Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

13, H, grate

It Will Get Lighter

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.

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

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

IWGD

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

currently

1

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

hiding from the rain

i was tempted to lie about my name

i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me

ahnaf abrar

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

i want to do that too

is this you as well

isaac newton

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

ion