It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

kind of mythopoesis

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

...


it is hopeful

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

i really havent

i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then

the site i am dreaming

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

Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

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