to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
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.
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.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
it is hopeful
"Put a blanket."
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
I am below everything.