there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.

It Will Get Lighter

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

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.

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.

in a post. I want to be remembered

fw

god being the centre magnet

which magnetises chains of pins

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

what do you think my name is

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

i have read not even 1 book

i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse

is this you as well

or never left

stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time

you have a beautiful account btw

no longer writing in the third person

but really the thing should be autonomous

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

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged

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.

bro i read nothing in my life

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.

so at the end