but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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.

It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

IWGD

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.

your feed looks like my tumblr

isaac newton

its performative

i was tempted to lie about my name

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

abrar?


god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

Better Lift

send your tumblr

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

plato

lol yea

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch