Sun, 02 Nov 2025 22:11:24

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
"Put a blanket."

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

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

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

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.


this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

brb i will read and reply sincerely

Today I felt like starting

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

I am below everything.

what do you think my name is

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

i want to do that too