i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

It Will Get Lighter

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.

I am below everything.

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

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

Worse Lift

so at the end

I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.

We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.

He went in there with a camera to film it before he moved out of the building. He didn't think anyone would believe the story if he didn't have proof.

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

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

i guess imagine a multimedia obsidian or notion that behaves according to some insane arcane rules that you can't ever really determine

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river.

ahnaf abrar