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

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. 

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Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

way too random but already engaging. i want to explore it

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.

I wonder if the birds knew I was watching?

idk

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

the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book

abrar?

not their contents

Style

Picture

propensity within someone

what do you think my name is

nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class

currently

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

Rain, starting

its performative

so the method has to be autonomous

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

i want to do that too