There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue
currently
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
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.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
hiding from the rain
in a post. I want to be remembered