One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

Rain, starting

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

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

much more tactility

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

I am below everything.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting


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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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.

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.

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

but really the thing should be autonomous

theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine

13, H, grate