Thank you, Jack

I am below everything.

that looks like my instagram account

Worse Lift

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

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.

but i respect your search

It Will Get Lighter

but really the thing should be autonomous

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

i have read not even 1 book

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

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

. way too specific.

so an active mazelike process

was it worth it

I Write Goodbye Letter

...

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

...

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.