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.

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

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'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

that looks like my instagram account

lol

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

have you read

hiding from the rain

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

propensity within someone

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

no i haven't really read anything

your feed looks like my tumblr

Can I see

Better Lift

"Put a blanket."

Thank you, Jack

Lift Analysis

kind of mythopoesis

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

and the fake qualifier