Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49

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

I am below everything.

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

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

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.

This is a website run by a narcissist who can't produce anything without the hope that it is seen and loved but can't act due to the fear of it being seen and hated. They immediately feel the need to ask Jack GPT to define whatever this feeling is in the hope that understanding it will mean control over it and control over it will mean that they can stop it.

"Put a blanket."

Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

It's

dusk

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."