"Put a blanket."
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.
hello reader,
⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
and the fake qualifier
we can only engage in such a way
i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine
wait what is that
as in
way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it
have you read
it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!
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.
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.
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.
its good short few pages
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, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03
to work in time to get to the timeless, perfection thru chaos