Rain, starting

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.

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

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

"Put a blanket."

hiding from the rain

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

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.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

as in

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

so an active mazelike process

Better Lift

Better Lift

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

but really the thing should be autonomous

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting