...
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Lift Analysis
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
it is hopeful
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
isaac
currently
like magnets
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
ahnaf abrar
lol yea
so at the end
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
bro i read nothing in my life
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
and the fake qualifier
i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying
They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.