I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.

it holds me to something (you, now). I love editing!

that is unstable and lets me operate in that discovery mode that i can create within and also produce works from.

I wonder if she knew I was down there listening? I wonder if she would've said something more true, more personal, more raw, more heartfelt, more harsh, more seductive, more freeing, more exposing, more risky, more romantic, more rude, more honest, more anything, if there hadn't been an audience.

Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.

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

kind of mythopoesis

I am below everything.

i see a website though something that reconfigures or is mazelike

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.

I created this site

wow, you are the first stranger to write a textwall to me

Garden Post-Dusk, Birds Above, In Another Life

we can only engage in such a way

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

Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.

as in

sorry i am texting like a slav

you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak