autonomy of learning

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

yes

Rain, starting

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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.