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.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

        13       |
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            H   |
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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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

Style

it is hopeful

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03


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

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

Rain, starting

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

It Will Get Lighter

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

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.