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I am below everything.
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.
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.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
yes
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 have a beautiful account btw
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
much more tactility
i have read not even 1 book
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation
send your tumblr
theres a kind of a cowardice to generative art that i want to avoid though. i want the kind of relationship to this thing that a game designer has to a game engine
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
autonomy of learning