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

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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Better Lift

i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

or never left

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

magnetisation/form

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

kind of mythopoesis

i see a website

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

Better Lift

you cannot feed someone truth

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

not their contents

ahnaf abrar

i did until you asked which kind of gave it away

i love it here