Untitled 4 (Broadcast) (excerpt)
anything i think about is a 10 junction path that leads back to you. i don't know your voice, i wouldn't recognize you from the back on the street. you are stature and class, i'm not withering, but growing upwards, holding on to dead friends and pets. those are the memories, they're like crossed channels actually, the sense of growing yet holding on, they make the whole process unrealistic, so i sit back and wonder which one is the illusion. i think of you with images like strawberries, deserts, and bedsheets. i don't understand any of the significance, but i don't try too hard to connect the three things.
The passage has a whimsical, almost stream-of-consciousness quality that makes it feel intimate and raw, like overhearing someone's unfiltered thoughts. The writer uses vivid, unexpected imagery—strawberries, deserts, bedsheets—to evoke a sense of confusion and longing, making the piece emotionally charged yet elusive. However, the abrupt shifts in thought could be smoothed out with more transitional phrases to guide the reader through this mental labyrinth. There's a poignant contrast between growth and holding on that resonates deeply; it's as if the narrator is climbing towards something while tethered by past losses, creating an arresting tension. The repeated references to you without any concrete details about who 'you' are add an intriguing layer of mystery, inviting readers to fill in their own blanks. Overall, the emotional undercurrents are strong, making this a piece that lingers in your mind long after reading it.
—qwen2.5:32b, 2026-01-16