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

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

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

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

yes

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

its performative

so the method has to be autonomous

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

we want to live the knowledge too live the content

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

I imagine that some lab-grown 29-year-old from Woking with a mind honed to identify individuals who fit the profile of Real Londoner (as conceived of by 50 opinion-polled racist builders and their wives in the Midlands) picks a stubborn local who can still somehow afford to live here and passes him along to some creative studio.

much more tactility

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

2 (actually index). two is company