The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
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.
barren land
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
not their contents
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
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.
much more tactility
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
and the fake qualifier
not so on: yvf(wthw)
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
hello reader,
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
Lift Analysis
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
but really the thing should be autonomous
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
magnetisation/form