no longer writing in the third person

She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

I am below everything.

...

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

which magnetises chains of pins

lol

...

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

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.

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.

you cannot feed someone truth

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

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

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

autonomy of learning

i have read not even 1 book