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.
the point of this was to try and avoid this narcissistic death spiral I'm in by acting anonymously and impulsively. how can that feeling that even Jack can't describe paralyse me if my name isn't next to any of this? the excitement of believing I just need a new process has overcome me and I have cummed out an empty webpage.
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 sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
wait what is that
something religious, a kind of complex,
it will get lighter
, something washing, cleansing, revealing, etc.The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
there's probably something in that, but I don't feel like thinking about it too much yet.
there is a distinction between western-modern pedagogical systems that's like text-based as in a legal method but there is an idea of "pathshala" or "guru shissho"/ "porompora" i mean how masters relayed knowledge to the student by (oral) transmission often by memorising books. so what was taught was always interactive. knowledge was interactive, you spoke with people rather than read texts.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.