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.
so the method has to be autonomous
what do you think my name is
barren land
was it worth it
this is possible in mazelike research sprints on the internet
feel you
think this is much more rhizomatic or immanent or mazelike than mainstream education now
nope. i only remember the leaves bristling behind the window during chemistry class
I've found the girl, or she's found me, and we're smoking a cigarette while we watch the silhouettes of the French Raj and his fireworks bearer down on the bank.
your feed looks like my tumblr
not their contents
you cannot feed someone language, they have to speak
ahnaf abrar
And thank you for telling me that the manner in which the narrator consistently fails to act morally is really compelling. Fuck you.
abrar?
i want to do that too
i really havent
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.
is everyoneback on tumblr now
like people can read 100 books and still not have the fire within them
we need to be deconstructing our identities
is this you as well
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
currently
really i want the internet
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
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.