Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

I'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Better Lift

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.

"Put a blanket."

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.



Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

Rain, starting

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

no longer writing in the third person

is this you as well

which magnetises chains of pins

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

no like which do people call me

sorry i am texting like a slav

as in


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