"Put a blanket."

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting

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 in front two birds are darting in and out of a tree. Sometimes they collide to fight or maybe mate, but I can't really make it out in the low light. It's just after

dusk

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

currently

there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.

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

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

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.

Rain, starting

Style

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet