no longer writing in the third person


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 is hopeful

and the fake qualifier

its performative

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

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

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

so an active mazelike process

that looks like my instagram account

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying