no longer writing in the third person
i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
hiding from the rain
okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate
is everyoneback on tumblr now
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
god being the centre magnet
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
"Put a blanket."
the site i am dreaming
and the fake qualifier
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
in a post. I want to be remembered
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.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.we need to be deconstructing our identities
I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.