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.

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

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

"Put a blanket."

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Better Lift

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.


somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Rain, starting

no longer writing in the third person

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

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.

it is hopeful

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.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

plato

no like which do people call me

its good