a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

It's

dusk

Better Lift

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

"Put a blanket."

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

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

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.

kind of mythopoesis

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

it is hopeful

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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

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 see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

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

Lift Analysis

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 23:49:08