They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
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
have you read
no i haven't really read anything
thank you
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
what do you mean
isaac
sorry i am texting like a slav
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.
much more tactility