Slug

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

I know that if I try to make this entry any more than it is I will ruin it.

Picture

a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day. I created this site.

you have a beautiful account btw

somewhere between instagram and chatgpt


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

hiding from the rain

13, H, grate

It Will Get Lighter

my watchlater reached its limit years ago and now i have to create a playlist for each new topic im interested in but it is incredibly hard to create the taxonomy of knowledge because everything seems to be everything else because at the end it is what you get from it that matters not what is given

autonomy of learning

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.

mazelike/rhizomatic/immanent/emergent are not antithetical to a transcendent real but its very manifestation

fw

i want to do that too

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