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.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
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.