a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
kind of mythopoesis
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.
Lift Analysis
no longer writing in the third person
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
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.