Above and behind a window opens and a cigarette hangs out.
in a post. I want to be remembered
hiding from the rain
something for the future. something to look at when this is more. I've been thinking about... whatever
There is a pause. She ashes her cigarette. It falls on me. It seems like the birds have stopped too.
with this post net clarity and the hours of nothing that followed I realise this is going to be awful.
a version of this existed for a few months last year but it was static. it was HTML with writing and pictures and videos and sounds. i had this feeling that the code should be as important as the content, that structurally each piece in relation to each other piece shouldn't change, that the mazelike quality should emerge from me intricately arranging paths through it. like classic hypertext
i did until you asked which kind of gave it away
was it worth it
Can I see
what do you think my name is
ion
plato
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.
December 2025
ahnaf abrar
its good
is everyoneback on tumblr now
i don't really want to be associated with that one for some reason
Their voices are saying they haven't and shouldn't fuck but want to so bad, or have fucked and can't again but want to so bad, or something like that. Would this be easier if they were birds? Incel kind of question... I'm not following the conversation, but I'm still listening. He's talking in this slightly begging way. It's a way of talking that asks for pity, like he's already tried appealing to every other one of her sensibilities. Incel kind of observation... Maybe he just talks like that, in some upspeak derivative. Haha unless?
its good
"Anyway, you're you. I mean, look at you!" she says. "You could get with anyone, anyone in the street. Really."
plato
yeah