Thank you, Jack

Style

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

Better Lift

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

Better Lift

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

no longer writing in the third person

plato

i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

feel you

is this you as well

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

whats your name?