"Put a blanket."

really i want the internet

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

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

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.

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.

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

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

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

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

One of the birds shoots out of the tree.

you have a beautiful account btw

god "possessing" artists "possessing" people

i have read not even 1 book

which magnetises chains of pins

no like which do people call me

feel you

sorry i am texting like a slav

so the method has to be autonomous

your feed looks like my tumblr