Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
i love it here
have you read
its good
ion
no i haven't really read anything
whats your name?
yeah
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
bro i read nothing in my life
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
propensity within someone
magnetisation/form
like first name
not their contents
is this you as well
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
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.
hiding from the rain
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 like which do people call me
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
magnetises a pin
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 longer writing in the third person