Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Put a blanket."

FOUNDING DOCUMENT

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

13, H, grate

currently

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

It Will Get Lighter

it is hopeful

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

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.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Style

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
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                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50


After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

1

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch