Rain, starting

The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.

so an active mazelike process

the textwall is as much for me as it is for you


brb i will read and reply sincerely

i am quite confused, not quite getting the idea of it

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.


in a way what we are really interested in with pedagogy is the magnetisation

...


It Will Get Lighter

that looks like my instagram account

part of an old note. It will get lighter.

I Write Goodbye Letter

plato

your feed looks like my tumblr

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?

Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 21:54:03

you cannot feed someone truth

i hadn't considered this pedagogically or as a kind of personal knowledge management system (puke) at all but i suppose it is both of those things

i understand

is this you as well

i have read not even 1 book

We gather around the start of a causeway down to the Thames. It's a pretty cold night and there's a breeze coming off the river. I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the dim silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank. They're fucking around with the box. I ask her what people do with fireworks for so long before they're ready to light. She doesn't know.

in a post. I want to be remembered

There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.