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After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Another Frenchman pushes through the crowd to join him. He's an events organiser who I'd met earlier, and he's holding a large box wrapped in a bin bag. They're the fireworks he'd smuggled in from France the night before. They're Industrial Grade, whatever that means for fireworks.

bro i read nothing in my life

no longer writing in the third person

not their contents

Rain, starting

really i want the internet

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

ion

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

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Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

we need to be deconstructing our identities

you cannot feed someone truth

i want to do that too

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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.

There is a pretty persistent ambient hate in England, a lot of people say vile shit about Muslims or immigrants or whatever, but in my experience most people aren't actual white supremacists. They have a black friend who they get a beer with. One of the good ones. Etc.

It's loud and he's gone deaf in one ear, so I don't think he's really hearing anything I'm trying to say. We're both pretty drunk too. It's making for a kind of surreal interactive Business Insider YouTube video of a conversation. He talks, waits for my response, sees my mouth moving but doesn't hear my words, then he imagines something in their place, and replies to that. At least I don't really have to do anything but drink and mime and listen to a lot of bullshit fake gangster talk, being an actor, boxing, the old days, blah blah blah.

Thank you, Jack

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