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 dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

hiding from the rain

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

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

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

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

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet

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.

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.

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

I am below everything.

its good

Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03

Slug

barren land

kind of mythopoesis

and the fake qualifier

plato

It Will Get Lighter

no like which do people call me

"Put a blanket."

feel you

we need to be deconstructing our identities

1

is everyoneback on tumblr now