I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.
Above and behind a window
opens and a cigarette hangs out.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression
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 struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media,
both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything
