"Put a blanket."
Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
you cannot feed someone truth
which magnetises chains of pins
is everyoneback on tumblr now
propensity within someone
send your tumblr
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
no like which do people call me
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.so at the end
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
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
yes
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
that looks like my instagram account
...
really i want the internet
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
bro i read nothing in my life
no longer writing in the third person
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.
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.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
and the fake qualifier
autonomy of learning
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13