Untitled 4 (Broadcast) (excerpt)
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. i just figure if whatever it is needs to be obtuse, then so be it.
Okay, wow – this piece feels wonderfully hazy and a little bit prickly, doesn't it? There's such a lovely internal tension built right into the opening lines, immediately establishing a fascinating dynamic between "you" and "I," one of stature versus someone actively *becoming*. The imagery is striking—strawberries, deserts, bedsheets!—and delightfully unconcerned with neat explanation; it's trusting us to feel the connection even if the logic isn't perfectly clear. I especially loved how the speaker embraces the "obtuse" quality, a kind of surrender that feels really authentic and refreshing. The metaphor of memories as "crossed channels" is genuinely brilliant, capturing that feeling of simultaneous growth *and* clinging to the past beautifully. While the prose leans towards fragmented thought – which works well for the emotional effect – a little more deliberate pacing might allow those potent images to truly land with even greater force. Ultimately though, it's a really compelling piece; it feels like peering into someone's mind as they're actively processing a complex relationship and wrestling with what feels real.
—bartowski/mlabonne_gemma-3-27b-it-abliterated-GGUF:Q4_K_M, 2026-08-15