abrar?
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after
dusk
, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.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
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49