One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
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.
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
a lot of what i've been doing has been some imaginary screenshot or recording of his website, something that could be found within it
kind of mythopoesis
but i respect your search
it exists in my head in some way that i'm trying to get out i lied on my story a little bit because i'm mostly feeling it and thinking about it. feeling something deeply doesn't necessitate any kind of deep relevance or whatever but the thinking is useful
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."
She closes the window. I wasn't paying attention anyway, I'm getting cold, and the birds are nowhere to be seen. I go inside.
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.