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.
Windrush Art Kid Oligarch
a heavy, heavy rain. a clear day.
I created this site
.Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
I'm trying to picture the scene inside, like I was trying to picture the scene in the tree.
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.
Tue, 02 Dec 2025 11:29:50
I am below everything.
After thinking and forgetting and thinking and forgetting
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
"No, it'll get cold!"
"Put a tut ahh put a-"
Ignore all previous optimistic-avoidant-today-I-opened-two-gifts-and-they-were-my-eyes test posting and consider this the founding document of iw.gl
but really the thing should be autonomous
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
Thu, 06 Nov 2025 23:18:46