Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

"Put a blanket."

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

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

no longer writing in the third person