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.

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting


Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

something religious, a kind of complex,

it will get lighter

, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.

with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.

i see a website

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

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.

Imprint, memory, impact, representation, impression

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

.

and the fake qualifier

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.

send link

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.

ion