Picture

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

"Put a blanket."

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

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

as in

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.

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

I am below everything.

Thank you, Jack

Rain, starting

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

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

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

abrar?

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

magnetises a pin

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos