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.
He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.
We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
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.
...
and the fake qualifier
the site i am dreaming
But seriously, thank you, Jack
currently
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.
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
so the method has to be autonomous
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
I am below everything.