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.
really i want the internet
somewhere between instagram and chatgpt
the textwall is as much for me as it is for you
i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
Thu, 04 Dec 2025 11:31:03
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.
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
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.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
you have a beautiful account btw
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
...
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
We stand there laughing. The fireworks go off behind him.
wait what is that
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.
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.