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. The conversation drifts to the pleasantness of warm lighting and whether anyone needs a smart home. I interrupt her to make a joke about the French Raj as he runs up the causeway. We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
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.
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.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.
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.
you cannot feed someone truth
as in
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation
I am below everything.
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
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.
But seriously, thank you, Jack, for telling me that I could submit this to a high-level literary magazine or creative nonfiction outlet with some minor tweaks. I don't think I will do that.