Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

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.

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Rain, starting

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life


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.

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

division of reality is straying away from it

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

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

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos

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