"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
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.
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.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
"Put a blanket."
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
isaac
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation
not their contents
we can only engage in such a way
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
its good short few pages