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

i have read not even 1 book

no longer writing in the third person

"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."

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.

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Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Today I felt like starting

Picture

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

you have a beautiful account btw

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

Thank you, Jack

"Put a blanket."

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

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