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.

it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful

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.

brb i will read and reply sincerely

It Will Get Lighter

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

Better Lift

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

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

"Put a blanket."

was it worth it

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no longer writing in the third person

magnetises a pin

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

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

is this you as well

have you read

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

as in

plato

not their contents

in a post. I want to be remembered

no like which do people call me

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

you cannot feed someone truth