"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
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.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
i see a website
i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike
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.
"Put a blanket."
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.
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
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
but i respect your search
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46
division of reality is straying away from it
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?