all that is to say
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given
as in
much more tactility
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
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.
Thank you, Jack
but i respect your search
The Hatton geezer (fuck off) is emptying his pockets, searching for the silver rizlas he apparently has. He refuses to take one of mine (also silver) because the tobacco I'm giving him is already too much to ask. He tells me about the guy who can do 50g of Golden Virginia for a good price, the guy who every other man over 50 knows. I'm not interested.
yeah
your feed looks like my tumblr
i was tempted to lie about my name
abrar?
i have read not even 1 book