i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."

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

        13       |
                |
                |
            H   |
                |
                |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
. . . .         |
                |
"Put a blanket."

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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.

Sun, 23 Nov 2025 10:37:17

no longer writing in the third person

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08

1

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.

and the fake qualifier