i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
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.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
its performative
propensity within someone
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
you cannot feed someone truth
okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models
its good
yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf
i was tempted to lie about my name
i love it here
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.
all that is to say
"Put a blanket."
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books