One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.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.
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
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.
in a post. I want to be remembered