in a post. I want to be remembered

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

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

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.

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.

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.

no longer writing in the third person

I am below everything.

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.

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

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

Lift Analysis

yeah

which magnetises chains of pins

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

Thank you, Jack

It's

dusk

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.