We look out over the river to a block of luxury flats built on the site of some old docks. It would be nice to live right there. Yes.
i got bored though because i knew all of the different arrangements of it. i probably needed to stick at it longer to get it dense enough to feel navigable in a way that was engaging to me
but it is in my head and am i compelled to realise it, so it is my silmarillion, my tempelos
The slug lives in my bathroom. I only see it in the early hours of the morning, when I'm not quite right.
It's
dusk
in a snowy forest and I'm playing with a fox....
the only things i have read are just excerpts and 1 dialogue by plato fully and mcluhan's medium is the massage but it cannot be considered a book
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.
Like the tide, it comes in and it washes over the beach. It's beautiful. But like the tide it goes out, sometimes it goes out further than it ever has, it recedes back across the beach and further out beyond the horizon. The bare seabed opens up in front of you and all you can do is look at it.
Hours staring at the ceiling, the wall, curling up into a ball. It seems annoyed with the light, it kind of recoils. It will get lighter. I wonder where it goes in the day.
i sat down to eat my peasant dinner but i thought it was a song you sent so i didn’t watch it then
I am below everything.