13       |
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            H   |
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. . . .         |
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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.

13, H, grate

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

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

Worse Lift

you have a beautiful account btw

Thank you, Jack

hiding from the rain

no longer writing in the third person

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.

currently

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

, I have nothing to do, I'm watching them, trying to figure it out.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression