Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.no longer writing in the third person
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:27:13
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 bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
god being the centre magnet
god "possessing" artists "possessing" people
plato
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i understand
lol
isaac
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
like magnets
i love it here