There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
Wed, 11 Nov 2025 21:12:41
Lift Analysis
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
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it