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.

okay im going very rogue and very inarticulate

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

13, H, grate

something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever

Rain, starting

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"

idk

propensity within someone

i haven't read 100 book s so i'm probably not getting the depth of all of what you're saying

you cannot feed someone truth

barren land

yeah

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

lol

i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

in a post. I want to be remembered

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

okay this is interesting because pedagogies we have rn are not proper models

autonomy of learning

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