I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

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.

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

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.

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.

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?

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

I am below everything.


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

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.

currently

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

what do you mean

all that is to say

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak

its good short few pages