It's

dusk

in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.
It bites my wrist but there is only a dull ache.
I feel that it wants to say sorry but can't. I die.

Worse Lift

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

1

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

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?

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.

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

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

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'm in a crowded lift and a girl I've never met tells me she thinks she might love me.
The lift won't stop at any floor, and I can't talk in front of all these people.

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59


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

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

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

bro i read nothing in my life

hiding from the rain

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

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

and the fake qualifier

send link

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.

They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

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.