It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox.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'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
"Put a blanket."
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.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 21:22:59
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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
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'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.
Mon, 03 Nov 2025 08:38:49