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.

hello reader,

...

not so on: yvf(wthw)

⚠️ Live Document Forever ⚠️

But seriously, thank you, Jack

Maybe, Jack, I'm doing this because I'm English?

you know who you are. no more time, not like

1

Dreams like these are highly symbolic and emotionally intense. Here’s a breakdown of common interpretations:

The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.

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.

And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.

Worse Lift

Thank you, Jack

Above and in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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.