I catch him on his way to the bar, telling him about this old racist failed actor that I'm avoiding. That I'm failing to confront. I get the sense he's avoiding people too. We get our drinks and find a corner. We chat for a bit. He's managing just fine.

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it


it is hopeful

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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

"Put a blanket."

currently

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

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.

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.

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

so the method has to be autonomous

lol

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

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

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

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Worse Lift

13, H, grate