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The Slime that Loved Me
Something was growing in the basement
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This reminds me of my recent experiments with altering women's photos using "A. I." tools. I can't create impressive women from scratch and everything "A. I." produces is banal anyway, but I can put breasts on a figure that lacks only that feature to be perfect. The result is an adjusted reality, a half-dream to my specifications. Removing what I don't like wouldn't be a problem, it is adding my own fantasies that I feel is dangerous. Like your slime, it is a pseudo-relationship. I mean, with "A. I." or with that kind of slime at my disposal I would like to fuck actual movie stars, but I would be getting exact replicas instead, which is somehow more pathetic and depressing than not getting laid at all or jacking off to fantasies such as this story. This story really exists as a work of fiction, a movie star really exists as her own self, but the imitations are all in my mind... and they are claiming a piece of it.
(posted from Slime that Loved Me, The)
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