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.

Lift Analysis

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

December 2025

i really havent

and the fake qualifier

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

i love it here

I Write Goodbye Letter

autonomy of learning

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

what do you mean

...

But seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.

that looks like my instagram account

lol yea

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

magnetisation basically means the induction of divine form unto you