no longer writing in the third person
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc."Put a blanket."
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.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
or never left
no i haven't really read anything
what do you mean
ahnaf is it worth reading all those books
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
hiding from the rain
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
which magnetises chains of pins
feel you
is this you as well
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate