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.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

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

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

hello reader,

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

Worse Lift

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

you cannot feed someone truth

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

yeah people dont get it they assume its ahnaf

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

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

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.

ahnaf abrar

was it worth it

...