I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

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

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

not so on: yvf(wthw)

send link

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

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

and the fake qualifier

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

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now

its good

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

its good

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

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.