in a post. I want to be remembered
hiding from the rain
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
Can I see
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox."Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
bro i read nothing in my life
Thank you, Jack, for telling me I'm just as bad as the characters (actually they're people, if that means anything to you) that I'm writing about.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
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.
no i haven't really read anything
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
i want to do that too
your feed looks like my tumblr
yeah
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
i see a website
I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
plato
and the fake qualifier
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.