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

I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

She says something that isn't really right but isn't really wrong. I'm not taking in their words any more, just their voices, trying to get a feel for whatever is going on between them. I'm imagining what it's like for them in this delicate situation, what I would say if it were me. She has that perfect upper-class accent, and she's using whatever upper-class tact that comes with it to navigate this. Style. They can't be together, but their voices are betraying them.

currently

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

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

Better Lift

December 2025

a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it

god being the centre magnet

much more tactility

i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything

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

idk

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

your feed looks like my tumblr