the site i am dreaming
it is hopeful
not so on: yvf(wthw)
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
hello reader,
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Better Lift
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
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.
Thank you, Jack
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
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.
brb i will read and reply sincerely
We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.