I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
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.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
Better Lift
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 wonder if the birds knew I was watching?
that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
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
stalgivc is the greatest poster of all time
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet