Windrush Art Kid Oligarch

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.

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

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

i am quite illiterate on producing technology

i believe search always should be immersive, because whatever is pre planned and non consuming (what you are looking for is total engulfment by the spectre of the real), a joyous intensity, a flow of virtue

but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos

you have a beautiful account btw

really i want the internet

"I'm only attracted to you", he replies. "Like, you only."

i see a website

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.

"Put a blanket."

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

"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."