After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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.
Better Lift
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.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
"Put a blanket."
Thank you, Jack
you have a beautiful account btw
yes
no longer writing in the third person
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
it is hopeful
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
December 2025
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
hiding from the rain
i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue