/05/2025

Head filled with AI

"Hello, please help me write a love poem to my significant other named XXXX. Please write the poem like a person who sought out connection and closeness, which was given in magnitued by them. Someone who used to lay awake at night with their thoughts too occupied with the idea of someone like them. Be someone that hoped to be weird and nonsensical and, most importantly, be themselves around someone. Be in love with them more than you could've ever hoped for.

Describe the gentle dry kisses of my beloved in the morning.

Showcase how her melodies hum in my head.

Illustrate what exctasy it was to meet my angle for the first time.

Appricitate the warthm they give on gray days.

Also mention my dearest sparkle, how they dance with tiny joyess motions, their quirkiness, that they hate feets but love mine, their stubbornness, to study and work endlessly into the night till it's done, and their positive influence on me. That I couldn't be where I am without them.
Tell the blessing of my life that I love them."


All the Dreams

0X/02/2025

On the way home

A crane infront of a pitch black night. The cranes red light, that typically warns aircraft, shine in a vibrant tones tonight. Mesh with hints of yellow, the tower appears forbose and treatining, yet at the same time, like a beacon, draws one nearer.

In 20mins it will turn midnight. I'll be back home in about an hour.

As a teen I frequently spent my time outside surronded by booze and smoke and people till the sunrise. Each drag of my Lucky Strikes would dry out my throat more and each sip would fill my liver up with nothing. Yet I continued, as I was addicted to the night and it's people.

Nowadays the night envolpes my back. A well-worn coat that shields me from any winter cold that my body and heart could feel. It hums the melodies of my teen years, whilst guiding my dreams to a place that could've been.

Centered is the sign of a train station. Though the lamp above it is unbearbly bright, one could confidantly assume that the author taking the picture did chose to illumintate the light to hide the location of the sign. Bright, daunting, shining light from an artifical mini sun that is made for this sign in particular. It's the begining of a staircase going down.