The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me
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.
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
"Put a blanket."
i hope ai fixes this with the cessation of interfaces and walls
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
in a post. I want to be remembered
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
division of reality is straying away from it
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.
hiding from the rain
I am below everything.
no longer writing in the third person
not their contents