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.

and the fake qualifier

there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

its performative

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

is this you as well

abrar?

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

I Write Goodbye Letter

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

...

...

so at the end

i was tempted to lie about my name

idk

you have a beautiful account btw

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

ahnaf abrar

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

what do you think my name is

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

you cannot feed someone truth

that looks like my instagram account