Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

It's

dusk

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

13, H, grate

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

in a post. I want to be remembered

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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.

hiding from the rain

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

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

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.

1

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

Can I see

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50