Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
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Better Lift
i love it here
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
i understand
all that is to say
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
its good short few pages
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
it is hopeful
what do you mean
I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class