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

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.

what do you mean

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

really i want the internet

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

Worse Lift

have you read

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

isaac newton

amazing hopefully this was all legible and frankly i might be going very off board but you seemed interesting

i love it here

like magnets

its good

its good short few pages

ion

a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext

autonomy of learning

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.