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

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

yeah

thank you

your feed looks like my tumblr

and the fake qualifier

i dont understand magnetisation

bro i read nothing in my life

i really havent

hello reader,

was it worth it

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

i really havent

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

magnetises a pin

"Put a blanket."

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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.

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.

ahnaf is it worth reading all those books

no longer writing in the third person

I Write Goodbye Letter

its good


like first name

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

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

so the method has to be autonomous

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

i see a website