with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
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.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
"Put a blanket."
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
Can I see
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
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.
yeah
have you read
your feed looks like my tumblr
isaac
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine