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.
The bird dives back into the tree. It shakes, some leaves fall.
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
One of the birds shoots out of the tree.
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
what do you think my name is
so i or you can author smaller fragments that get arranged
plato
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
like magnets
i know a little bit of lacan which probably influences me in a way i cant articulate
wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me