It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

isaac newton

...

The old failed actor genuinely believed this girl was of a lesser race. He believed she shouldn't be talking with me, shouldn't be here at this party, shouldn't be here in this country. He wanted a white England. I didn't really challenge him on it. Sometimes I justify it with thoughts like I was drunk, or baffled, or it isn't an argument I'll win, or he can't hear me anyway, or whatever. I didn't argue with him. I just cut off his rant and left with a pathetic "In a bit."

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

so at the end

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

or never left

I am below everything.

Slug

ion

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

Can I see

its good

i love it here

i really havent


this will be about a slug

not their contents