There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
i love to walk around and see things and take photos and go online and look at websites and click on links and take screenshots i love to surf and i love to browse
no longer writing in the third person
Better Lift
kind of mythopoesis
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
i see a website
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 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.
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
all that is to say
god being the centre magnet
as in
Today I felt like starting
i struggle with building a personal technical architecture for storing media, both curation and creation. instead i bookmark everything